Chapter 20
Taylor got her first kiss in seventh grade at one of her co-ed soccer club’s games.
She was under the bleachers, psyching herself up for the second half, when one of the strikers from the other team wandered over. He told her it was cool that she’d blocked his shots, and then he kissed her.
She abandoned the rest of the game and ran all the way to my house to tell me.
I will never forget her response when I asked her what it felt like. We’d spent most of our middle-school years hazarding guesses, and she was the first one to find out the truth.
She looked at me in abject horror and said, Like two tongues trying to thumb wrestle.
I gagged, and from that day forth, I was pretty much terrified of ever having to experience this for myself.
Even after Taylor had kissed other people, and had sworn that it was completely different when you had feelings for them and they knew what they were doing, I could never get that image out of my head.
Until now.
Because kissing Theo is nothing like that.
It feels like flying, and falling, and floating all at once.
It’s firecrackers everywhere under my skin, and phoenix and dragon wings setting the whole world on fire.
It’s snow in the middle of summer and pool weather on Christmas Day, and it’s nothing about the world making sense and that being exactly the way it should be.
His hands cradle my face like it’s a fragile, priceless thing. His skin is warm like a blanket just out of the dryer, and the calluses on his fingertips scratch so, so softly against my jaw.
At first, his lips barely brush mine, light wisps of contact as delicate as feathers. Then, slowly, patiently, expertly, the pressure deepens, and I feel his body angle more firmly against me.
His clean-laundry scent is everywhere, and he tastes like the bubble gum he was chewing at my house, and he feels like every bit of magic and wonder I’ve been afraid to believe in my whole life.
My heart is doing its damnedest to jailbreak out of my rib cage.
It takes a minute for thoughts to enter my head, and then everything goes haywire. I realize that my arms are dangling, lifeless, at my sides and I don’t know what to do with them. Cupping his cheeks seems awkward, but where is it okay for me to touch him?
I settle for resting my palms against his chest, but then I feel like maybe that’s too forward, so I let my hands sink to gently rest on his waist.
I try to follow his lead because he clearly knows what he’s doing.
I move my mouth the way he moves his, match his pressure with my own.
Is this okay? Is it right? I want to break away and ask him, but I’m afraid of what he’ll think if he finds out this is my first kiss.
What if it’s a turnoff? Or this is the thing that finally makes him realize that I am, in fact, weird?
One of his hands slips up my face and into my hair, and I feel him tuck some waves behind my ear, and all those worries blow away like dust in a gust of wind.
This can’t be bad. Not when it makes me feel like I did as his truck was climbing Gravity Hill: Amazed. Exhilarated.
Present in the moment, living it, instead of wondering how many ways it could go wrong.
I don’t realize that my fingers have dug into the hem of his T-shirt until we finally break apart.
Both our chests heave with ragged breaths, and we can’t seem to stop staring at each other. His moss-green gaze still has that faraway look.
His hands linger on my face. “Welp, Gravity Hill just got a little more magical,” he murmurs. Then his mouth ticks up in a sleepy little grin.
I can’t hold his stare, and my eyes slip to a spot on his chest. I don’t know what you’re supposed to say after you kiss someone for the first time. My cheeks burn, and I can feel sweat stippling at my temples, and none of it is because of the summer heat.
He hooks a finger under my chin and angles my face up. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m sorry I just mauled you,” I blurt out. Then immediately want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks in the asphalt. I am willing to bet that of all the things you might say to someone after you kiss, this was not the ideal option.
His smile grows. “Gravity Hill has that effect on people.”
I kick him lightly in the shin.
He pins me with his gaze. “You didn’t maul me.”
“I lunged at you out of nowhere.”
“Well, I lunged back.”
This should be the most serious of moments. I just had my first kiss. With someone who I think (no, I know) I like. I should be scared. Confused. All in my head. Mapping out every little thing I did wrong, said wrong, felt wrong. All the ways I have ruined this.
But instead I throw back my head and laugh. It’s one of those laughs that feels like it cleans out your insides. Turns you light and airy like a balloon.
I basically float back to Theo’s truck, buoyed by the feel of his hand in mine, and the phantom of his mouth still lingering on my lips.
