The Longest Five Years (Completed)

Luke

Reagan's voice floats across the patio over the sweet sounds of her acoustic guitar. Avoiding eye contact would be easiest, but I can't manage to look away from her for very long. I want to know if she sees me, too.

She's up there in a pair of dark, skinny jeans and a cream shawl. There's a chill in the air, but it's still warm enough to perform outside comfortably. Her hair is in a braid over one shoulder with loose pieces falling around her face. She looks soulful. She's gorgeous, and it hurts. I tug my baseball cap lower on my head, hoping to hide my eyes.

I come here all the time for coffee and good company. On warm summer nights, this place turns into a mini-concert venue. I've heard plenty of good bands here over the years, and some of them have even gone on to do bigger better things.

I just had no idea she was going to play here, or anyone, in public. At least not in the States.

I take another sip of my coffee, trying not to read into her lyrics, but it all just sounds like heartache and regret, and I know it's about us. 

Seven years ago

"You're a devil...you're a devil in disguise..." her voice is strong and sweet as she sits cross-legged on my bed, strumming her guitar. Her hair is down, wavy and wild; her eyes are warm and deliberate as they scan across me. This is harder than I thought it would be.

When she told she planned on stopping by this weekend, I didn't picture this. I thought Erin would come over for at least a little while. I thought Reagan would drop off some goofy gift and we'd eat dinner and laugh and she'd head home well before 8. Now it's 11pm. We're alone, and this is exactly the type of situation I've done a good job of avoiding for the past year, yet I can't take my eyes off her. I can't stop smiling.

In an attempt to clear my head, I offered to make a run to her favorite restaurant near campus. She loves burgers more than anyone I know. I didn't expect to walk into this.

"You're no angel...did that burger come with fries?" Her eyes widen and she lets out a laugh when she sees my smirk. I'm thankful for the tear in tension, because holy shit, I'm in trouble. She sets her guitar down on the bed and scoots down to the floor, where she sits cross-legged in front of me, so close our knees are touching. Her jeans are torn, and all I can feel is her warmth.

"No seriously. Did you get fries? I'm starving..." she smiles as she reaches over to my shake and takes a big sip. Only you, Reagan.

"I did," I smirk. "And I got you your own burger too, so stop stealing all of mine, huh?" I say, reaching into the brown sack and pulling out her favorite sandwich.

"You're seriously the best, Luke," she says happily, planting a small kiss on my cheek. It's friendly, but it feels like so much more.

"Is that why you came over? For me to feed you? Sick of homemade meals? Enjoy them while you can...this whole making my own dinner thing sucks," I tease, grabbing the shake back, but my eyes catch on the tiny stud through her lip, and I'm mesmerized. How did I not see it before?

"What? Is there milkshake all over my face or something?" She frowns, swiping at the corners of her mouth. I let out a sign and shake my head. "Oh, this? It's bad ass, right?" she touches the stud.

It's something. That's for sure. "Your mom let you get that?"

She bites her lip and the stud sparkles. Suddenly I need space. Air. I need Reagan.

"Come on, she's contemporary. Besides, I turn 18 in two weeks and I'd do it anyway. This way she was there to oversee, as she put it," She says, beaming. "Didn't even hurt."