Page 22 of The Summer We Played Pretend

I snatch the phone, my cheeks burning. "Mom, come on. It's not like that."

But even as I protest, I can't help the way my pulse quickens as I read his message:

Meet me at the pier in 30? Need to talk.

My stomach does a somersault. Talk about what? The kiss? Our friendship? My mind races with possibilities, each more anxiety-inducing than the last.

"You know," Mom says, her voice softer now, "it wouldn't be the worst thing if Jackson did have feelings for you. He's a good kid."

I bite my lip, staring at the text. "Yeah, but...it's complicated.”

"Isn't it always?" She squeezes my shoulder. "Just be honest with yourself, honey. And with him."

I nod. "I will," I manage, though I'm not sure if I'm ready for whatever this conversation might bring.

As I type out a quick “On my way”I can't help but wonder, am I walking toward something amazing, or am I about to make a total idiot of myself and end up with a broken heart for the second time this summer?

I hover over the send button for a moment before I take a deep breath and hit it. The message whooshes away, and I feel a mix of excitement and dread settle in my stomach.

"So, rushing off to see your boyfriend then?" Mom teases, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

I roll my eyes, but I can't stop the smile that tugs at my lips. "I just told you, he's not my boyfriend, Mom. We're just...figuring things out."

"Uh-huh," she says, unconvinced. "Well, whatever you're 'figuring out,' make sure you're home for dinner."

As I grab my handbag and keys, I can't help but feel a thrill at the thought of seeing Jackson again. His smile, his warm brown eyes, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say to make me feel better. But then I remember the kiss, and my stomach does another flip.

I pause at the door, taking a deep breath. This could just be Jackson wanting to clear the air, to say it was a mistake. I need to be prepared for that.

"Chloe?" Mom calls from the kitchen. I turn to see her leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her face. "Never forget, you're an amazing girl. Any guy would be lucky to have you."

I feel a lump form in my throat. "Thanks, Mom.”

The walk to the pier feels both endless and too short. I keep replaying every moment of last night at the party. Jackson's hand on my waist, the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips. I shake my head, trying to clear the memory.

This shouldn’t feel this way. After all, I’ve known him for ages. He’s Ethan’s best friend. He’s only myfakeboyfriend.

But that's the problem, isn't it? It stopped feeling fake the moment his lips touched mine.

As I round the corner, the pier comes into view, stretching out over the sparkling water. And there he is. Jackson. Leaning against the railing, the late afternoon sun catching his dark hair, making it look almost golden. My heart does a little stutter-step.

"Hey, Chlo," he calls out, waving.

I raise my hand in a weak wave back, willing my legs to keep moving. "Hey," I manage to say as I reach him. "So, um, what's up?"

He runs a hand through his hair which he only seems to do when he’s nervous. "I thought we should talk. You know, about...everything. This fake boyfriend stuff etcetera.” He pauses. “I didn’t want to wait any longer or do it over text.”

I nod, my throat suddenly dry. "Yeah, probably a good idea."

We start walking down the pier, the old wooden boards creaking under our feet. The salty breeze whips my hair around my face, and I tuck it behind my ear, sneaking a glance at Jackson.

"So," I begin, my voice barely audible over the lapping waves, "things have gotten pretty complicated, huh?"

Jackson lets out a low chuckle. "That kiss…Chlo, I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable? No, I…”

What do I even say? That no one has ever kissed me like that? That I can’t stop thinking about it? That I don’t think I can ever go back to normal and stop wishing for another?

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