Chapter 3: surprise, sometime, I'll come around, when you're down

"Jughead," she repeated, the unusual name, while peculiar to her, rolling easily off her tongue.

"It's a childhood nickname," he explained, a light hint of red crossing over his cheeks.

"I'm guessing it involved a jug," she replied, the corners of her lips upturned in mirth. She was definitely drunk by now because the easy forwardness she felt teasing a stranger was not at all typical behavior for her. Certainly not in her current emotional state.

He chuckled. "Indeed it did." He looked expectantly at her and Betty felt herself blushing, realizing he was waiting on her name.

"I'm Betty," she told him.

"Betty just moved back to Riverdale. We grew up together," Kevin explained to Jughead. He turned to face Betty next. "And Jughead is a friend and colleague. He teaches English at the high school. He's also a writer. He went somewhere fancy called Iowa."

"You went to Iowa?" Betty gaped. That was impressive. It was probably the best creative writing program in the country.

"Yes," he replied, looking embarrassed, adding, as an afterthought, "Most people in Riverdale don't have that reaction."

"I don't think I'm like most people in Riverdale," she murmured, the remark more confessional than she intended, and the flush instantly returned to her face.

Jughead studied her, drinking in the inhibition swimming in her emerald green eyes. "No," he replied, his voice low, intrigued. "I guess you're not."

"Betty studied literature at Yale," Kevin said by way of explanation, poking her in the side and causing an impromptu fit of giggles from the blonde. She felt silly and self-conscious for a second after laughing, worried she was coming off as ditzy or unbalanced, but the smile on his lips at the display was warm, not judgmental.

"What have you written?" she asked, curiously, hoping her voice sounded more grounded now.

"A book of short stories and a novel, 'The Outcasts,'" he replied. She could tell from the way he tried to keep his answer short and his tone humble that his writing was not something he talked about much publicly, maybe for fear it would be considered braggadocious in their small town. She immediately liked this about him.

The novel's name rang a bell, too. She remembered reading the rave review of the book, under the author name J. Jones, in the New York Times, making his self-effacement all the more charming. "Oh! It's been on my list for a while," she told him, before her voice turned apologetic. "But I'll be honest that I haven't been doing as much reading lately as I'd like."

He gave her a small smile indicating it didn't bother him. "What about you? Do you write?" he asked, sounding more interested in talking about her than himself.

"I used to," she admitted. "Poetry."

"Sorry to interrupt your writerly book fest for a moment, guys," Kevin jumped in before Jughead could reply, "But I see my date just got off his shift, so I think that's my cue." He wrapped his arms around Betty and whispered in her ear. "Finish off the wine and have fun. I poured the rest in your glass. On me. Don't argue."

"Thanks, Kev. Love you," she said, hugging him back.

"Love you too," he told her as they disengaged from the embrace. "See you later, Jughead," he called as he headed toward the bar, where Betty saw him greeting a guy with shoulder-length black hair, before turning back to the man beside her.

She stood awkwardly for a moment, looking up at Jughead, unsure of what to do. She felt a pressing inclination to continue their conversation, but that feeling was also completely alien to her, especially in light of the overwhelming emotional indifference grief had so recently instilled in her, that she felt paralyzed, lacking the necessary tools to show her interest or request his attention. He stared back at her, a look of understanding crossing over his face, almost as if he could read her thoughts. Saving her the embarrassment, he cocked his head to the side to silently ask her if it was okay if he joined her. She nodded thankfully and sat back down, slowly taking another drink.

"Who are your favorite poets?" he asked her, leaning in over the table.

"I really like modern American poetry. Robert Creeley, Frank O'Hara, Anne Sexton. I know those are all from different schools, but…"

He flashed her a smile. "There's nothing wrong with diverse tastes."

She smiled back. "What about you? Who are your favorite writers? I guess fiction, right?"

