Chapter 3 #2
We’ve kissed a dozen times now, but somehow each one feels like a surprise. A really, really good surprise. Like unwrapping your favorite candy only to find another piece hiding underneath.
Caden shifts, lips brushing the edge of my jaw. “You’re really kissable,” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” I ask, grinning. “I’ve been practicing.”
He lifts his head and squints at me. “With who?”
I laugh. “My hand.”
He snorts, burying his face in my shoulder to muffle the sound.
We’re so wrapped up in our bubble of warm skin and soft laughter that I don’t hear the front door until it slams shut. The sound jolts straight through me.
Then comes the unmistakable voice of my dad. “Theo? You home?”
Caden freezes. We both do. Like deer caught mid-make out.
I launch off the bed like I’ve been electrocuted, trying to smooth my tee and figure out how to make my flushed face look less like it’s been suction-cupped to my best friend’s for the last hour. Caden sits up, too, fixing his hoodie, raking a hand through his hair like that’s going to help.
I mouth, “Oh my God,” at him, and he mouths back, “Play it cool.”
Cool. Right. Totally cool.
Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve got a giant neon sign blinking above my head: MADE OUT WITH BEST FRIEND. WOULD DO IT AGAIN.
My dad’s voice travels up the stairs again. “Theo, can you come down for a second?”
Caden pats my back. “You got this,” he whispers like we’re heading onto a battlefield.
I glare at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” he admits, grinning way too smugly for someone who still has my lip balm on his mouth. Okay, technically it’s not mine, but I stole it from my sister because it makes my lips feel really soft.
I stumble out of my room, trying to pull myself together. By the time I get to the bottom of the stairs, I’m pretty sure I still look like a mess, but it’s the “best friend sleepover after prom” kind of mess, right? Not the “my tongue’s been in my bestie’s mouth” kind.
My dad’s in the kitchen sorting through the mail he’s ignored since Friday. “Hey, son,” he says, looking up. “Can you take the recycling out? Your mom filled the bin again.”
I blink. That’s it?
“Uh—yeah. Totally.”
I move toward the side door, my legs still jelly, when I hear footsteps behind me. Caden’s followed me downstairs, the absolute picture of calm. His face is neutral, polite smile in place, like he didn’t spend the last hour with his hand under my shirt.
“Hey, Mr. Brooks,” he says, grabbing a bag of cans without being asked.
My dad smiles. “Hey, Caden. You survive prom?”
“Barely.”
They laugh, and I want to crawl under the table and die.
We head out to the bins. Caden’s chill. Like, “we just kissed for the first time, but now we’re tossing recyclables” kind of chill. Meanwhile, my heart is breakdancing in my chest, and I’m positive I’m glowing like a radioactive peach.
We come back inside just in time for her to walk in. Amelia is fourteen, all attitude, and with a sixth sense for existing exactly when I want her not to.
She pauses at the bottom of the stairs and narrows her eyes at me. “What’s with your face?”
I freeze. “What?”
“You look weird.”
I fumble. “I don’t—this is just my face!”
Caden snorts behind me, and I shoot him a murderous glare.
Amelia tilts her head, suspicious. “You’re acting like you did something. Or someone.”
“I—Amelia!” I practically screech. “Go. Away.”
She smirks. “Oh my God, you’re so weird right now.”
My dad walks in. “Hey, Theo, have you finished your homework?”
“Uh-huh. Just working on it now. Gotta go!” I grab Caden’s arm and drag him back upstairs. We slam the door behind us and stand in my room, trying not to laugh.
“You are being weird,” Caden says, amusement all over his face.
“You don’t understand,” I say, pacing. “She has powers. She knows things.”
“She’s your little sister, not a psychic spy.”
“Same thing.”
He laughs and flops back onto my bed. Papers and notebooks are scattered everywhere, corners bent and pages sliding half off the comforter—leftovers from when we’d started kissing before I was finished.
He nudges a crushed worksheet out of the way with his elbow.
“Pretty sure this is not how you get an A.”
I groan and sink beside him. “Yeah, well, I need that A.” I smooth the nearest page, like that’ll undo the wrinkles. “It’s not just about grades. If I want to get out of here—really get out and make a difference—I can’t half-ass anything.”
He tilts his head, studying me. His smile softens. “That’s so you. Already thinking past this town, past high school. Most people can’t see past Friday night.”
I shrug, but there’s a little fire in my chest anyway.
He reaches out, hooking a finger through mine. “Well, you’re cute when you overthink.”
And just like that, the panic dissolves. My pulse slows. The smile comes back.
So yeah. My sister’s annoying, my dad’s recycling bins are a battlefield, and my essays are probably glowing with post-kiss crinkles, but Caden’s right here. Holding my hand like it’s easy. Like we’re already figuring this out.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.