Chapter 13 The Almost Kiss
the almost kiss [trope]
a time-honored rom-com ritual where two characters lean in, hearts pounding, lips dangerously close—only to be interrupted by a phone call or an oblivious best friend; carefully designed to keep audiences screaming
Someone’s in my house.
I freeze with the key inches away from the lock, and my pulse thunders in my ears, louder than the muffled chatter seeping through the door. I don’t need to be a detective to recognize the low, rumbling tones of two men talking—one voice sharp, almost mocking, the other deep and even.
Rafael.
Why is Rafael inside my house?
My key scrapes the lock as I turn it, the metallic click cutting through the silence that falls inside.
The first person I see is Rafael. He’s slouched against the foot of the couch, long legs bent, arms resting loosely on his knees.
The dim light from the window cuts across the black mesh of his sweater over the lean lines of his torso, and a couple of silver chains shift against the fabric as he turns.
Then I notice my brother sitting next to him.
“Ethan?”
His dark blond hair sticks up in uneven tufts, and he looks pale under the bruising around his eye—a purplish smear that still hasn’t fully healed. He waves but doesn’t take his eyes off the TV, gripping his controller tightly.
Rafael gets to his feet in one fluid push, the oversize sweater slouching off one shoulder slightly before he tugs it back up. “Hey. Welcome home.”
I’m so confused.
“Thank you. What”—my eyes move to the game console sitting on my TV bench—“is happening?”
“I used my key,” Ethan says simply.
Rafael heads to the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow with a tilt of his ringed fingers. After a moment of hesitation, I do, finding him filling a cup with coffee.
“I promised I’d check on him.” He adds two spoonfuls of sugar, then walks to the fridge and grabs the milk. “I did. Then I figured you’d be happy to see him, so I asked if he wanted to play something on my old console.” He adds just a touch of milk, then turns around and holds the cup out.
I take it, the warmth seeping into the palms of my hands. “Are you, uh”—what was that line he annotated for me?—“anticipating my needs even before I express them?”
He snickers. “I take it you liked my annotations?”
“Very much. And I wrote an episode for Passion & Pages, too.”
“You did?” He looks around, as if he’s searching for actual paper. “Well, can I read it?”
“No,” I blurt out. “I mean, maybe. Once Celeste approves it.”
“Which she will.”
I smile, grateful for his blind confidence. “Anyway, I need to thank you. For luring Ethan here, but also the book. I know it must have taken you a long time, and it was a really sweet thought.”
With his back leaning against the table, he smiles in that same charming, cocky way that always kicks the breath out of my chest. “As I said, I missed you. And I had plenty of free time.”
“Weren’t you working?”
“Yes. I get a lot of downtime, though.”
Downtime, huh? Every time he talks about his job, I feel more uneasy. There must be a reason he’s being so evasive about it. “Is it something illegal?”
He tilts his head in a silent question.
“Your job, I mean. You’re not a… drug lord or a… human trafficker. Right?”
He seems to fight a chuckle before he says, “No, I’m not a drug lord. Or a human trafficker.”
I feel relieved, though it doesn’t last as I realize drugs and trafficking aren’t the only occupations I wouldn’t get behind. Before I can press any further, a knock at the kitchen door has us turning around.
“Hey,” Ethan says, popping his head in. “I can just leave, you know?”
My back immediately stiffens. “What—no—why?”
He shrugs. “If the problem is that I’m here.”
“Of course that’s not the problem. I mean, there’s no problem.” Except that Rafael is evasive. “I just had a couple of things to discuss with Rafael.”
Focusing on him, Ethan points back at the living room. “Are you coming back? I can’t remember how to switch weapons.”
“L-one. I’ll be right there.” When Ethan heads back, Rafael squeezes my arm, hand lingering a beat too long. “I’ll get out of your hair before dinner so the two of you can talk.”
“Maybe you should stay.” I throw a glance at the sliver of light coming through the door. “He seems to like you much more than he likes me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” I grimace. “Please stay, okay? It’ll help make things less tense. Pizza’s on me.”
“Well, in that case.” He walks out of the kitchen, and I hear the two of them talking about games as I take out my phone.
I have a text from Celeste, and once I read the ominous “Did you do this?” I rush to open the link that follows. It’s Murders & Manuscripts’ subreddit, and it looks like someone just opened a new thread.
Did you guys notice?
I live in Wethersfield, next to Willowbrook, where the show is recorded.
I swear I’m not crazy, but… Read these news pieces and tell me they’re not exactly the plot of the last two books Scarlett discussed.