"Actually my favorites are probably better known for their short stories. Raymond Carver and John Cheever. Something about the malaise of suburbia really appeals to me. Also, of course, Capote, since I think of myself as something of a true-crime buff. Pretty sure reading the Hardy Boys as a kid was why I wanted to be a detective when I grew up." Her smile deepened, enjoying the passion in his voice as he talked about literature. It made him seem young and eager, like an excited teenager, although she guessed he was probably close to 30. He flushed as he noticed the amusement in her eyes. "I'm rambling. What's your favorite book?

"It's a tie. Between 'Beloved' and well, I know it's really cliche, but 'The Great Gatsby'" she responded, aware it was a popular favorite and maybe he would think less of her for not picking something more hip.

He chuckled. "Cliche or not, you can't dispute a classic. Plus, I'm a sucker for Fitzgerald. I spent way too much time as an underclassmen thinking I was the reincarnation of Amory Blaine."

"I hope you were luckier in love," she teased, instantly wanting to slap her mouth shut. She hadn't intended the remark to sound so coquettish. Although she couldn't deny the attraction and sudden rapport she felt with the man sitting across from her, she didn't, however, want to betray herself so easily, especially when she was unsure if or how she even wanted to act on the confusing feelings he'd stirred in her.

Before he could answer though, she saw another dark-haired man was now standing and fidgeting over the table. "Hey, uh, Betty, right?"

She nodded. She didn't know the man, but she felt she recognized him somehow.

"I'm Sweet Pea….Polly's, uh, well you know."

"Oh," she said, her back immediately stiffening. She had forgotten Polly told her he worked as the bar's manager, but it all came rushing back to her now. "Hi."

"I was really sorry to hear. I didn't even know she was sick. I would have visited the hospital if I had known."

"Thank you," she said, swallowing, tears already starting to smolder in her eyes. She blinked tightly and willed them away. "They weren't really allowing many visitors anyway, so you know."

Sweet Pea nodded in understanding. "She was a really caring person. I'll miss her."

Betty tried to smile courteously, whispering "Thank you." Her face was stinging. Sweet Pea was just being polite, nice even, but she felt angry at him. For a moment, she had enjoyed the simplicity of being a slightly inebriated girl talking to a cute boy on a Saturday night. A blank slate without a sob story. That was ruined now. Even if Jughead wasn't aware of all the sordid details. Surely now, though, he'd ask her to explain what the interaction was about.

Sweet Pea nodded again and then looked to Jughead, saying, "Catch you later, boss," before shuffling away.

Betty squinted her eyes at the last remark, trying to make sense of it, but still too in her own head to give it more than a passing second of thought. She could see Jughead looking at her, sensing her discomfort, but not commenting on it, as if he could see the wound but didn't want to press on it. Instead, his expression remained neutral, open. "Do you want to get some air?" he asked, casually, leaving it up to her. "It's pretty hot in here."

The room did indeed feel scorching to her now and Betty nodded, before quickly draining the rest of her drink. They stood up, Jughead putting his hand up close to her back, but not touching her, as she found her equilibrium. It was a sweet gesture. They headed outside, Jughead leading the way to one of the farther outdoor tables, away from the crowd of smokers. The distant hum of Interpol's "Untitled" could be heard in the background. Betty started mouthing the repetitive words to calm herself down.

Jughead smiled at her as they took seats next to each other. "Where did you move back from?" he asked, not referring at all to her conversation with Sweet Pea, surprising her. A wave of immense gratitude washed through her.

"I was living in London for the last four years," she told him.

"London, wow," he replied.

"It's less romantic than it sounds," she said with a half-smile. "How long have you lived in Riverdale?"

"About the same," he replied. He looked at her straight on, and she felt a strange energy pass between them. He took a long breath and without knowing how she intrinsically understood he was about to open himself to her in a not insubstantial way. "I moved here shortly after my dad died. He actually owned this bar and I inherited it. I was born in Riverdale, but moved to Toledo as a kid when my parents divorced."

