But faced with Nico's presumably real feelings, for me, forced me to reexamine my affinity for unrequited love.

His love-or, rather, my knowledge of it-hung like a winter coat around my shoulders, tight around my neck, made me feel heavy all over. I still couldn't swallow. I kept attempting to swallow, but instead just half-swallowed.

Maybe I was coming down with something.

"I didn't know that she was going to do that," he said, breaking the silence.

"I know. I believe you," I said.

Staring recommenced.

My eyes drifted to his Adam's apple; I noted that he was trying to swallow and also seemed to be experiencing swallow fail.

Maybe we were both coming down with something.

"You kissed me," he said.

I pressed my lips into a line and rolled them between my teeth to keep from licking them.

I had kissed him. I glanced at the counter. I'd kissed him, and I really, really liked it. And, I wanted to kiss him again, often. I turned, tossed my head to the side, and therefore my loose hair over my shoulder. Leaning against the countertop I crossed my arms and bravely met his gaze.

"Yes. I did," I said.

His eyes moved over me, narrowed with palpable confused hopefulness. "Why did you do that?" Nico mimicked my stance-crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet apart.

"Because we were standing under the mistletoe."

He blinked, rocked backward on his feet. "No other reason?"

I considered lying. I considered telling the truth.

Lying would be easier, less messy, and not at all who I was anymore, at least not who I wanted to be. Telling the truth would likely cause one or both of us a measure of difficulty, ranging from awkward to painful.

But, hadn't I spent the last ten years becoming a person who embraced confrontation instead of running from it? Hadn't I passed advice to others, proffering the merits of problematic honesty over an easy path paved with avoidance and half-truths?

I wasn't a hypocrite-well, everyone is a hypocrite, but I was trying hard to be less of one.

I made my mind up, and I made one more attempt at swallowing. I succeeded.

Bolstered by my swallow success, I lifted my chin. "And I kissed you because I wanted to."

He blinked at me again, this time he rocked forward on his feet. "You wanted to?" I watched him try to swallow again, unsuccessfully. I made a mental note to check his lymph nodes. "Does this mean. . ." He sighed, glanced at the mural of Tuscany on the wall. "Did you think about what I said last night?"

I nodded. "Yes. I've thought about it. And I think you're wrong."

He stared at me. His eyebrows arched, suspended on his face. I witnessed the exact moment his expression changed from confusion to frustration. "Wrong? I'm wrong?"

"I think you just think that you're in-in love with me." I squeezed my eyes shut for a short moment, the words were difficult to say. "I think it's misplaced and you're confused and you think this way because you never got over your best friend's death and I'm the closest thing to Garrett."

He scoffed, frowned. Frustration morphed into something resembling fury. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"You don't believe me?"

"I just don't understand how it could be possible. I think you're misremembering. . . things-"

"I'm misremembering being in love with you since before I can remember?" His voice was a lethally low, as though it was a great burden to keep from shouting.

"Nico, come on. You were always so mean to me. You teased me every time I saw you."

"Yes, you're right of course. Boys never pick on girls they like."

"And it wasn't just teasing, it was mean teasing, hurtful teasing. You cut my hair, gave me the nickname Skinny Finney, told new students that I was a boy, pushed me into the boy's bathroom and-"

"Yes. I remember doing all of that." His words were an impatient whisper; he rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his index and middle finger.

"Do you understand how awful that was? How mean you were?"

His expression softened slightly, he took a step forward. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Then what were you doing? If you had this great big love for me then why did you bully me?"

He appeared to be genuinely pained. "I didn't bully you-" He released a tortured sigh. "I didn't mean it to be bullying. I was a kid who liked a girl and the girl wouldn't even give me the time of day."

"That makes no sense."

"You wouldn't talk to me unless I made you angry." His frustrated growl echoed against the mirror and tiles.

"I thought you hated me." This comment was said mostly to myself. Apparently I was feeling suddenly introspective.

"I never hated you, I never-" Nico closed the rest of the distance between us, his hands lifted to my shoulders then slid down my arms. He shook his head, his features were anguished. "I'm sorry. That's not true, I did hate you. I hated you because you wanted to be with Garrett instead of me and I wanted you so badly." His fingers flexed on my arms. "But I was a kid. I was a stupid kid."

"Nico, I. . ." My vision blurred, and I realized that tears were gathering in my eyes. "You make it sound like I chose Garrett over you. You're wrong. You're so wrong. Don't you understand? You were never an option."

Nico winced as though struck, his hands tightened on my arms as his eyes dimmed. "Why? Because you couldn't-because you can't-"

"Because of how you treated me. Because I never knew. I can honestly tell you I had absolutely no idea." My voice wavered and I cleared my throat. "God, you were so awful."

"I know, I know- I'm sorry." He shuffled closer, his eyes apologetic; he hesitated then pulled me against his chest. I didn't resist, and I allowed him to hold me. "I'm so sorry."

I blinked against the stinging moisture and just allowed myself to be held. One of his big palms petted my hair from the crown of my head to the middle of my back.

When I was certain I'd escaped the crying jungle of danger, I pushed against his chest. He released me from his embrace, but his hands loitered, still on my arms.

"This is nuts." I sniffed, glanced at him. "This is completely nuts!"

The corner of his mouth hitched, and his eyes moved over my face. "It's the truth."

I shook my head. "No, Nico." I licked my lips, still tasted him there, tasted our kiss. "Nico, you may have felt something for me once, but that was a long time ago. Eleven years ago. Believe me when I tell you that I'm not the same person." I shrugged out of his grip and stepped to the side. "I'm not the quiet, well behaved Elizabeth Finney that you remember."