And they happened on the same nights the episodes aired?
??? What!! Someone please tell me I’m not seeing things.
I gasp, my heart immediately shooting into a frenzy. There are hundreds of comments already, people talking about how it can’t be a coincidence.
It’s out there.
And I know Celeste is pissed, but I for one can’t help the immediate sense of relief washing over me.
I’m not crazy. I was right.
Celeste
The police won’t be happy about this!!
“Well, maybe they should have listened the first time,” I mutter. I write back, swearing that I didn’t do it, then open the food-delivery app and order two family-size pizzas. Pepperoni was Ethan’s favorite back in the day. I hope it still is.
I listen to Rafael and Ethan laughing about whatever Ethan did last in the game. I can’t keep hiding out in here, but why do I have this sinking feeling that whatever I do or say will end up with Ethan being more alienated than ever?
I bite my lip and drink a sip of coffee.
I have to join them. Come on, Scarlett.
I enter the living room, and Rafael’s eyes meet mine. He grins—a strength-infusing expression—like he’s telling me I’ve got this.
“What are you guys playing?” I grab a cushion and settle next to Ethan on the floor.
Rafael hesitates, as if giving my brother space to answer. When he doesn’t, Rafael says, “GTA. Have you ever played?”
“Uh…” I check the screen. “I don’t think so.”
Ethan scoffs, then hands Rafael the controller with a glare. “I’m gonna grab a smoke.”
A smoke? He smokes?
“Oh, and we played GTA all the time when we were kids,” he says, his green eyes glaring at me before he opens the door, then slams it behind him.
My shoulders slump, and heat creeps up my face. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Rafael to stay for this. It’s embarrassing enough without an audience.
Did we really play this game? I can’t remember it. How can I not remember it?
“Come here.” Rafael tugs at my cushion, pulling me closer, then adjusts me between his thighs. Holding the controller in front of me, he shows me the buttons to the right. “This is to run. Jump. Fight.”
I cock a brow. “I’m not much of a fighter.”
“Okay. Then how about this?” He presses a few buttons until the character in the game hijacks a car. “This is the accelerator. Brakes. Control the direction with this one.”
I pout. What’s the point? It took less than a minute for Ethan to get pissed off at me.
“You know,” Rafael says, chin brushing my shoulder, “if you learn how to play, maybe you can invite him over when I’m not around, too.” When I twist around to look at him, he winks. “Huh? Try it out.”
“Fine.” I grab the controller, then speed up and stop, testing it out. I try again, crashing against the car in front of me until its taillight shatters. “Shit—sorry.”
“Insurance will cover that. Just keep going.”
I try again, nervously driving around the other car and entering traffic. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Wherever you want.”
I turn right but end up in a congested intersection. Settling behind a bus, I exhale. “All right. It’s not too bad.”
“What are you doing?”
“Hmm?”
“Keep going.”
I point at the TV. “The light’s red.”
“You’re playing Grand Theft Auto, Scarlett.”
“The theft has occurred already, Rafael. No need to cause another accident.”
He grumbles something, and when I look to the side for a second, I find him watching me. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?” I click my tongue. “You stare at me a little too much for nothing, Rafael.”
“You’re right.” He tucks some hair behind my ear. “Everything.”
“Everything?” I echo, dazed.
“Yes. Everything.”
I bite my lip, my gaze drifting from the cool gray of his eyes to the clean line of his nose with that distracting silver hoop, then settling on his mouth.
This is dangerous, what I’m feeling—letting it grow when I’m not sure he’s being completely honest with me.
But every moment with him, every glance, every touch, pulls me further in.
His lips are so close that it feels like they’re calling to mine. His breath hitches slightly, and the lightness in his stare dims just enough for me to know. This is it. He’s finally going to kiss me.
My heart beats faster as I move in a little more, waiting for him to close the distance, but the door opens, my brother watching us with barely contained disdain. “What’s happening?”
We quickly pull apart. “Your sister is embarrassing herself. I don’t think she should be allowed to play again.”
Ethan snorts. “The pizzas are here.”
“Oh. I got it.” Rafael stands and walks to the door. I’d argue, because I promised I’d pay, but Ethan comes to sit next to me, and when I hand him the controller, he throws a tight smile my way.
No way I’m leaving now.
“Wanna go rob a bank?”
I’m the cool sister. The cool sister he can play video games with. “Sure.”
He turns to the screen. “Cool. Let’s rob a bank.”
I turn to the screen. Cool. He said “Cool.”