taste | e.d

twenty-six

The whole way home, Ethan held my hand in his.

He found a spare crewneck in the back of his car for me to wear to replace the one Luca tore: an oversized navy blue one that smells strongly of him.

My cheek was still hurting from when Luca hit me, but I tried not to think of it, because for what seems to be the hundredth time, Ethan saved me.

I watched him as he was watching the road. His skin looked pale, like he hadn't gotten a tan in a while. I only saw a streak in his hair twice, but it was now completely gone. He was clean-shaven, probably ensued by Shannon. Something else about him was different, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

Now, after 45 minutes of driving, we pull into the long driveway of his house. After he parks the car in the garage, we cross through the door into the house. He waits until we are up the stairs to grab me by the waist, pulling me up against him and into a kiss.

"I missed you," he sighs.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he plants his hands firmly on my back, his touch sending chills up my spine.

For such a long time, I tried to make excuses. That this would never work, that we could only hurt each other. Those brief moments dissolve into nothing, too weak against the strength of what I feel for him.

I break away from the kiss to look at him closer, focusing on the flecks of green in his eyes.

"Don't leave me again," he says. "Just don't do it." He presses his forehead against mine.

I shake my head and close my eyes. "I won't."

"Promise me," he says.

"I promise."

"Pinkie promise me," he insists.

I laugh a little and say, "Pinkie promise," looping my pinkie finger around his.

He wraps his arms around me, surrounding me with his strength and warmth. I embrace him back, tightly.

After a moment, he says, "Can we talk?"

"About what?" I say, pulling back, concerned.

"Nothing bad," he says. "I just want to talk to you. It feels like we never have."

I nod and he takes me by the hand, leading me through the doors to the balcony.

He crosses his arms on the railing, looking down.

"You know," he starts, "I met you before. Years ago."

I furrow my eyebrows, confused.

"You used to be a fan," he says.

"I think I'd remember if I was," I say. "I had no idea who you were when we met."

"I have proof." He takes out his phone and unlocks it, going to his camera roll and swiping through photos until he finds it. Then he hands the phone to me.

And there I am, in his arms, with Shannon and Grayson not even five feet away from us.

"What?" I say, more confused than ever. "Why don't I remember this?"