Page 90 of Here We Go Again

“There’s never been anyone but you, Bec,” Theo finally says.

My breath catches in my throat.

But … no. He can’t mean what I think he means. He can’t be telling me that he’s never been with anyone else.

“What do you mean?” I ask, almost afraid to hear his answer.

He lifts his gaze to mine. “You already know that you were my first,” he says gently. “But you were also my last.”

There’s a raw vulnerability to Theo’s words that assures me he’s telling the truth. But it’s still hard for me to process. “But that … it’s been eight years.”

He lets out a little chuckle, sending tiny ripples across the top of the water. “I’m well aware. I’ve been on a lot of first dates, half as many second dates, even a few third or fourth dates. I’ve looked at a lot of women and wondered if she would finally be the one to break the spell. But it never happened. Every time I thought about taking a relationship to the next level, all I could think about was you.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I couldn’t do that to someone. It didn’t feel fair to let anyone think my heart was available when it’s always been yours.”

I squeeze Theo’s hand a little tighter and close my eyes, letting the waves of emotion roll through my body.

This is why he’s never wanted to talk about his relationship history.

Because there isn’t one. And he couldn’t tell me that without telling me why.

It’s almost too much to process. My skin is tingly, my heart is racing, my entire body is trembling. His confession almost feels too big—too much for me to hold.

There is no part of me that needed Theo to not have a dating history. My hesitation wasn’t truly rooted in jealousy, but fear. Fear that I wouldn’t measure up. That I might disappoint him. That I would let myself fall and wind up with a broken heart all over again.

But all this time—all these years—he’s been thinking of me.

And if I’m truly honest with myself, I’ve been thinking of him too. Mia was right when she said I chose Rory because he was safe. Because I didn’t want to fall for him. Not really.

I didn’t want to fall for anyone who wasn’t Theo.

I think I recognized our inevitability the moment I saw him standing in the parking garage, apology on his lips and heart in his hands. I was just too afraid to call it what it was. To admit that a part of me has always believed life would eventually lead me back to him.

“I know you’re scared, Bec,” Theo says. “And I get it. But⁠—”

“I’m not,” I say, cutting him off. I shift closer, moving so that I’m kneeling on the stair directly in front of him, my body wedged in between his knees. Cool water splashes against my flushed skin as I lift my hands to his face. “I’m not scared,” I say. “Not anymore.”

Then I lean forward and press my mouth to his.

For days, the tension has been building between us—our uncertainty melting into moments of almost that were all leading us here. Now that we’ve broken through, I cannot get enough of this man.

I am almost frantic with the need to touch him, to take him in, to anchor myself to him. I lift my hands to his chest, sliding my fingers over the smooth planes of muscle until his skin is alive with goosebumps.

Still, I get the sense that Theo will not be hurried. He kisses me slowly, patiently, one hand moving up to my face then sliding into my hair. His fingers press into my scalp, and for a moment, he pulls away, his forehead against mine as he takes several ragged breaths. Suddenly I feel the weight of this moment for him—the longing, the waiting, and I understand without words that he’s been holding back for a very long time.

And I’ve just given him permission to let go.

When his lips meet mine one more time, the kiss is different. Charged. Electric in a way that I’ve never experienced before. Theo tilts his head, deepening the kiss, exploring, tasting. When his tongue brushes against mine, he makes a sound low in his throat that undoes me completely, sending a shot of white-hot longing right to my center.

Theo was an excellent kisser when we were young. Patient, attentive, intentional. But this is far better than anything locked in my memories. There is nothing boyish or inexperienced about how he’s kissing me now. He’s owning my mouth like a man who knows exactly what he wants. But there is restraint here too—like he understands just as well as I do how much is at stake. Like he wants to protect whatever is blooming between us.

He slides a palm up the ridges of my spine to my nape, then tilts my head, exposing my neck. I’m tempted to cry out when he abandons my lips, but then he presses a kiss to the skin just under my earlobe and my complaint evaporates into the heavy night air.

His kisses continue, creating a trail down to my collarbone then across to my shoulder. My skin is on fire, each brush of his lips a current right to my heart.

“Theo?” I whisper on an exhale.

“Hmm?” he asks in between kisses.

“We should have done this sooner.”