1993 — Mystic Falls, Virginia

   She had kissed before, but none of those kisses felt as warm and as tingly as the simple kiss Stefan Salvatore had given her when he dropped her off at home. For the rest of the day, she had kept her lips to her fingers and her mind somewhere far away. The kiss was still in her mind, lingering, replaying over and over again. And then she wished she could turn back time and do it differently. Kiss him back. Maybe, say something instead of just standing there and being surprised. But, how couldn't she be surprised? She hadn't exactly expected Stefan to suddenly press his lips against hers.

   Florence's bedroom was painted a soft yellow macaroon colour that was neither too bright or too dim. Her brothers had painted it that colour days before she was born, a sort of present for the late-born Gilbert that was a sudden surprise to everyone. When she was eight, her brothers painted small beige coloured trees all over the walls. They thought it could be a great surprise for when she got back to school, and it was. She had loved the trees so much that she began to imagine a big forest in her room and jumped on the bed while her brothers laughed.

   When she was eleven, and she was sad, she drew a small bunny the jumped from branch to branch. The bunny was inspired by the small doll Grayson had given her when she was only a few days old, a stuffed toy he had bought with the money he had saved over the summer. She had carried that doll everywhere when she was younger. Now, that stuffed doll rested on the top ahelf of her bookshelf.

   When she was fourteen, the walls began to get covered with posters of TV shows, boys, and band posters. Now, her walls were covered in a big poster of Mark-Paul Gosselaar as Zach Morris from Saved by the Bell and a rather large poster of a sultry looking Leonardo DiCaprio, and a rather handsome Johnny Depp with long hair.

   Her bookshelf was covered with books and knick knacks she had gotten over the years. The books were an array from children's book, photography books, and those she had gotten over the years in small shops so she could stop the boredom of whatever trip they were on. She had read a few of them, but the majority of them were unread or drawn in.

   To the corner by the window was a seat covered in numerous pillows and a fuzzy blanket. Her bed was in the centre of the room, with brightly white covers that were washed once a week. Her dresser had numerous things on top: perfumes, a hairbrush, jewellery, an old strawberry jam jar that had money inside, several scented candles, and a glass vase with fresh gardenias and jasmines. Her mother loved to decorate the house with fresh flowers, a fresh smell in every single corner of the Gilbert home.

   Her bedside table, white like every other piece of furniture in her room, had a turntable her brother had bought some time in 80's and had no use for it now. There was a small basket of vinyl underneath her bed with all the albums she had bought throughout the years. The current one that was playing was one of the many Duke Ellington albums that Grayson had given to her.

   Out of both of her brothers, she was closest to Grayson, the eldest.

   "Florence!" her mother yelled from downstairs. "Come down here, please!"

   Florence closed the magazine she was reading and stood up from the floor. As she made her way downstairs, she heard several voices. Her mother's and two others that she recognised. By the front door stood Zach Salvatore, Gail, and behind them Stefan. Zach and Gail spoke to her mother, both with big grins on their lips.

   "There you are," Mrs. Gilbert said as she laid her hands on her waist. "Zach and Gail are here for dinner."

   "For dinner?" Florence questioned, raising a brow. "Um, okay, I guess."

   "Stefan, dear, you can go upstairs with Florence." Mrs. Gilbert looked at him with a big grin and pointed up stairs. "Door stays open, though."

   Florence's cheeks reddened with her mother words. She opened and closed her mouth to say something in return, but nothing came out. "Yeah," she finally said, giving her mother a soft nod and earning chuckled from the others. She turned to Stefan. He was giving her a small smile, slightly crooked to the right. When their eyes caught each other, his smile widened. 

   "How are you, Florence?" Zach asked. His words brought her away from Stefan's smile.

   "What?" she asked, blinking several times. It was as if she hadn't quite heard him.

   "How are you?" he repeated, his smile falling.

   "Oh, I'm fine," she said with a nod. She scratched her arms and shrugged her shoulders.

   "How's practise going?" Gale asked, raising a brow. 

   "Fine." Florence didn't know how to tell her that it was the same as usual—swimming for long extents of time, continuously for days. Swimming, for her, has gotten boring.

   "I heard your still looking at colleges," Zach continued. "Although Whitmore is good, the University of Texas in Austin has a great swimming program."

   She nodded. "I'll look into it," she said, hoping to hide the annoyed tone in her voice. She turned to Stefan and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm watching a movie, want to come up?"

   "Uh, yeah," Stefan nodded.

   "Shoes off!" Mrs. Gilbert said before he could even take his first step on the stairs. "It's a rule in this house."

   "Oh, er, okay." Stefan took off his shoes and set them neatly on the space by the stairs where the rest of the shoes were. He sent Mrs. Gilbert a smile and climbed on the stairs, raising a brow with a sarcastic smile when his eyes collided with Florence's.

   "Remember to keep your door open," Mrs. Gilbert called as they made their way up stairs.

   Once inside her room, Florence turned to Stefan with wide eyes and an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry about my mom," she said as she scratched her arm. "She's... She's always like that."

   He let out a laugh and shook his head. "It's nothing," he said. "I think all mothers are like that..." He trailed off and slowly turned to the bedside table where the turntable sat. He glanced back at her and pointed at the table with his thumb. "Is that Duke Ellington?"

   "Yeah," she nodded, walking over to pick up the album cover behind the turntable. "I think Grayson was a big fan of his." She glanced at the basket filled with vinyl by the bedside table, numerous albums in numerous colours of numerous genres.