"I'm sorry about your dad, Jug," she said, the nickname slipping out in earnest. She looked up at him, the genuineness obvious in her eyes. "I know that doesn't really mean much, but…"

"It's okay," he replied, shooting her a small smile. "It's still nice to hear. Especially from someone I can tell means it."

She gave him a half-smile back. "Was it hard to adjust to living here after…" she asked softly, trailing off, the question of where he'd resided before evident in her voice.

"New York," he supplied. "And yes and no. I was only there for a year after graduate school, so I guess I didn't really have enough time to find myself or figure out if I was a city person. Plus it helped that I knew Riverdale somewhat already."

"Did you want to move here or you felt you had to?" she asked, surprising herself with how direct and probing the question was. She flushed instinctively.

His lips turned upward, appraising her question seriously. "Both…maybe. That's, uh, wow, a hard question to answer."

"But you like it here?" she asked, figuring it was easier terrain.

"I do. I like working at the high school. The bar is doing well. I've made good friends. And Riverdale is as good a place to write as any."

She nodded in understanding, before staring out at the gravel of the parking lot, starting to lose herself to the reflections her own questions provoked.

"And you?" he asked, breaking her train of thought. "How's your adjusting going?"

Betty barked out a laugh. "I don't think I'm exactly the best example to answer that question."

His eyes sparkled in amusement. "Oh, no? Why's that?"

"Because I'm not someone who had a choice about coming here," she responded flatly. She looked up at him, afraid maybe her misplaced bitterness had scared him away, but he didn't appear disquieted. A look of recognition was painted across his face. She softened her pose slightly, adding quietly, "I don't know. Maybe I'm being dramatic."

"No, I get it. I suppose I felt like that the first few months here," he conceded. "Although Tabby always tried to convince me differently and say everything is a choice," he added with a chuckle.

"Tabby?" she heard herself asking, a bit of panic rising inside her that she couldn't quite explain.

"Oh," he said, now wincing. "My ex. Tabitha." He paused before adding a hasty, "Sorry."

She wasn't sure what exactly he was apologizing for—maybe for simply bringing up his ex-girlfriend when talking to another woman—but she liked it in any case. "It's okay," she assured him, hoping to shift gears back to the empathetic side of herself, and not the depressed witch she'd just been acting as. "How long were you together?"

"Three years," he told her. "We started seeing each other a few months after I moved here, but we ended things last fall."

"That's a long time," she murmured. "That's hard."

He nodded. "And she runs Pop's. Or she did. I couldn't get a decent burger for months." Betty couldn't help herself and let out a burst of genuine laughter. Jughead smiled at her, shaking his head. "You laugh, but that might have been more heartbreaking than the split itself," he joked.

Betty lifted her eyes in disbelief. "If Pop's burgers are so important to you, why did you break up with her then?" she quipped.

Jughead chuckled before his expression turned serious. "She's a few years older than me," he explained. "She had been saying for a while she was ready to expand and franchise the business, for us to settle down. And I realized I wasn't. Or I was, just not with her," he admitted.

"Ouch," Betty grimaced. "That sounds difficult. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. It wasn't pleasant."

"How'd you know?" she asked, the inquisitive words slipping out before she could stop them. "Sorry," she added right away, blushing. "That's too intrusive."

"No," he stated. "It's okay. I don't mind." He offered her a reassuring smile before exhaling. "I just did. I thought about moving in with her, getting married, having kids, the whole thing. And I just couldn't see it. Couldn't conjure a picture of it. And then I understood that while I loved her, I wasn't in love with her anymore. And it wasn't fair to keep going and pretend." He paused, looking Betty straight in the eye. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Betty whispered, a chill running through her at the candor of his answer and the sense of regret and identification she felt. She shivered.

He seemed to grasp her feelings, smiling lopsidedly at her. "What about you," he asked, "Boyfriend, or…?"

