1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   Florence Louisa Gilbert felt most calm surrounded by water, as strange as that was. Most would be terrified of diving deep, staying there with weights tied on her legs so she wouldn't drift up, and counting the seconds until she needed to untie the weights and swim to the surface. It was those moments that Florence felt in control of her own life, in control of her own destiny. As she held her breath there were no nagging parents, one that cared too much and the other that seemed to care too little. There were no annoying brothers, one that was always there and the other that wanted to be furthest from Mystic Falls.

   The youngest Gilbert swam towards the edge of the pool, the goggles making her vision appear different. Once she had a hand on the edge, she immediately took off her goggles and her swimming cap. She tapped her fingers against the tiles and bit the corner of her lip, her mind going a thousand miles an hour. Swimming, her parents, Grayson and Miranda, little Elena, Cher and Charles and Bob, Damon Salvatore's mysterious appearance, and then the boy that somehow consumed her thoughts during the strangest moments. 

   Sometimes, while trying to do her English reading packet—because Miss Barnes didn't have anything better to do than assign them homework over the summer—she found herself thinking of the boy with summer in his eyes and spring in his smile. In the most strangest of moments did her mind suddenly focus on him instead of her task. Sometimes, she wondered how would it feel like to run her hands through his hair, or hold his hand, or kiss him.

   "Stop that," she whispered as she pushed herself up to the edge. "Stop thinking about that."

   "Stop thinking about what?"

   Florence jumped and turned, seeing Stefan leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a leg propped over the other. At the sight of him, her heart acted all silly. "Stefan!" she gasped, a smile forming around her lips. "What, uh, are you doing here?" She stood and ran a hand through her hair, trying to stop her heart from pushing its way out of her chest.

   His brows furrowed. "I told you I was going to pick you up, remember?"

   "It's already twelve?" She looked over at the clock over the door, but remembered that it was stuck on a permanent 9:42.

   "Almost," Stefan said. "I, uh, came a bit early. Thought you already finished practising, but apparently you needed to tell yourself to stop." He let out a chuckle. 

   Florence's cheeks reddened at his words. She couldn't tell him that she had to tell herself to stop thinking about him, not about swimming. So, she let out a small laugh and scratched her arm. "Actually, I've been practising since eight, so I think it's a good time to stop." She grabbed her bag from the floor and looked at him. "Do you mind waiting for me outside?"

    As she changed, she couldn't help but continue to think about him and how they would practice. No, she couldn't help but think about the play Cher brought her to, the play she got the lead role for. She was to be Juliet in Mr. Marlowe's rendition of Romeo and Juliet, which made her stomach do all kinds of flips. Her brother managed to snag the role of the patriarch of House Capulet, while Miranda was the matriarch. It appeared that her whole family wanted to be part of the summer play, which made Florence feel a bit strange. But, what made her feel the strangest of all was Stefan Salvatore.

   Florence Gilbert had her fair share of kisses, and a boyfriend, but none of them made her feel the way Stefan Salvatore made her feel with just a simple smile. 

   The young Gilbert remembered the words of her mother, about how there would be three loves in her life. The first love would be an idealistic love, the one that appear like the fairytales she read as a child. The second was a hard love, the one that teaches lessons about who she was. That one was the kind of love that hurt. 

   The third was a love no one would ever see coming, the one that looks all wrong and destroys any lingering ideals one clung to about what love is supposed to be. That third love is the one where she would connect with someone, and it would just fit—no ideal expectations or pressure.

   Florence Gilbert knew that Stefan Salvatore was some kind of love to her, she just wondered which one was he.

   "Thanks for waiting," she said as she walked out of the building. She had tried to tie her hair back as neatly as possible, but her curls seemed to have a mind of their own and decided to spring everywhere. 

   "It was nothing," Stefan said with a smile, pushing himself away from the car. "So, where do you wanna go, to our diner?"

   Our. It was one word, plural, two of them. It made her chest act all silly, her stomach tighten, and her fingers play with themselves. 

