“Don’t say goodbye,” she said, her voice cracking. “Just say ‘see you later.’”
Tiffany is twenty-six now. She lives in a small apartment in the city, works as a graphic designer, and drinks her coffee black. She’s had other loves—some good, some not—but none that felt like the edge of a cliff. She doesn’t think about Lucas Hale every day anymore. Just on certain Tuesdays. Or when she hears a specific song. Or when the air smells like honeysuckle and diesel. tiffany thompson teenagers in love
They spent their days at the lake, their legs tangled in the shallow water, making up stories about the clouds. They spent their nights parked in his rusty Ford Ranger at the overlook, the radio playing soft static between stations, kissing until their lips were numb. He wrote her poems on napkins. She made him a mixed CD titled Songs for Driving Nowhere . “Don’t say goodbye,” she said, her voice cracking
Lucas traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. “See you later, Tiffany Thompson.” She’s had other loves—some good, some not—but none
“You dropped this,” Lucas said.
“That’s not—” she started, but he cut her off.
“This is what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her hair.