"I was with someone. In London," she replied, part of her afraid to answer him in any real detail, to enter into a vulnerable place she wasn't sure she'd be able to retreat from. But a bigger part desperately wanted to open herself to him, to be just as bravely honest as he had been with her. "We were together for a long time," she continued. "Five years. Since my junior year of college. But now…" She let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "I don't know. We didn't really say it was over when I left, but I knew it was. And I didn't try to fight for it, either. Somehow I just knew it wasn't worth it." She looked up at Jughead, trying to dissect his expression, but she wasn't wholly sure what for. He looked back at her, his dark blue eyes crinkling in comprehension. Finally, she added, barely above a whisper, "He wasn't worth it."

"I understand," he said, nodding sympathetically.

"But I don't think I'm as mature as you," Betty continued, dancing her finger in a circle over the table. "It took something like a hurricane happening for me to realize that."

"Well, you're younger than me," he teased, with a smirk. "I promise when you get to 29, it'll only take a minor thunderstorm."

She cracked a smile and before she could help herself let out a small giggle. He chuckled back and Betty felt a warm feeling fizz through her body. She couldn't explain it. His sincerity, his sensitivity, even his humor, they all threw her willingly off balance. Naturally, necessarily. Like she was free-falling off a cliff but there was a sea of hands below to catch her. Implicitly she knew she could trust him. That she wanted to jump.

She looked back at him, and his face met hers, staring at her intently. "My sister died," she murmured softly to him, like a confession. "Six weeks ago. That's who Sweet Pea was talking about in there."

"I'm so sorry, Betty," he said, and she could tell he really meant it. He leaned in closer to her, not quite touching, but she could feel the comfort he intended to radiate out from the gesture. His palm spread out flat against the table, right next to hers, as if he were prepared to take her hand in his if she gave him a sign to do so.

"God, that feels so weird to say aloud," she proclaimed, cupping her cheek as she shook her head. The floodgates inside her had come loose and all her grief felt uncontained.

"I know," he told her. "It is weird. It doesn't compute. It's not supposed to."

"She had two kids," she said, unloading further, unable to stop herself. "That's the reason I moved back to Riverdale. To help my parents take care of them." She hadn't meant to say all that, but the words came up like heaves of vomit, each expression weighted and waiting to be emptied from inside her.

He shook his head, locking his eyes shut briefly. "I'm sorry, Betty, that's awful," he murmured, as he opened them slowly. The dark blue of his pupils had turned improbably softer, warmer, as if trying to convey where there were no possible words for how much sympathy he felt for her, with her.

Betty nodded. Despite the adrenaline of the alcohol still running through her bloodstream, making her dizzy, she felt completely sober now, at least mentally. "Well, this has become a dark conversation," she said, scuffing her foot against the ground, trying to laugh the heaviness off, but the hopeless frustration was obvious in her voice. She couldn't help but feel a tinge of shame for revealing too much, even though she knew Jughead had purposely left a trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow and open up to him, if she wanted.

"But isn't that the best kind?" he asked, the semblance of a smirk creeping onto his face. "An unexpectedly deep conversation between two strangers?"

"Maybe," she replied, smiling in spite of herself at his transparent endeavor to ease her concerns. "But I wouldn't want to burden that stranger with my myriad problems," she added, the self-deprecation evident despite her attempt at a joking tone.

"You're not burdening me," he assured her emphatically, his tone softening to add, "I wanted to talk to you."

She felt herself relax into his efforts to soothe her, melting into the intimate subtext she could sense behind his words. "I wanted to talk to you, too," she admitted.

He grinned, inching his pinky finger closer to hers, but still not touching her. She stared at his hand, suddenly very much wanting it on her. A rush of nerves ran from her stomach to her core as she pictured in a brief flash things turning physical between them. She blushed furiously, unable to hide the rosy stains on her ivory skin despite only the pale moonlight illuminating the sky. She shook her head imperceptibly, trying to remove the thoughts that had crept into her mind. She hoped he hadn't noticed, although he was looking at her as if he could read her mind exactly. But he simply tilted his head to her and smiled wider.