   "That sounds nice," she said with a soft smile, nodding. "I hope you brought your script, because I'm not sharing mine." She gave him a grin as she got in his car. Her stomach was doing flips, her heart was wildly beating, and the ever growing smile on her lips seemed to be glued there. She bit the corner of her lip and played with her finger, her eyes focusing on the front of the road instead of the boy driving.

   The diner was the same as it always was, half empty with truckers being the only costumers. Allison, the waitress that always got their order, welcomed them with a big grin. As soon as they sat down on their booth by the corner, she brought them two strawberry lemonades, their own special drink. With her, they never had to say their order, since she knew it by heart.

   "Why can't I use your script?" Stefan asked with a teasing smile. 

   Florence shrugged her shoulders. "Because you also have one," she smiled. The truth was that her script was covered in pink highlighter, little doodles drawn on every page, and maybe an S here and there. He didn't need to know of either of those things.

   "That's not a great excuse," he chuckled, shaking his head. 

   She shrugged her shoulders once again. "It's a fantastic one," she said. 

   Stefan raised his hands as if he were defending himself. "That's fine," he said. "I know Romeo and Juliet by heart, so I'll still do better than you."

   "You're so lame," she giggled, shaking her head. "Let's see how well you know it, then. I'll say the line, you respond, and I'll give you a tally mark every time you get one right." At the back of her script she wrote their names, underlined them, and split them up with a line. She began to flip through the pages, going through each part that she had yet to memorise. The play was the weekend after the Fourth of July, and that meant that she needed to memorise it in less than two weeks. 

   After flipping through the pages, she found a part she wanted to read. She smiled and glanced at him before looking back down at the page. "So smile the heavens upon this holy act," she began to read. "That after hours with sorrow chide upon us not!"

   Stefan stared at her with a soft smile. Hands on the table. Summer in his eyes. He leaned forward a bit, his eyes still on hers. "Amen, amen," he began, softly. "But come what sorrow can. It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, that one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words then love-devouring death do what he dare. It is enough I may but call her mine."

   Florence stared at him for moments on end, admiring him, drinking him in as if she were dehydrated. He was just quoting words from a famous play, but he stared at her as he said them, and her heartbeat accelerated. She bit the bottom corner of her lip, wondering if he could heart her heart, or her thoughts. She swallowed hard and broke the stare by looking back down to her paper. "Okay, um, that... That was an easy one," she said. "That's one of Romeo's line, so of course you'll know it."

   Stefan let out a chuckle and shook his head. "I still knew it by memory."

   "It's Romeo's line," she repeated with a slight pout, "of course you'll know it."

   "Okay," he nodded. "Give me another one."

   Once again, she began to look through her script. Pink highlighted lines, doodles in the corners, a small S + F in a heart that she had written unconsciously. She quickly flipped through that page and hoped he didn't see the blue lettering. Glancing from her page to him, she swallowed and pointed down at the page. "I hope you don't know this one," she muttered with a small smile. "Oh, brother Montague, give me thy hand. This is my daughter's jointure, for no more can I demand."

   Stefan stared at her for several seconds, nodding. "But I can give thee more," he began, his tone amused. "For I will raise her statue in pure gold; that while Verona by that name is known, there shall no figure at such rate be set as that of true and faithful Juliet."

   "As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie," she responded with defeat. "Poor sacrifices of our enmity!" She let out a sigh and let her pen fall on top of the script. "How is that you know it that well, huh?"

   "I have a good memory," he said as he shrugged his shoulders. He leaned his arms on the table and gave her a dazzling smile, one that caused her heart to act all silly. 

   "Does your brother know it?" she suddenly asked. It wasn't that she was seriously curious, but because she remembered how he quoted the last two sentences to her. Romeo and Juliet, a story of woe, the irony between her and Stefan—if it would have the same ending.

   Stefan's expression changed at that moment. "What?" He stood straighter. "Florence, did he say something to you?"

   "What?" She blinked several times and scratched her head. "He wondered out loud if we would end up the same as Romeo and Juliet."

   Stefan's face darkened. "Don't believe anything he says," he said with a nod, a small smile appearing on his lips. "We won't end like them."

   "Really?" The word escaped her mouth out of nowhere, suddenly, as if she had been grasping to them for a while. 