   Stefan nodded as he listened to the soft song that moved around the room. It was soft and gentle, piano keys dancing all around the room. He let out a soft laugh and nodded. "I, uh, I used to dance to this."

   "To this?" Florence questioned, raising a brow. "Duke Ellington?"

   "No, uh, jazz," he said with another nod. "Although it was during a dark time in my life, the music was always great." He closed his eyes and listened in, a small smile spreading around his lips.

   Florence stared at him, her heart acting all silly. Her heart accelerated, her breath got caught in her throat, and she felt as if she needed help to just breath. But, that very image of Stefan standing in front of her, eyes closed, music putting him in a trance—it was something out one of those teen movies she had seen with Cher.

   "Grayson gave me all of the albums," she said, wanting to look away from him. She looked down at basket. "I think he was a big fan of jazz in the 80's."

   "That's strange," Stefan chuckled. "The eighties were rock 'n roll, and your brother was into jazz?"

   She shrugged her shoulders. "He's weird," she said. 

   Out of nowhere, Stefan pushed out his hand in her direction. "Want to dance?" he asked, a soft smile on his lips.

   "I don't dance," she said as she took a step back.

   "Come on, Florence," he chuckled, taking a step closer. "It's easy." He took her hand and laid it on his shoulder. "You put your hand here. My hand goes here." He laid his hand on her waist, his fingers carefully touching her. She felt herself shiver, then her cheeks become more red than they already were. "And, then, you just slowly move." He began to sway side to side, slowly, eyes locked down at hers.

   "It's a waltz," she noted. She looked away from his eyes, as the burning stare made her heart beat quite fast.

   "It's slow dancing to jazz," he said with a chuckle as he shook his head. "I don't think you can dance upbeat to this." 

   Florence, slowly, looked up at his eyes. His eyes were green, like a glimmering emerald, sparkling in the light of the lamp that was turned on. In the small darkness of her room, they appeared a dark green that reminded her of summer grass that has been perfectly watered. She remembered looking at them in the car, when the sun was hitting his face, and that day his eyes were translucent. With the sun shinning straight at them, his eyes held a slight speck of honey.

    "Do you dance with every girl you meet?" she asked, her voice soft and tender.

   "No," he said. He pushed her back and spun her, then pulled her back in and laid his hand on the small of her back. "I only dance with a few." His voice was soft, gentle, almost like a whisper. The gentle hold of his hand at the small of her back rose up her hand, gentle fingers up her arm, slowly up her neck, until it stopped. His thumb was on her cheek, his middle finger right at her jaw, and the rest coldly on her neck.

   "And, I'm one of those few?" she asked. At that moment, she felt stupid for even asking that. She wanted to kick herself.

   "Yeah," he breathed. He came closer, lips just inches away. 

   A flash around the room made the pair push themselves away from each other. Florence turned to the door to see her mother standing there, a disposable camera in her hands and a big grin on her lips. Besides her stood Gail, who also had a big grin.

   "Ooh, that's going in the scrapbook!" Mrs. Gilbert gushed. 

   "Oh, get me a copy!" Gail said.

   "Oh my god!" Florence said, pressing fingers to her temples. "Mom, what the hell?!"

   "It was an adorable moment, Florence," her mother answered. "Some of those moments deserve to be everlasting."

   "Oh my god!" Florence groaned. 

   "I, uh..." Stefan scratched the back of his head, unsure on what to do.

   "You're lucky it wasn't your father that came up here," Mrs. Gilbert continued. She turned to Gail. "So much for keeping the door open. Anyway, the food will be ready in ten minutes. Come downstairs." She walked away, Gail behind her. 

   "Oh my god..." uttered Florence, still in shock. "I can't... I don't... I have no..." She pressed her fingers to her lips and stared at the empty doorway. 

   "Is she usually like this?" Stefan asked.

   "Yeah," she nodded, trying to get her heartbeat to calm down. "I don't... Oh my god, I'm sorry."

   He let out a soft laugh and shook his head. "It's, uh, nothing. After all, your door is open." He took a step back and scratched the back of his head. "To be honest, I didn't notice your room. It's nice."

   "Um, thanks." She scratched her arm and looked everywhere except him. She stared at the dancing curtains of her window, the pale white moving gently with the breeze that came in. Then, she turned to the bookcase. She looked at anything and everything, except Stefan.

   "We better go downstairs," she said. "Dinner might be ready."

   "They're probably talking about us," Stefan chuckled. 

   "Probably," she nodded.

   Mrs. Gilbert had cooked a grand meal for everyone: crispy Parmesan garlic chicken with broccoli, salad, and a creamy pasta that tasted like avocado and spinach. Her mother had gone all out, even making her famous raspberry cheesecake. Florence in front of Stefan, by her mother. Her father stood in the head of the table, eyes scanning around the table with a soft smile. He spoke to Zach, who set besides him, about a meeting the town council was to have in a few days. They spoke about things she wasn't paying attention to. Her eyes glanced from her food to Stefan, who also did the same.

   Just like the first—and only time—he kissed her, there was something running through her that made her heart act all silly and her fingers to tingle. She could still feel his hands on her cheek, how they slowly moved from her waist upwards. She could feel his breath touching her lips, just inches apart, just inches until he actually kissed her once again. She couldn't help but wonder how it would have felt to kiss him at that moment. Would the kiss be longer? Would it make her heart beat wilder than it already was? Would she kiss back?