March 30, 1996

"Wonderwall" is playing on the crappy radio in my beater of a car as we drive into the city for dinner. I'm sick of this song, but hearing you sing along makes me rethink my opinion. Not many things make you feel self-conscious, but your voice is so soft that I think this might be one of those things. I reach over and twine my fingers with yours, letting our hands rest on the gear shift. We don't let go until we have to get out of the car to go into the restaurant. Before I can make my way around to open your door, you're already out and reaching for my hand again.

Inside the restaurant, we're led to a little table by a window that looks out over the city. You said you've never tried sushi. I like that I'm introducing you to something new. We order a variety, because I'm not sure if you'll like the raw stuff.

I watch you chew a piece of salmon, but your expression doesn't give anything away. You swallow and go for a sip of water, then look down at the rest of the fish on the plate between us.

"Verdict?" I prompt.

Without answering, you poke at a tuna roll with a chopstick before picking it up and popping it into your mouth. Your chewing is deliberate, your expression thoughtful. This time you smile when you swallow. "I like it."

"Knew you would," I say smugly.

You poke my shin with the toe of your shoe under the table. "What are we doing after this, know-it-all?"

"Thought we'd wing it," I say after I swallow my California roll.

"If my five-year-old self heard me saying these words, she'd disown me, but God, seaweed salad is delicious."

"Good, right?"

You close your eyes and sigh, and I can't help staring at you. Your pink lips. The dimple in your left cheek. The tiny scar on your chin. Your long eyelashes. I catalog them all and store them away for later.

"How'd you get this?" I reach out and brush the tip of my thumb across the little scar.

"Um." A flush spreads over your cheeks, making me grin. "I got into a fight with some asphalt."

"Asphalt. What an asshole."

"Yeah. That sounds much cooler than the actual story, right?"

"That depends."

"Long story short, don't ever put me in a pair of rollerblades."

My laugh is loud and deep and real. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

In all honesty, I haven't gone on many official dates, but this one already trumps the others. First-date small talk is crippling. With you, I don't have to worry about it. Not just because I already know you, but because I know I could talk to you for hours and never run out of things to say. There's no awkwardness, no uncomfortable silence, no gap in conversation. Everything with you feels so natural. I feel like I know you better than I know anyone else. I know the things you want. I know the things you hate. I know the things you love.

And I suddenly know exactly what I want to do after dinner.

"A candy store?" You laugh when we walk through the door, but your eyes are all lit up. I wanted to show you that I listen. That I pay attention. I know you.

"I didn't bring you flowers, so how about the biggest bouquet of Pixie Stix money can buy?"

A kiss on the cheek is my reward. "You're sweet. Pun not intended."

"Am I?"

You nod and drag me to the bin of Sour Patch Kids. "You know you are."

I've never known anyone that could spend hours in a candy store, but I think you probably could. Twenty minutes later, after debating the merits of Swedish Fish versus gummy sharks, you're satisfied with five small bags of your favorites. Pixie Stix, of course. Gummy bears, because you decided they're better than their oceanic counterparts. M&Ms (after you sorted them meticulously, avoiding the blue ones at all costs). Sour Patch Kids. Chocolate-covered espresso beans. I filled my own bag with Goobers and Raisinets, which you turned your nose up at, making me laugh.

"Thanks, Edward," you say when we leave the store and go down to walk by the water. When you say my name, the shiver that goes through me has nothing to do with the slight chill in the spring night air. I watch you pop an espresso bean into your mouth, and I want to kiss those lips so badly, but you're more interested in your newly acquired prizes.

"You won't be able to sleep tonight." I chuckle. "All that sugar."

"I'll pace myself," you say. "I promise."

We walk slowly, hands joined, swinging the shopping bag full of sweets between us, and when you're done sampling them, I give in. Pulling you to me by the hand, I cage you between me and the railing that separates the sidewalk from the grassy area that slopes down to the bay. "Thank you," I murmur, ducking my head so my lips are close to yours.

"For what?" you breathe.

"Just…for being you. And for tonight." I grin, and my eyes dart back and forth between yours. "And for this." I close the distance between us and kiss you once, softly. I'll never get over the feel of your lips on mine. There's a lingering sugar taste on them, making your sweet kisses literal.

We have another hour before your curfew, so we go back to my house to hang out. It's weird, having you here in my bedroom. I feel a little exposed as you walk around exploring pieces of my life. Even though we've known each other for about a month now, I feel like I'm opening up a whole new part of myself to you. You trail a hand over the paperbacks on my bookshelf, the CDs and tapes propped beside my stereo. You hum and move to the corner of the room, where my acoustic guitar sits on a stand. You touch that, too, plucking one of the strings and turning to grin at me.

"You play?"

I shrug. "Not well."

"Will you play something for me?"

My face gets hot. "Uh. Not now."

"Please?"

"Bella, I don't think you understand how truly awful I am."

"Resistance is futile. You'll eventually play for me."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go with eventually."

You smirk like you've won and resume your tactile exploration, touching random items on my desk. "Ooh, can I have one?" you ask, picking up the Altoids tin I forgot was there.

"Oh, wait—"

You burst into laughter when you pry the lid open and find a lack of mints. "Nice stash spot."

My face gets hot. I'm not sure how you feel about the tin's actual contents until you lift it to your nose and sniff. "How'd you get the minty smell out? Altoids are so…pungent."

"I didn't. Mike Newton did, I guess. When I need more, I trade it for a new one that's already loaded."

"Newton, huh? I hear he gets the best stuff."

"So you…smoke?" I don't know if I'll be surprised by either answer.

"I have. Not regularly or anything."

"You want to?"

"Hmm. Maybe not now. I don't want to lose my inhibition in the middle of your bedroom." You try to hide your smile by pursing your lips, but it doesn't work. "At least not yet."

"You're gonna kill me one day. You know?"

You shrug one shoulder and tilt your head to the side. "Edward, are we exclusive?"

I blow out a long breath, needing a second to gather myself since you just shattered my world. "Is that what you want?" You nod, and I hook my fingers into your front pockets and pull you close. "You want me? Just me?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"Good. I want that, too."

And just like that, because you're you and you don't play around, we're a couple.

When I kiss you, you wind your arms around my neck and let me get carried away. I'm mildly aware that I'm crushing you against the wall, but you're not complaining, so neither am I. Your fingers twist together behind my neck, move to my hair, slide down my chest until you're gripping the sides of my shirt in your fists. Mine have journeyed in the opposite direction, moving from the small of your back to your hips, up your sides, finally settling on either side of your neck.

We end our kiss slowly, reluctantly, but my hands linger, thumbs grazing along your jawline. I touch my forehead to yours gently. "You and me, yeah?"

Your smile is soft and pretty, embodying everything you are. "Yeah."