"It seems so. I entered the house and went straight to him to ask if everything was okay, and he told me that Jeremy had spoken to him and that it seemed to be a misunderstanding. So I guess everything's calmer now."
"Well, because I don't want your mistakes to interfere with my progress. I’m capable of eliminating any threat that could affect my brother, even if it's you."
"I know, but there will be no more threats, I promise."
"Good." I looked through the window. "Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
I rolled my eyes at his response, but I couldn't quite suppress my smile. For not being a date, everything seemed too well calculated, too perfectly planned.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant overlooking the beach.
The moment I saw it, my breath caught.
"I remember this," I said softly, staring at the weathered wooden sign. "We went on a date here ten years ago."
"I know," he said quietly. "That's why we're here. I want you to be able to remember that you had good times, too."
Sometimes we are so focused on remembering the badthings that we don't realize that in every storm, there is always a moment of calm. I've spent these last ten years so focused on all the bad things that happened when I was 18 that I almost don't remember there were moments like these, too.
The memories came flooding back. Our first real date, how nervous we'd both been, how Kyle had spilled marinara sauce on his shirt, and I'd laughed so hard I'd snorted. How we'd walked on the beach afterward, talking about everything and nothing. How he'd kissed me under the pier, sweet and tentative and perfect.
Before everything went wrong. Before the party, before the video, before the trial. When we were just two kids in love, believing the future was ours to write.
"I still have your playlist," he said suddenly. "The one you made me junior year with all those indie bands you were obsessed with. I listened to it on repeat in Sydney when I was homesick."
I laughed. "I can't eat strawberry ice cream anymore without thinking of you. It was your favorite, and now every time I see it, I remember those summer nights we'd get it from that place by the pier."
"I haven't eaten it again either; I found out they closed a few years ago, and now that we're in the past, I'm afraid I won't like it as much as before. Looks like some things are better left as memories."
"Not all memories," I said, looking at him. "Some of them are worth recreating."
The place was just as I remembered, bohemian style with mismatched wooden tables, string lights draped between palm trees, and an open space that flowed seamlessly onto the beach. Colorful tapestries hung from posts, fluttering in theocean breeze, and the sound of waves mixed with the soft music from the DJ player in the corner. I'd never come back here after what happened, like all the places that reminded me of Kyle.
But being here now felt different. Like maybe some places weren't ruined forever. Like maybe I could reclaim the spaces that hurt me and make new memories to overlay the old ones.
We took a table at the very edge of the restaurant, right where the wooden deck met the sand, and I was grateful for choosing this dress and sandals.
We settled into our seats, and our knees bumped under the small table, but neither of us moved away. It was such a small thing, but I was hyperaware of it, of how he started moving his left leg as if he was nervous, of how easy it would be to lean forward and close the distance between us.
"Do you remember what happened with the DJ when we were here the real first time?" He murmured, pointing at the guy who was playing music.
"How could I forget? He drank so much he started playing Disney music," I replied, the memory making me smile despite myself.
"And you stood up during one of the songs because you knew the choreography."
"Oh my god, don't remind me of that. You were so embarrassed that you tried your best to sit me down."
I could still picture his mortified face as I'd enthusiastically acted out parts of "Bop To The Top" while other people watched in amusement. At eighteen, he'd been so concerned with what strangers thought, so worried about appearing cool and mature.
"If I could really go back to that time, I'd do a lot of things differently," he replied, his tone growing serious. "Like standing up with you and dancing. When we're young, we worry so much about stupid things, like making fools ofourselves in a place where no one is even paying attention to us."
His words stirred something in my chest. The Kyle I'd known back then had been more reserved, more concerned with his image. This version of him seemed lighter somehow, less burdened by other people's opinions.
"What else would you change?" I asked him, knowing so well I wasn’t prepared to hear anything else he could say.
"I would have loved you the way you deserved."
