“If I had known you were going to be here, I would have put on a clean shirt and shaved and maybe worn some of that deodorant stuff,” I said, grinning wide.

She smiled that little, bashful smile of hers.

“You look great,” she said.

“So do you, Jules,” I said.

I watched her face angle toward the floor, but when she looked back up and found my eyes again, she had a pretty smile stretched across her face.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

I couldn’t help but just stare at her.

“I heard your song on the radio the other day,” she said.

I tried to hide my shy smile, as my eyes darted to the floor.

“Well, what have you been up to these days besides becoming famous?” she asked.

I laughed.

“If I’m famous, it doesn’t really feel any different,” I softly muttered, as if it were a secret.

“That’s probably because you were already used to it,” she said. “You’ve been famous here since I’ve known you.”

I laughed again. It had been awhile since I had really laughed. It felt good. And it felt good to be holding her hand. God, if this were all a dream, I’m beggin’ you, don’t wake me up. Just let me rest.

“Isn’t everybody famous in a small town?” I asked.

The sides of her mouth lifted into another pretty grin.

“I guess you’re right,” she said.

She was quiet for a moment. I listened to the words from the juke box as they hit my ears, and I closed my eyes and remembered back to the first night I had played her the same song. On the back of my eyelids, I saw her green eyes lit up by the fire’s flames and her wide smile tempting me to kiss her.

But suddenly, the sound of her voice forced my eyelids open again, and the image was lost.

“How’s work?” she asked.

I took a second before I answered her.

“It’s been good,” I said. “I worked the last couple of days. It’s good to be back — a little break from traveling. Though, I’m not complaining.”

“I know,” she said, smiling into my shoulder.

“So, you like it?” she asked.

“Like…?” I repeated.

“The lights, the fans, the entertaining?” she continued. “You like it, right?”

“Oh, that,” I said, nodding my head. “I like parts of it. I like playing the guitar and that sometimes people get the words you’re singing — makes ‘em smile, you know?”

She nodded her head.

“Now, the lights, on the other hand,” I continued, “I could do without them. They’re bright, and they’re hot and just unnecessary.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. She just stared at me with those temptress eyes of hers.

“I told you so,” she said, finally. “Well, minus the lights, I knew you’d like it.”

“You were just itchin’ to say that, weren’t you?” I asked her.

“Maybe,” she confessed.

A smile started to carve its way up my face and then stopped.

“You never liked the firefighting idea, did you?” I asked.

“What?” she replied.

She looked surprised.

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

“I don’t think,” I whispered near her ear. “I know, Jules.”

She stared into my eyes. I watched her pupils dance back and forth as if they were searching for something.

“Will, you had to have picked the most dangerous career,” she eventually said. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled, but I was sincerely happy for you.”

“I know. I know,” I said, starting to laugh.

“And Will, I would have done anything to make you happy,” she said, catching me off guard. “I still would.”

My smile somewhat faded, and my feet grew heavy on the floor. I had just now noticed that there was a different song coming from the juke box, and I locked my eyes on hers as I moved my hand up the small of her back, forcing her an inch closer to my body. She seemed to notice but didn’t stop me.

“I mean, we were best friends, Will,” she continued.

“Are best friends, Jules,” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“Jules, we are best friends,” I said again.

She paused but then slowly nodded her head.

“Are,” she said, smiling up at me.

She rested her head on my shoulder then, and I squeezed her hand in mine. Her hand was soft and warm and perfect. And I couldn’t believe I hadn’t told her yet. God, how many years had it been, and I hadn’t told her that I loved her, still love her — that I would quit fighting fires for her, that I would do anything for her?

“Jules,” I blurted out, causing her to lift her head from my chest. “I’ve, uh, been doing some thinking, and I…”

I reached for her other hand and cradled it in my own. Then, I closed my eyes for a moment, lowered my head and took a deep breath as I ran my thumb in a gentle motion over the tops of her fingers. But after several seconds, something stopped me. It was hard and jagged. I forced my eyes open, and the first thing I saw was a big, shiny object glaring back at me.

I swore my heart stopped right then. Which was her left? Which one was her left hand? It was the one the ring was on. I tried to tell myself I had her hands mixed up. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t a diamond ring — that it was only the grass ring I had given her years ago when I had asked her to marry ME someday. I closed my eyes again and gently squeezed her hand in mine.

“Jules, please tell me that this is just a pretty ring,” I pleaded, with every last bit of pleading I had in me.

I opened my eyes and caught another glimpse of the shiny object on her finger before I found her gaze. She was searching in my eyes for something. There was a word on her lips, but she remained silent for the longest moment of my life.

“It’s not just a ring, Will,” she eventually said.

Her voice was almost a whisper.

I swallowed hard and softly cleared my throat. I felt the pain rising into my chest. I tried to shove it back down.

“The doctor?” I managed to get out.

I was looking at the ring on her finger again.

“Yes,” I heard her say.

I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding too labored to resemble laughter.

“And I’m guessing this means you said yes?” I asked, trying my damnedest to smile.

She slowly nodded her head. There was a half-smile on her lips.

“Well, I guess congrats are in order then,” I said, swallowing hard again and still trying to muster up that smile that just might not exist anymore.

“Thanks,” she softly said.

My eyes fell onto her lips as she finished the word. Then, they returned to her eyes.

“Just tell me one thing, Jules,” I said.

My voice had a serious tone to it now.

“Is he the one?” I asked her.

She continued to stare into my eyes. Her expression didn’t change, and she didn’t look thrown off or insulted. I expected to have to explain myself — to tell her that I only had her best interest in mind, even if I believed fully that it was in her best interest to be with me.

“He’s good for me, Will,” she said, finally.

I held my gaze. If there were such a thing as an out-of-body experience, I was pretty sure that this would qualify as one. I took another deep breath and then slowly forced it out, still keeping my eyes locked in hers.

It was another long moment before my stare fell to the hard floor at our feet. I tried to say something but nothing came out the first time, so I tried again.

“Well, that’s what matters,” I whispered. “That he’s the one.”

I raised my eyes to the rest of the bar then for the first time since we had started dancing. And I watched as heads simultaneously whipped in the other direction, until no one was looking at us anymore. Did they all know? Had they all known that this dance would end with my heart shattered into tiny pieces on the floor?

I met Jules’s eyes again.

“It was really good to see you again,” I gently said.

She seemed to hesitate.

“It was nice to see you too,” she said.

Then, she swung her arms around my neck. It surprised me. I almost didn’t know what to do; but eventually, I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her body against mine. Then, I closed my eyes, breathed her in and held her. I held her for all the moments I had missed and for all the moments I was about to miss too, as if me holding her now would keep her from marrying that guy — would keep her in my arms forever. An image from the night she had come to see me in the hospital suddenly appeared in my mind, and I wished I could go back to that day.