Page 53 of This is a Kissing Book

Stevens teases me about my first-world problems.

But it’s all relative, and for once in my life, I’m just me. Linc. The same guy my mother knew and loved. Whatever is building between Jules and me feels closer to real than anything has in a long time.

Later, as the bursts of gold and red and blue burst in the dark sky, Jules gasps at each one like she’s seeing fireworks for the first time. She sits close enough that I can smell the summery scent of sunscreen and pool chlorine over the cherry blossoms and almonds.

When they’re over, I’m halfway through telling her a random story about how Bīriņš got carried away with the fireworks on the lake one year, resulting in a high-speed aquatic chase, when a boom splits the air. She jumps, laughing, and her shoulder brushes mine.

I forgot about the grand finale and lose the thread.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs as red, white, and blue sparkles in the sky.

I don’t answer. I’m too busy noticing the faint freckle at the edge of her jaw, the way she presses her lips part slightly.

“What?” she asks, catching me.

“Nothing,” I say. Just … forgot where I was for a second.

The air between us crackles, charged with something that has nothing to do with the pyrotechnics above us. Her breath hitches, and I have the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her.

Then a child sprints past us, shrieking with delight and breaks the moment.

Dudes don’t get butterflies. They get dragonflies and a fleet of them nearly knocks me off my feet.

21

JULES

From pizza to the people she lets into her life, Oly doesn’t give her stamp of approval easily. She’s tougher to win over than a cat being given a bath, so when she pulls me aside after everyone has left and we’re cleaning up, I brace myself.

“I like him,” she says, which should be good news.

“But?” I ask, knowing it’s coming.

“But he’s hiding something.”

My stomach twists as I wring water out of a dishrag. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t put my finger on it. He doesn’t quite seem like a billionaire’s son summer intern.”

I roll my eyes. “If you recall, this whole thing started because I told you about that crazy rooftop party.”

“Have you noticed the calluses on his hands? Those aren’t desk-job hands.”

I have noticed those hands. In fact, he left an imprint on the small of my back. His fingerprints are inked on my skin from when we high-fived and held hands. The desolation when they came apart when I essentially gave him marching orders after the pickleball game.

Dumb, dumb girl.

Nate calls from the other room, where he’s sweeping. “Dude couldn’t keep his eyes off Juliana!”

“He was making sure my sneakers stayed tied,” I insist, but even as I say it, the twisting inside turns into a fluttering.

Oly gives me a look that says she sees right through me. “He called you Jules.”

“So? He’s also called me Julie, Julia, Julianne—” I start counting off the variations on my fingers.

“But he stuck with Jules.”

She’s not wrong. He started calling me Jules and hasn’t stopped. No more silly ones like Jujubee, either. Not only that, he stuck with me all night. Made sure I had a steady stream of root beer, a clean towel after swimming, and watched me … not the fireworks.