"I don't remember you ever being well behaved."

I ignored him. "I'm different and you," I lifted my hand, motioned to his height, breadth, face, everything. "You are different."

He leaned his hip against the counter and sighed. "I hope I'm different. I used to be a complete dick."

I laughed, sniffled again, wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "The point is, my point is, you don't know anything about me." I shook my head. "You aren't still in love with me."

His gypsy eyes lost their twinkle in favor of scorching intensity; likewise, his expression shifted, became serious. "You don't get to say that or tell me what I feel. I was the one left behind."

His words made me grimace even though they were spoken matter-of-factly; they held no trace of accusation, just a statement of truth. I clutched my chest where his words pierced. "I know-"

"You don't know. You left."

"I don't know what to say."

"Nothing. There is nothing you can do about the decisions you made when you were a teenager except learn from them. Just like there is nothing I can do about the mistakes I made-the way I treated you, how I reacted after you left-except own it, apologize, and not make them again."

I eyed him warily, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer to my impending questions. "What do you mean? What did you do after I left?"

He exhaled a short, mirthless laugh. "You can guess. Typical Nico, impulsive: I picked fights; I failed out of high school; I moved to New York, moved in with Milo, and was completely self-destructive."

I wanted to comfort him-both the teenage Nico I'd abandoned and the man who stood in front of me now. Instead I clenched my hands into fists and mutely watched him.

"I can't be sorry about it." He said these words mostly to himself. "If you hadn't left I might still be the selfish prick I was before. I did a lot of stupid things, but I learned from them, I changed. I'm different now. And I know you're different now too."

I nodded, pressed my lips into a line and glanced at the counter. Nico and I might both be different, but it sounded like he'd changed for the better whereas I'd changed for the worse.

"But, Elizabeth, even though you've changed, I still know you. You're brilliant and you're-" He cleared his throat. "You're beautiful. You care about others, strangers, and you take care of them. You're still loyal and honest and generous."

"I'm not generous."

"You are generous. None of that has changed."

"Nico . . ."

"You're also stubborn and bossy and you lose your temper almost as fast as I do."

"Nico, no-" I shook my head, stared at a spot on the counter between us.

"You kissed me."

"Because you're insanely hot."

He smiled. "You think I'm insanely hot?"

My head lolled to the side, and I gave him my very best bitch, please scowl. "You know you're hot. You could've had any girl in high school. You used to be an underwear model. So don't pretend you don't know that you're alert level red."

His smile grew. "We should talk about this in greater detail. What about me, precisely, is alert level red?"

I shook my head, hit him on the shoulder. "Really, seriously, you don't know me. You wouldn't like me if you did. I'm spiteful and petty. I'm immature. I'm lazy."

"Everyone is." He shrugged.

"No. Listen to me." My frustration with his willful blindness was mounting, building itself into a skyscraper of aggravation. I needed him to understand without spilling too many specifics that the Elizabeth he thought he knew didn't exist anymore. Garrett's sweet, kind, pure, nave flower was a memory.

"The girl you knew, the girl who was with you that summer, she doesn't exist. Okay?" I glared at him through my eyebrows and pressed my hand to my chest. "The woman before you now is shallow, conceited, and selfish. I'm kind of a terrible person."

He looked like he was trying to contain laughter. "How so?"

"You'll just have to trust me on this."

"I'm not that trusting."

"Okay, then. You want to know . . ."

His smile was wide and clearly amused. He was adorable. My brain melted a little. I steadied myself to tell him; but, in that moment, looking into his eyes, faced with his smile, I couldn't continue. I didn't want him to know. The thought of him knowing the truth about me, that I was a user, felt like the worst thing in the world.

Therefore, the truth caught in my throat.

But it wouldn't be fair to him. Avoiding the truth would postpone the inevitable. Honesty. I needed to give him honesty. His eyes-those puppy dog, gypsy, soulful eyes-were going to continue to look at me with worshipful allegiance unless I was completely honest.

His eyes twinkled, his gaze caressed my features, and his admiration was practically tangible. It felt like an uninvited third person in the bathroom. When I didn't immediately continue he filled the silence. "You can't tell me that I don't know you. I see you. I see you better than you see yourself. And everything about you is beautiful."

His lovely words coming from his lovely mouth said with his lovely voice made my insides melt to mush.

Maybe just a little longer, a traitorous voice, that sounded nothing like me, pleaded from behind the curtain of my subconscious. The entreaty had the opposite of its intended effect.

I stood taller by straightening my back. Picked a make-believe piece of lint from my jeans, and cleared my throat. I would prove to him that he didn't know me at all.

"I use people."

His confident smile slipped. He frowned. "What?"

"I use men."

"What do you mean, you use men?"

I shrugged, but my heart was galloping, and I felt abruptly nauseous, "I use men for sex. I pick a guy, have sex with him, and when I'm done I toss him aside."

I know I sounded heartless, I know I sounded cold, but I did so purposefully. In order to save his heart he needed to understand that mine no longer functioned, that after losing my mom, after losing Garrett, I wasn't interested in loving or being loved by anyone. I endeavored to hurt him a little now because I refused to prolong his hope.

Nico straightened, re-crossed his arms over his chest. "Explain."

"Okay, then. I'll spell it out: I pretend to like a guy and use him for sex. When I get tired of having sex with him, and I always do, I stop returning his phone calls and blow him off." When I finished I noted that my stomach hurt.

Nico's eyes moved over me in plain assessment, his frown became more severe. "You haven't. . ." He shook his head. "When was the last time you dated someone you actually liked?"