I have a deep urge to beg the photographer to send me the photos she took of Hawthorne and me, but before I can embarrass myself, Hawthorne is looking down at me.

Those eyes burn into mine and I know he has been waiting for me all this time.

Which makes me feel even shittier than I already do.

“God I miss you,” he says, his voice sweeter than my name, his words echoing the beat of my heart.

I pull in my bottom lip, not trusting myself to speak. There is so much to say. Words I’ve held back for an entire year, not wanting to email or write them in a letter. They are words I need to say face to face.

I knew this was coming. I moved back to town a week ago, living in a motel until I figure out what’s next.

“It’s time for the first dance!” the DJ calls and Laura reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight.

“I hope I don’t mess this up,” she says, and I turn away from Hawthorne, smiling at my bright-eyed bestie.

“You got this. Living On A Prayer is your jam, Laura,” I tell her with a laugh. Laura and Mark have been taking dance lessons for three months in preparation for this.

“Come watch,” she says as her husband leads her inside to the dance floor, her beautiful gown bustled so she doesn’t trip.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I tell her, following. Hawthorne follows too, and we take our seats at the table designated for the wedding party, sitting side by side.

The music starts, and everyone starts clapping and laughing as Mark and Laura begin their routine. It’s adorable and Pinterest-worthy and exactly them.

Hawthorne and I were never like those two. They are wide smiles and big laughs. We were slow dances to our favorite record and late night confessions in a blanket fort built for two and early mornings on the rooftop, watching the sunrise.

Why did I let the sun set on what we had?

He catches my eye and I know he is remembering too. All of it.

My unraveling. Him putting me back together. The mess I was. The woman I was scared to become.

His. Forever.

Bon Jovi’s anthem ends and I watch as Laura is wrapped in her husband’s arms, as he dips her, her white dress flowing behind her. He clutches her thigh and everyone whoops and hollers as Mark leans down to kiss his bride.

Effortless and breezy, Mark swept into Laura’s life and they bought a house with a picket fence, they painted each room bright white. I’m not saying their love is simple, but it surely isn’t complicated.

“Dance with me,” Hawthorne says and he takes my hand. I spent the last year on the foothills of the Irish mountainside documenting rare wildflowers. But really I was finding myself.

I ended up back where I started.

I need to tell Hawthorne that; tell him everything. Tell him he was right and I was wrong. I don’t want to be defined by fear. And I won’t let a string of boyfriends who hurt me control my future. Not anymore.

But what if it’s too late?

The music starts, the first notes causing our eyes to meet. It’s our song.

“Did you ask them to play this?” I ask him as the song begins. It’s River by Leon Bridges and the lyrics take me back in time… Take me to your river, I wanna go.

For a moment, I want to go too. I don’t know if he’s moved on. What if I’m too late? My heart pounds as the song washes over me. I feel swept away. I should go.

But Hawthorne’s hand is on my waist, holding me in place--tethering me to this moment.

He shakes his head. “No.”

I look over Hawthorne’s shoulder and catch Laura’s eye. She shrugs, smiling, mouthing sorry! But I know she isn’t. She said I was a fool to leave him. She believed in us before I did. Playing this song was her idea. God, how I love that girl.

“I missed you too,” I tell him, my body against his, as if I am right where I belong.

“Mark says you’re back for a while?” Hawthorne tenses, and I know so much hinges on this.

Am I really here for good?

“There’s nowhere else I want to be,” I manage to say, the truth so plain to see. Hawthorne is my home. I just hope he kept the light on for me.

“Will you leave again?” he asks, his words laced with hurt. I hurt him.

He has no reason to trust me. He said forever and I said goodbye. He asked me to stay and I ran away.

He looks down at me, the music speaking our language, and our bodies have already memorized each move. We don’t need dance lessons; we have enough history to know what steps to take.

But it’s always been one step forward, three steps back.

I close my eyes. A single word could change my life.

“Never,” I whisper, our foreheads touching. I don’t want the song to end. I want Hawthorne to kiss me; I want him to feel what I feel.

But he doesn’t. The song finishes and he steps away and he looks at me as if seeing a ghost.

I don’t want to be a shadow of his past; I want to be his future.