"Is it because I'm a great conversationalist or you were really that excited to meet someone who attended the Iowa Writers' Workshop?" Jughead joked.

She laughed, the mood officially lightened, and she once again felt the warm, fizzy sensation spread through her body. "You're nice to talk to," she responded, her voice just a tad more flirtatious now. "You're a good listener."

"You're nice to talk to, too," he told her, his pinky finger now skimming just slightly against hers. She looked down at their hands on the table, feeling herself tremble slightly at even the most infinitesimal feel of him against her skin.

"Thank you," she nearly whispered, and she could see him looking at her, searching her face.

"Betty?" he asked, purposefully, and she returned her gaze to him, swallowing in anticipation. "May I kiss you?"

She nodded, tiny flurries of fireworks exploding over her skin, as he angled in closer and finally pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was soft, hesitant but deliberate, and she felt herself sinking into it, kissing him back and opening her mouth slightly to let him explore more. She felt his tongue sweep gingerly against hers, as one of his hands came up to caress her cheek. She leaned into the tender curve of his fingers, her tongue slowly lapping in the sweet, minty taste of his mouth. He began to exert a bit more pressure, his lips hungry and greedily seeking more of her, which she happily granted, moving her mouth in tune with his. It felt both strange and good to be kissed with such intention. Betty didn't want it to end.

When air became necessary, his kisses finally stilled and he slowly released his grasp on her. Her eyes fluttered open and she could see him gazing at her, his blue orbs dark with want but also shining in boyish exuberance. His hand found hers over the table and his silky fingers absentmindedly began to stroke the smooth skin on the back of her palm. "It's nice to kiss you, too," he told her.

She laughed softly, her thumb instinctively lifting to brush his. "You're not so bad yourself," she found herself flirting back.

He smiled deeply, his dimples poking out. "Are you working now or did you take some time off?" he asked with interest.

Betty felt an inward sigh of relief that Jughead had moved to continue their conversation and wasn't now trying to promptly goad her into bed. Kissing him had felt almost addicting. Of course, she wanted more than just a taste. But she was also petrified of going further, especially on only the first night they'd met. Something about their immediate connection felt particularly fragile, as if any moment the bubble protecting it would burst. She didn't want to do anything to rush it or take it off course, especially when the butterflies of emotion toward him running a marathon in her stomach trumped any purely physical desire.

"I've been cleaning out my sister's apartment for the last few weeks," she explained, and he nodded seriously. Not wanting to dwell on the depressiveness of that subject, she shifted gears. "But I was working as a copy editor and proofreader in London. For a law firm."

"That seems like a waste of your talents," he proclaimed, before grimacing, apparently at himself. "Sorry, that was presumptuous."

She wagged her eyebrows at him. "It was," she teased, but the laughing lilt in her voice suggested she didn't completely disagree.

"Shit. And I was doing so well," he joked. "I hadn't acted like a pompous jerk for at least ten minutes." He looked up at her for reassurance she wasn't really offended. Betty felt a small flash of warmth run through her knowing he was just as nervous as her, afraid of fucking it all up before it even began with the wrong word or move. She smiled at him, brushing her long hair behind her shoulder, to let him know it was okay. "I'll make it up to you," he added, a coy grin on his face.

"Oh yeah?" she questioned, but before she could ask how, he was leaning in toward her, placing a series of soft, lingering kisses down her neck. It lasted for only a few moments, but it felt just as deliciously destabilizing as their first kiss minutes before. A small moan escaped from between her lips as he found her pulse point and he sucked it gently for the barest of seconds.

After reluctantly pulling himself away, he looked over at her, asking cautiously, "Was that okay?"