   "I promise," he said, softly, as if the word itself was an unbreakable promise. He reached over the table and grabbed her hand, a gentle squeeze making her heart go thundering. She could feel it right at her throat, her stomach making her feel as if she needed to throw up at any moment. 

   It was a simple moment like that when Florence Gilbert felt that there should have been music. Something that was played in a romantic scene in a movie, maybe something by Joy Division. Something fun by Billy Idol or Michael Jackson. Something sad like With or Without You by U2. She wondered how could she feel all silly and liberated while holding his hand, as if it was mean to be. From his hand, she looked up at his face, and then she smiled. 

   "Okay," she breathed, pulling her hand away from his hold. "We need to practice, Stefan. You know it all, I only know a few of my lines; from the beginning to I look to like, if looking liking move."

   Stefan let out a laugh and shook his head. "It's easy," he said. "Read it, over and over again."

   "Like I haven't tried that already," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

   "With someone," he finished. "Read it out loud with someone, that way you'll remember it perfectly." He glanced down at the script, which she tried to hide with her hands on top of it. "You've had this on your hand for all the rehearsals."

   "And I'll have it until opening night," Florence smiled innocently. "Maybe for the rest of the shows. No, not maybe. It's obvious that I will."

   "Have you tried reading it to yourself in front of the mirror?"

   She nodded. 

   "Wow, you have a terrible memory," he laughed.

   Florence made a face, but laughed along with him. "No," she said as she shook her head. "I just... This just makes me nervous, Stefan. If it makes me nervous, I won't be able to remember it."

   "There's nothing to be nervous about."

   She rolled her eyes and made a face. "Of course not. It's not like the whole town is going, or my parents, or my brother plays my dad in the play." She looked away from the boy and out the window. 

   Or that you play Romeo, she thought.

   "I'll help you," he said, smiling. "I promise you that by the fourth, you'll have the whole thing memorised."

   As they ate, they practised. She resided her lines between bites, leaving a small mark besides the line she had memorised. Stefan answered back from memory, his eyes looking straight at her with a small smile. It was one of the reasons why she couldn't memorise her lines, because he kept looking at her, smiling at her, and that made her feel all tingly and nervous and as if her heart would escape her chest at any moment. 

   After a few hours, they were back in the car, driving back to Mystic Falls and the Gilbert residence. Florence's bike rested in the back seat, along with her bag and her sweater. Florence sat in the passengers seat, legs crossed, script on her lap, finger to her mouth, thoughts on Stefan.

   "I've got you something," Stefan suddenly said.

   She looked up from her scrip and straight at him. "What?" He was looking at the road, not her, but she still felt anxious.

   "I've got you something," he repeated, quickly glancing at her. "Open the glove compartment."

   Florence gently reached towards the compartment, and opened it. Old receipts, a few yellowing pieces of papers, gum, and several wrapped forks. Between all those things was a small black box. "Okay..." She didn't know whether she should grab the gum or the black box.

   "The black box," Stefan said.

   She grabbed the box and closed the compartment. With a deep breath, she glanced over at him. "Can I open it?"

   He laughed. It was the king of laugh that made her heart take a leap. He said, "Yes."

   With slow and half-trembling fingers, Florence opened the black box. Inside was a small silver necklace decorated in a floral motif and hanging from delicate silver chain. She stared at it with her mouth open, fingers trembling, heart at her throat. "Stefan, what's this?"

   "A gift," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "I wanted you to have it."

   "I can't take this," she said as she closed the box. 

   "If you think I spent money on it, I didn't," he smiled. "Florence, it's something I've had forever. I never wanted to, uh, give it to anyone until now. I'd very much like it if you'd wear it for me, Flor." He quickly glanced at her, then looked back at the road. "For good luck."

   With a bright smile, Florence put on the necklace. There was a scent there, fresh, like something she had smelt before. "What's that smell?" she asked, glancing back at him. "Rose? Lavender?"

   "No, it's a herb. It's nice, huh?"

   She nodded, smile wide and fingers gently tracing the etched necklace. "I love it..."