After two more trips down (up?) Gravity Hill, Theo navigates us to a thrift store about a half hour outside Harlow’s Rest.
I let out another loud laugh. Imagine my mother’s face when we come back, hours later, with an actual piece of furniture. She’s going to be—to use one of my most favorite words—flummoxed.
As Theo parks the truck in the parking lot, my phone bursts to life with a video call. I see Taylor’s and Nadya’s faces peering into the screen, waiting for me to answer.
I cringe at Theo. “Okay if I take this?” Between work at the library and renovations on the house and Theo’s ghost missions, I haven’t been able to chat with them beyond a few text and photo updates about the taco trip. “I’ll be quick,” I promise.
He gestures for me to go ahead.
The moment I accept the call, screams of joy erupt from the speaker, filling the small cab of the truck.
“Twenty-four days!!!” Taylor exclaims.
“Until what?” Theo asks, his eyebrows skyrocketing up his forehead.
I hoped that I might be able to get through this call without Taylor realizing that I was in a vehicle with someone.
I really didn’t want to have Theo sitting right there when Taylor starts the inevitable inquisition.
But really, I should have known he was not going to be able to stay quiet, or still, for ten minutes.
Taylor’s eyes go wide, and Nadya shoves her head into the camera frame. “Who’s that?” Nadya asks at the same time as Taylor shrieks, “Are you with a boy?”
I have half a mind to start searching the seat for an eject button.
“They’re visiting next month for my birthday,” I explain.
Theo seems to have moved past this already. He presses his cheek to mine so he can be seen, and says, “I am indeed a boy.”
I surrender to the inevitable. “This is Theo.”
“The Ghost Boy!” Taylor replies.
How is this managing to get worse? My chin drops to my chest.
Theo smiles wide at me. “You’ve discussed me.”
“Oh man, have we—”
“We have reservations,” I announce, the lie coming out before I can think it through. I’m starting to believe that embarrassment can be lethal and I’m not sure I will survive much more of this. Not after Theo and I just kissed and I have no idea what that means.
Theo’s brows scrunch together. “At the thrift store?”
“I am so excited to see you both in a few weeks! I am already making our itinerary!” I hang up before anyone can say anything else.
Theo’s smiling dopily at me.
“Don’t say a word,” I warn him. Then I push my way out of the truck and speedwalk toward the store.
I will, under absolutely no circumstances, tell this boy why Taylor knows who he is.
That would mean admitting exactly how many times I’ve watched his videos, and how many of them I shared with Taylor, and how often our discussions turned to how cute he is.
Taylor is blowing up my phone with emojis, and Theo keeps asking me questions about who Taylor and Nadya are, and my brain is screaming from too many stimuli, so I mute my phone and, thanks to some extra-long strides, manage to lose Theo among the racks.
The store—appropriately named What’s Mine Is Yours—inhabits a huge warehouse.
The giant open floor plan is sectioned off into different departments.
A sea of clothing racks greets you at the entrance, transitioning into rows of wire storage shelves that cradle everything from dishware to toys to random knickknacks.
I browse the items as I head toward the furniture section on the west end of the warehouse.
Most of it is stuff like figurines only a grandmother would love and ashtrays clearly made by kids in art classes they did not want to be in, but, at the end of a row, I spot a pewter-blue-and-silver blown-glass pumpkin that has the perfect amount of whimsy.
Its body sparkles in the fluorescent overhead lighting, and the stem curls and swirls like a ribbon off the side.
With a ten-dollar price tag, there is no way I’m leaving it here.
There are a few apothecary bottles in translucent green and tan, and I grab those as well.
They’ll look so cute with some silk flowers.
I hope that this is the kind of stuff that Arden had in mind for boho-modern, because I’m starting to picture my space with all these accents and I don’t know if they will be able to sway my mind about keeping them.
Theo catches up with me as I’m crossing toward the furniture. He unloads my arms and sets the glass items in the empty shopping basket he’s carrying. Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he peers at me skeptically.
“What?”
“So what are the big birthday plans?”
“Nothing major.” I wander ahead of him to a display of nightstands and other small tables. “I’m not really into birthdays.”
“What’s wrong with birthdays?”