She nodded and smiled, feeling bold enough to tilt her head up to him to languidly press her own lips into the spot on his jaw where his cheek met his earlobe. She could see his Adam's apple quivering slightly and his hands thrumming to touch her, but he controlled himself. He simply smiled back at her and asked her to tell him more about her former job.

They continued like that for God knows how long. Betty had lost track of time. They discussed her previous life in London, his favorite things about Riverdale, music, movies, more books. The conversation simply flowed, breaking only when either of them felt the urge to leave little kisses on the other's face or lips or neck, and then continuing again straight away. Eventually though, she found herself shivering in the chilly night air. She looked around and realized the music had long since stopped playing and they were the only people left outside. The sounds from inside the bar, too, were at a minimum.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Jughead checked his watch. "It's almost 1:30," he told her, sounding almost apologetic. "Do you need to go?" he asked, a slight edge of dismay sliding into his voice.

"No, it's not that," she told him. Truthfully, she didn't want to say goodbye yet. She didn't feel the least bit tired, despite the exhaustion of earlier in the day, and she didn't want to leave. "I…I'm just cold," she divulged. She'd been ignoring it, but the truth was her teeth were chattering and she could barely feel her exposed fingers.

"Do you want to come inside?" he asked, haltingly. "My apartment's just above the bar," he explained.

She froze, unsure of what to do. She both did and didn't want to. She implicitly trusted him and didn't think he'd make a move to do anything she didn't want, but she worried she might not be able to resist. The way his lips and hands felt on her was so inviting, so compelling, she wasn't sure she'd be able to think straight if they were alone inside somewhere. She racked her brain for another option, but this being Riverdale, the only place open for miles was Pop's, and she wasn't sure what his current status with the diner was. She inhaled and then exhaled slowly, looking back to his expectant eyes.

"Okay," she finally said.

He nodded and stood up, helping her rise as well. He led her behind the back of the bar to a set of black metallic spiral stairs that looked as if they'd once been a fire escape. He moved out of the way to let her climb up first, him following behind. At the top of the stairs, he unlocked a heavy door, which led to a small hallway, another set of stairs a few paces to the right leading down to what she assumed was the back of the bar. A wooden door stood on the left, and he used the same set of keys to unlock it, holding it open for Betty to enter. He flipped a switch near the entrance and an industrial lamp made up of bare light bulbs illuminated the space. The apartment was only one room, but it was large, covering nearly the expanse of the bar below. Large, loft-style windows wrapped around it. She noticed a bed and night tables in the far right corner near another door, which she assumed was the bathroom. Not far from the bed, in the center of the room facing a window, was a large desk covered in a mess of papers and an olive green Olivetti typewriter. Closer to her was the living room—an L-shaped leather couch, ribbed white rug, and black iron coffee table with a wood top. Completing it was a matching black iron bookcase, crammed with books and records. She'd only known Jughead for a few hours, but she could already tell the apartment fit him completely.

"It was mostly a storage space for the bar. I converted it into an apartment after I moved here," he explained, as he watched her examine the place with a smile.

"It's really nice," she told him. Her eyes trailed around the room again, feeling somewhat relieved as she noticed it was a bit messy—crumpled clothes strewn over the bed, dirty dishes in the sink—as if he hadn't planned for someone else to visit. It helped her recompose herself.

"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the couch. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water?" she asked, and he nodded, turning to the kitchen, which Betty now had a better view of from her spot perched on the couch. She shook off her jacket and watched as he filled two glasses before returning to the living room area, placing them on the coffee table and sitting down next to her. He slung his arm casually onto the cushion behind her, almost but not quite touching her. She took a few sips of water, her brain feeling refreshed and less scattered. "You didn't want to live in your dad's old place?" she asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Jughead shook his head, his lips pursing in thought. "No. He was living in a trailer in Sunnyside actually. I mean, it would have been fine, but just a lot of memories, you know." She nodded perceptively. He chuckled softly then. "Honestly, I always wanted a place to write with lots of windows. And there was this space, so I thought why not just go for it."

