Taking Tiffany by MK Harkins Page B

deep sleep, I felt the love we shared almost like it was yesterday. Had she moved on? Was she married? I’d guess she’d moved back to the south and lived the life she was born into. One where I hadn’t belonged.
    I enjoyed my four years at The University of Washington, but never more than I did on that particular day .
    “Oh, aren’t you a gentleman!” she said in the sweetest southern drawl I’d ever heard. God, she was beautiful. Tiny, blonde, and drenched—she stood under my favorite tree on campus, getting pelted by the rain. I’d run over in an attempt to shield her with my umbrella. It was too late, but, nevertheless, she looked up at me as if I were her savior. She took my breath away. Flawless skin, perfect nose, full, pink bow-shaped lips, and a dimple in her right cheek.
    I jumped up from the bed in attempt to snap out of it. It was bad when the recollections started to encroach on my waking hours. I thought they were locked up. Was it because I’d kissed Tiffany last night? Maybe. I’d enjoyed that kiss. A lot.
    I hadn’t wanted to think about a possible relationship until now. Something had unfurled within me, and I was powerless to stop it. A year . I’d held myself back for an entire year. Damn. All that effort to stay away from Tiffany; all that work undone in a few minutes’ time. That kiss undid me. I’d known instinctively it would happen if I touched her. Why was I so stupid?
    I knew the reason. It’d been the hurt look on Tiffany’s face. I couldn’t stand it. When I’d heard Fletcher’s poisonous words, I wanted to punch him. He couldn’t handle rejection, and Tiffany got caught in his line of fire. My hands formed into fists thinking about it. My choice had been to either knock Fletcher out or kiss Tiffany. I’d made the right decision, but a part of me felt like there was unfinished business.
           Tiffany could handle it, though. She always reminded me of the picture of strength and positivity. I smiled remembering the ALS research gala the month before when she put herself between two large, angry drunk men. Both were itching for a fight with their red faces, loud voices and tightened fists. Everyone in the crowd stayed frozen, waiting for the inevitable violence to begin.  I watched from the opposite end of the room as she left her table and placed herself between them, speaking animatedly while she poked her index finger on the chest of the first infuriated man, turned and did the same to the second. As if they received a dressing down by their mother, they peered down to the floor and shook their heads while she continued to speak, using both words and hands to convey her message. When they skulked off in opposite directions, she flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and returned to her seat as if it were an everyday event. She was brave, determined and resilient—and also funny and happy. Which made the sadness in her eyes last night unbearable.
    And I was pretty certain I was falling in love with her. Or maybe I already had . That’s why the dreams and memories of Savannah were hitting me with a vengeance. It was my subconscious warning me. You fool! You’ve been in love before and what did it give you? Pain and misery. Shut it down! Lock it up!
    Could I? Now that I’d had a taste—her sweetness, her warmth—would I be able to resist?  I grabbed a towel and headed to the shower. Hopefully, cold water would bring me to my senses.
    Two hours after a freezing shower, my skin still cold from the icy temperature, I realized I was no better. I turned the heat to full blast in my car and tried to warm up on the journey across town to visit Braydon and his new family in the hospital.
    After a few minutes of conversation, Jain asked me to fill her shift at Habitat Home.
    “Tiffany will be there.” She smiled innocently at me.
    Heart racing I replied with a nonchalant, “Oh?” Good one .
    Sitting next to Jain’s hospital bed, I held their new baby girl