“You broke my heart. How can I trust you?” He had called me the day before and arranged to meet. After a year and a half apart I was surprised to hear from him. Shocked would be a more appropriate word. Now here I was, in his kitchen, the heart of his home. Listening to him ask for a second chance.

“I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? I was stupid. I’ll say whatever you want to hear.” The look of anguish on his face told me more than his words could ever convey, but my heart still hesitated. He had smashed it into so many pieces it had taken months just to gather them into one pile, never mind putting them together again. Still, when I looked at him I melted.

I never meant for it to happen, but I fell for him. Hard. I tried to keep our relationship light and casual. We had fun, we raised hell, we laughed and we loved. But we always told ourselves we would stay free and clear. And still I fell. I never told him, until it was too late. When he left I was devastated. And he didn’t understand why. Really, I didn’t either.

Now, here he was, asking me for another chance. And I, not wishing to risk heartbreak, only wanted to turn and run. “Please, I’ll do anything if you’ll just give me another chance.” He walked towards me and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. My head and my heart were at odds, fighting a silent war he couldn’t possibly understand. He stood before me, mouth drawn, eyes cast down in defeat, waiting for my response. My heart pounded until I thought it would beat out of my chest. I grabbed his shirt, pulled him towards me and kissed him squarely on the mouth. His hands on my hips, pulling my body into his was the only response I needed.