She smiled. "I think you made the right move. It really is beautiful, and cozy. I feel like I could get lost forever in that bookshelf."

"I'm glad I have your approval," he teased and she blushed. "You're cute when you do that," he told her, and her face flushed even redder.

He laughed, leaning in to kiss her again, and she could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest as his lips made contact. It was unfair how good a kisser he was. How much she could sense his own elation at feeling her lips against his, how much that made her feel wanted, desired. She couldn't imagine what she'd done to deserve this kind of attention. Feeling herself falling deeper into him, and literally descending backwards into the couch, as his hands clutched her back and his torso hovered over her, she knew she needed to halt their actions or she'd regret it.

"We should stop," she murmured to him as she attempted to slow the deep, fervid kiss to a series of light little pecks. She could feel him nodding against her chin, before pulling away.

"You're right," he said, sighing, appearing almost guilty, but with just a hint of that confident smirk stuck on his face. She'd come to realize it was a trademark look for him.

"I…" she started to say, looking for how to explain what she was feeling. It wasn't that she didn't want him or to succumb to the amorous feelings he's aroused in her, but…that persistent but remained in the back of her head and she couldn't shake it loose. She didn't know how, but this, him, meant more to her than an instant physical attraction that led to sex and then went nowhere. Their connection was already cutting deeper than that. She could feel it in her bones.

"No, don't say anything," he said, reading her expression. "I understand. I feel the same."

She smiled and allowed herself to cuddle into him, his warm arm falling protectively around her. "Tell me about your novel," she said. "Did you write most of it here?"

He started to answer her and before she knew it a few more hours had passed of them talking and exchanging stray kisses here and there. Only when she felt her eyes getting heavy, Jughead smiling next to her and rubbing her arm softly, did she think it was probably a good idea to get some sleep. The clock on the wall showed it was close to 5 am, and Betty's eyes widened, the motion prompting a yawn. She couldn't remember the last time, if ever, she'd stayed up all night.

"Let me take you home," he said.

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks," she said, standing up and following him back to the hallway and down the stairs they'd entered with a few hours earlier. He took a few steps to where a motorcycle was parked, and looked at her for approval. "Is this okay? We can take my car if you're too tired," he said, motioning to the black jeep a few feet away.

"It's fine," she told him, and he placed his helmet over her head and laid down the visor.

"Hold tight." She nodded and settled onto the back of the bike, wrapping her arms securely around him. "Where to?" he asked.

She gave him the address of her parents' house and they were off, the cold wind of the April dawn whipping around her as they sped through the empty streets of the town. Ten minutes later they pulled up outside her door, and Jughead cut the low-rumbling engine. She unwrapped her arms and he stood up to help her off. As she handed him back his helmet, he looked at her. "Can I get your phone number?" he asked nervously.

She nearly laughed. Even after spending virtually the entire night together, alternately talking and kissing, he was still concerned she wouldn't give him a way to contact her. It was endearing, especially since she knew she could be equally as timid and hesitant. She liked that he wasn't afraid to show her his anxieties, his genuine fear she would become skittish and run. It lessened her own stress at needing to appear perfectly together. "Yes," she said, rattling the digits off to him as he typed them into his phone.

When he was finished, he shut the device and slid it back into his pocket. He smiled shyly at her. "If I text you tomorrow, well later today, you promise you'll answer?"

"Yes, Jughead," she said, letting a giggle escape now, as she reassured him. He grinned back and cupped her face with his free hand to kiss her tenderly one more time. When she finally pulled out of the embrace, she noticed the pale pink light of dawn streaking under the dark blue sky.

"Goodnight, Betts," he said, squeezing her dangling hand for a last graze of skin. He licked his lips as he looked at her once more, as if drinking in the aftertaste of her that remained stained there. She blushed. She liked the nickname. No one had ever called her that before and it felt special. Something secret just between the two of them.

"Goodnight Jug."