Page 16 of Cocoa Kisses
“Always.”
“Oh, and also we kissed.”
I pretend to be trying to remember. “Was that last night?”
“Yeah. What do you think about that?”
I smirk at him. “Are you here for aperformancereview?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. I’m a good kisser.”
“Cocky much?”
He sighs. “Do you need someone to tell you you’re a good kisser?”
“No.”
“I don’t either. But probably we should talk about it, since we’re both so amazing at kissing, to make sure we haven’t rocked each other’s worlds to the point of making it uncomfortable. For example, it would be a shame if that whole situation last night made you feel like you need to avoid me anytime I drop by the café.”
“I only came back here because I was trying to be respectful of you,” I say.
Now he sends up an eyebrow that clearly meansI don’t buy it.
That’s the trouble with lying to someone you’ve known your entire life; they can always tell. “Fine. It was kind of weird. But thanks to this conversation, I’m over it.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps, something that usually happens when he’s frustrated, but a split second later, his mouth twitches up on one side in a half-smile. “Just like that?”
I shrug and pick up my drizzle fork again, going back to work. “Yep. We’re good. I’m not going to do anything weird like leave for four years and not come back.”
“Really? We’re playing hardball?”
I flick a glance at him. “You came in here wanting to talk.”
“I always thought middle school peer pressure was the worst, but that’s only because I can’t remember preschool. That’s clearly the pro leagues.”
I laugh. “So we didn’t want to kiss each other, neither of them counts, you can come back to Creekville anytime from now on, and I’m never drinking eggnog again.”
I expect him to laugh and agree, but he’s quiet for a long moment. When I look up from decorating, his eyes are fixed on me, an expression I can’t read on his face. It’s not happy or sad. It’s kind of a thoughtful look, maybe? Like he’s considering something? But I have no idea what.
“I’m glad we’re good,” he finally says. “My latest story got me thinking about roots and priorities, and I made it a point to come home. You are a big part of that.”
A warmth washes over me, and it feels way too similar to the warmth of him pulling me against him last night. I silently curse him, Gage, my parents, his parents, and Sara for leading me to this kind of confusion. But only my body is confused. My brain is clear on how these two situations are different. All I have to do is keep reminding it the facts every time it wants to interpret a flood of affection as a wave of attraction. Levi and I are friends. End of story.
“I’m sure your parents are so happy you’re back. Evenmyparents are so happy you’re back.”
“And you? You’re glad I’m back?”
I flick some chocolate at him, and it spatters on his hand. “Of course, wonderboy.”
“Glad to hear it, weirdo. No more avoiding me?”
“Of course not.” I’m lying. We’re good, but it’ll be easier to stick to seeing him at family gatherings until my body behaves more responsibly.
“Then put me to work on Christmas Town stuff. I’m dying for something to do.”
“If you’re dumb enough to ask . . .”
“Lay it on me.”
