AN: This was up on my Tumblr. I was asked to post it here, so here it is. Enjoy. -LB

Dear reader,

I'm not sure what made me decide to write this all down after all these years. I have been considering it for a long time, but I've never had the nerve to do it. I guess it's my nephew that made me finally want to write this out. He's the only person on this earth who knows the whole story, and he has always encouraged me to write it down. So now I'm going to try.

Now, I'll warn you reader. This is not a story with a happy ending. This is not a story of sacrifice and eternal commitment and lifelong joy. It's a story… well, it's a story. And the best way to tell the story is just to tell it. But remember that I warned you.

Sara Quin

Chapter 1

This story really takes place over just a few weeks. They were some of the shortest and yet the very longest weeks of my life. They were days that have come to define me, days that changed me. Now, almost forty years later, they consume me. Therapists, psychoanalysts, doctors, and counselors have all told me to move on. But while I hate thinking about it, those weeks were the best weeks of my life.

It all started when I was twenty-three. I was working at a coffee shop in Vancouver. I didn't enjoy the job at all, but it paid the bills. When I wasn't working though, I was playing music. It was just me and a guitar, playing at small venues in and around Vancouver. Because it was just me, I knew I wouldn't be able to really do anything big, but I was okay with that. I just loved playing.

My favorite place to play was a little hole-in-the-wall bar called The Q, that was a ten minute walk from my little apartment in downtown Vancouver. I was good friends with the owner, Emy, who was not only the owner, but also one of two bartenders. She basically lived at The Q. We had become friends because I performed there at least once a week, besides hanging out there in my free time.

I had been in and out of relationships for years. I never made it more than three or four months in a relationship, because I always say the bad things that could happen. I was always afraid I'd get broken up with, or cheated on, or whatever. And that never sat well with any of my girlfriends. They always did end up leaving, and it was always my fault.

Being in love and finding the perfect relationship was all I could think about, though. Every song I wrote was about love or finding that one girl that would put all the others to shame, that one girl that would stick around.

And that's when I met her. It was on a Friday night at The Q. Emy had set up an open mic night, a night for different musicians to come and play a few songs. I had just finished playing a couple of my songs and was sitting at the bar, sipping a beer. I had noticed her while I was playing. She had been standing in the back next to a guitar case propped against the wall.

But when she stepped onto the stage, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her brown hair was short, stopping just below her jaw line. And that jaw line. Fuck, it was perfect. Her chocolate brown eyes were warm and inviting, and when she met my gaze, a shiver ran down my spine. She looked away before I could, leaving me to continue staring. The more I looked at her, her small frame, her tattoos, her beautiful eyes, the more I realized that she was the most beautiful woman that I'd ever seen.

She played for about fifteen minutes, far too short in my opinion. Her voice was magnificent. It was a bit low for a woman, but it was smooth and easy to listen to. I didn't even pay attention to what she was singing, I just listened to her voice. When she was finished, everyone applauded. But I couldn't move. My eyes were locked on her.

"Hey, Bambi!" Emy shouted about two feet from my ear, jolting me back to myself.

"Huh?! What?" I stammered.

"You got a little deer-in-the-headlights for a while. What was that about?" She was grinning at me, and she jerked her head towards the woman who was stepping of the small stage. She raised her eyebrows at me questioningly.

I barely acknowledged her question. "Who is that?" I asked a little too breathlessly.

"That's Tegan Quinn. Two N's." She said. She was still grinning from ear to ear as she handed me another beer, putting my empty bottle behind the counter.

I didn't answer. I just watched her as she put away her guitar. A few people came up to her and shook her hand, no doubt complementing her singing. But I didn't move from my seat. I kept sipping my beer, unable to take my eyes off her.

After two more people had played, Tegan picked up her guitar and it looked like she was going to leave. Quickly, I waved Emy down. "Hey, Em! Ask her to come back and play tomorrow night."

"What the hell, Sara?" she said. "Why? You were supposed to play tomorrow. What's going on with you tonight?"

"Just do it, Emy! Quick, before she leaves!" I smacked her arm, and waved her towards the woman headed for the door.

"Hey, Tegan!" Emy called to her. I watched as Tegan walked over to the bar and spoke to Emy. I could tell Emy had convinced her to come back when they shook hands and Tegan smiled. When she smiled, I felt my knees go weak and my heart speed up. I was extremely happy that I was sitting, otherwise I might have fallen over.

I couldn't believe the effect this girl had on me. She had captivated me, and she had never even said a word to me. When she walked out, I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. As Emy walked back toward me with a scowl on her face, I knew I would have to explain myself to her.

"I had to see her again, Emy," I said before she could ask any questions. "I had to."

"You've really gone off the deep end, Sara," she laughed, shaking her head. "You're lucky I love you so much."

"I love you too, Em," I said grinning. "I should get home," I said. I paid her, and left a generous tip. "For helping me out," I said.

The ten minute walk home seemed much short, I was so caught up in thinking about this girl Tegan. I tried to figure out how she had managed to capture my thoughts so fast. I wasn't sure if it was her voice, her shockingly good looks, or the easy confidence that I could easily see in her. The way she held herself, the way she talked, it all screamed "I am sure of who I am." And that was attractive to me, because I was so unsure of who I was.

As I lay in bed trying to recall every detail of her face, I wondered how the hell I was going to get up the courage to talk to her tomorrow night.