Page 26 of Cocoa Kisses
It was a feeling that would try to sneak up on me every now and then over the next few years during college. Maybe I’d glance over at him while he studied, sprawled out on my bedroom floor, and notice that he was due for a haircut as a shock of it hung over his eyes. And then I’d think it looked cute like that, and then—
I’d hop up on a mission for a snack, and I’d make sure I was too busy to hang out with Levi for a few days until the early warning signs retreated.
I’d thought I’d outgrown that right around the time George Mason University conferred my bachelor’s degree on me. But I experienced that same jolt of awareness last Friday night when I discovered that four years after our first mistletoe kiss, no matter what, Levi always tastes faintly of cinnamon.
“I’ve had a lot of white Christmases that didn’t feel like Christmas,” he says. I let out a quiet sigh of relief when I realize he’s not thinking about the snowball fight that apparently imprinted in my genetic code somewhere. “Seems like I’m always somewhere cold overseas at Christmastime.”
“A smarter man would pitch an article about Australia,” I agree.
He laughs. “Probably. It does have a lot of little towns.”
I shoot him a confused glance. “Why does that matter?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s just what I tend to write about most. The small town experience all over the world.”
I’m dumbstruck for a few seconds, and then a bark of laughter escapes me. “You totally do. How have I never noticed that?”
“Because on the surface, they seem pretty different.”
“But they’re the same when you dig down?”
“More similar than not, I’m beginning to realize. Even when I think there’s no way, thatthisplace is way too different from other places I’ve reported on, at some point, there’s some interesting point of sameness.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?” I ask.
He thinks for a moment. “It’s just a true thing.”
I’m about to ask him for examples, to dig deeper into this observation and its implications, but my phone buzzes with a text and it displays on my dashboard screen a beat later.
SARA:Also don’t make out with Levi again.
My jaw drops as the words scroll across the screen. I lunge for it, but Levi grabs my wrist and holds it away from the buttons.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what is this?”
“I have no idea.” Why would Sara even say that?
“You don’t know why Sara is warning you against making out with me?” he asks, smirking.
“I really don’t,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“You must talk about wanting to do it all the time.”
“I literally do not.”
“Sure, sure,” he says, letting go of my wrist far too slowly. “People always just say stuff like that out of the blue for no reason.”
I stab at the screen, wishing it was Sara. “In this case, yes.”
He’s still smirking. “If you say so.”
“Fine, I’ll let Sara say so. Call Sara,” I order my car.Ringing . . . ringing . . .
“Forget something?” Sara asks when she picks up.
“Sara, have I ever mentioned wanting to make out with Levi?”
“No. Am I on speaker?”
