Page 78 of Summer Reading

Ben looked at me. His hair was disheveled—did I do that?—and his lips were swollen. He looked as dazed and confused as I felt. I smoothed my Blind Melon T-shirt, one of my dad’s favorite bands from back in the day, and tried to pull it together.

“I’m making one of Vovó’s dishes, shrimp Mozambique,” I said. “I use a pepper sauce, you might not like it.”

“He’ll like it,” Tyler said. “Even I like it and I hate everything.” It was a fair point.

“Just to be clear.” Ben raised both of his hands like a scale. “My choices are a frozen pizza at my house or authentic Portuguese cuisine at yours?” The hand for his house rose while he dropped the other.

“Apparently.” I nodded.

“I will race you to your house.”

I laughed and pointed at Tyler. “Beginning driver.”

“I will follow you at a respectful distance to your house.” Ben grinned at me, and I was charmed all the way down to my socks.

“All right,” I said. “Meet you there.”

The drive home was quick. I spent most of it watching Ben on his motorcycle behind us and trying not to get into an accident.

“You’re crushing hard, aren’t you?” Tyler asked.

I whipped my head in his direction. “No... maybe... totally. I mean look at him. He’s hot and funny and smart and nice.”

“Yeah, he’s the whole package.” Tyler sighed. “It makes it impossible to dislike him, which I should because all of the girls in robotics talk about him all the time. It’s annoying.”

“On the upside, you are relieved of your sous-chef dinner duties tonight,” I said. “Ben can take your place.”

“See? How could I possibly dislike the guy who gets me out of hard labor?”

I parked in the driveway, and Tyler banged out of the car and up the steps. I caught up to him while he was unlocking the door. He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Don’t forget to call me for dinner.”

“I would never,” I protested.

The sound of a motorcycle drew my attention to the street. Ben cut the engine, climbed off the bike, and removed his helmet, shaking out his dark hair.

“Hello, Sis, you in there?” Tyler waved his hand in front of my face, breaking the spell. I shook my head and turned to find him laughing at me.

“Stifle yourself,” I said. He laughed harder and dashed upstairs to his room.

I waited in the doorway for Ben, taking a moment to appreciate how very different this summer had turned out from my expectations and in such a good way. When did that ever happen?

Ben was carrying a brown leather backpack, and I hoped it meant that he was bringing our book.

“Come on in,” I said.

He followed me to the kitchen and placed his backpack on the counter while I grabbed my apron from the hook on the wall and pulled it over my head. I turned around to find Ben holding up his phone and taking my picture.

I held up my hands to ward him off. “Ack, no! I’m a hot mess.”

“Never,” he argued. “Besides, this is the first official picture for your cookbook.”

“You want to work on that now?” I asked. I wasn’t mentally prepared for that.

“Why not?” He pulled out a laptop and looked at me expectantly. “You cook and I’ll write it down. We can go from there.”

“But I... so much of it is guesswork... I don’t...” My voice trailed off. This was what I wanted,and yet I was gripped with a paralyzing fear of failure at the thought of attempting to write a cookbook.

As if he understood, Ben put down his phone and grabbed my hands, giving them a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Don’t think about the cookbook right now. Just focus on dinner and we’ll see where it takes us.”

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