Page 14 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Can I see?”
Why Sean’s interested is beyond me, but I hand over my scrapbook. Let’s just get it over with. He’ll make polite comments and I’ll joke and deflect. He unbinds the leather wrap, and my face heats like he’s undressing me.
The pages are brittle with age, yellowed around the edges. Swatches of fabric are taped in crooked rows, alongside magazine cutouts of haute couture dresses. Three whole pages are dedicated to buttons, glued on in messy clusters. My childish handwriting fills the blank spaces with commentary—Fabulous!orEfferevansce!(an enthusiastic attempt ateffervescence, apparently) orDon’t know what to think about this yet!
There’s even an entire section devoted to Met Gala events. Next to each outfit, I’d scribbled critiques on how it could improve—Lose the necklaceorDifferent hairdo, please—followed by snide remarks and analogies only a younger me would think were clever.
Next to one particularly unfortunate white dress with embroidered green patches, I wroteToast with mold???
Sean laughs at that one. He flips through the pages gingerly and smooths a crease.
“I like fashion,” I offer as an explanation.
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you at the coffee shop. Is that what you want to be, a designer?”
“Oh, no, I’m not that talented. I can’t even draw. I’m more interested in, you know, fashion trends and cultural influences. Things like what works and why. Why are some things classic while others go out of style? What do people’s outfits say about them?”Also,why does Sean only wear neutrals and still look incredible?“That sort of thing.”
He rubs his chin with his thumb. “I’ve never thought of any those questions before.”
“The spare buttons come with the clothes I buy, so I collect them.” I open my palm to let him see. “These are flat buttons. You usually find them on dress shirts. They seem insignificant, totally interchangeable, but they’re not. A plastic one with the wrong depth can cheapen a look instantly, but switch it to a high-shine mother-of-pearl one? Timeless. It’s a detail that people don’t think about, but they feel it. And that’s not even getting into jeans studs or toggles.”
I catch myself. This is a guy who’ll go on to build a rocket for NASA, while I’m here obsessing aboutbuttons? How much more frivolous can I get?
“Anyway.” I force a laugh, then slip the buttons back into the scrapbook, close it, and set it aside. Then I settle back down on the bed next to him, but look at the crystal knobs on my closet doors.
“Very cool,” Sean says. I check to see if he’s being sincere. “No, really. I’m not that interested in buttons, but I like hearing you talk about them.”
No teasing glint, no smirk. His eyes are kind.
I turn the music down and we keep talking. When the playlist reaches its end, he stretches his arms over his head and says, “I’m getting déjà vu.”
“How so?”
“This is the second night we’ve ended up sitting together in a bedroom.”
Without knowing why, my lips curl into a smile. My cheeks tingle as I try to control it.
“What’s so funny?” Sean asks.
“I’m just . . .” I peer at him through my lashes. “I’m happy. I’ve wanted this since forever, to talk to you, and tonight is one of the best nights of my life.”
His eyes soften. “Flora—”
“You know how you can have a crush on someone, but when you get a chance to know them better, it feels wrong? Like,what did I ever see in them? But sometimes, they turn out even better than you imagined, and you want to freeze that moment and relive it over and over again? I’m really happy now. Thanks for keeping me company.”
In movies there’s always a climax leading up to a kiss. Maybe it’s a heated argument, or a reunion after a long time apart, or that perfect ending moment when the saxophone swells, snow starts to fall, birds sing, and you know everything is going to be okay.
In my case, it just happens.
He moves in closer, I shut my eyes, and the kiss falls into place.
It feels right.Destined.I’ve imagined kissing Sean Foster many times in my head, but every version was wrong. It’s so much better in reality. Intoxicating and warm and devastating and firm and soft and tasty and all the good stuff thrown together. His kiss reminds me of cotton candy and mint and starlight and the first ray of sunshine, like spring and summer rolled into one.
Before I know it, we’re on the bed and I’m on top, his chest muscles taut beneath me. Despite the part of me that is getting carried away, part of my stunned brain is running a news report about the fact that ithappened. Sean Fosterkissedme. Sean Foster isstillkissing me.
I’ve kissed boys before, but this is on an entirely different level. He knows how to do this.
“Wait,” he says, pushing me away.
