Page 28 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Next to his laptop, there’s a half-finished book,Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman!, a metal bookmark poking out. I make a mental note to google that later. His open notebook is a war zone of physics formulas, some scribbled out, others circled multiple times.
“This Feynman guy, does he have any funny lines?”
“‘Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that’s not why we do it.’” He quotes and heaves a sigh. “But I’m not having too much fun with it right now. I need to ace this physics Olympiad thing.” He’s too stressed. It’s up to me to help him loosen up. “Want to order anything?”
I skim the menu and snort. “Who named these drinks? ‘Midsummer Lament’? ‘Velvet Remorse’? I want a latte, not an existential crisis.”
Sean doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “You picked the place. Own it.”
“I bet at least fifteen percent of the proceeds go straight to therapy.”
A voice cuts in, smooth and warm. “Not a fan of our literary masterpieces?”
I look up. “Nick? Nicholas Ridge?”
“Flora Morgan! It’s been a while.”
“Nick, this is Sean. Sean, Nick.” Standing up, I pull Nick into a hug. We met during Christmas shopping last year, when he gave me spot-on advice about which tie to get my dad. “I can’t even remember the last time we talked. We need to change that!”
“Definitely. I upgraded my phone and lost half my contacts.” Nick pulls out his phone, checking. Of course he doesn’t have my number. I share it again, tossing in my Instagram handle for good measure. “Can’t risk losing touch again.”
“I’ll call you when my shift is over. What can I get you?”
I glance back at the menu. “I usually go for a chai latte, but I’m up for something different. Which of these tortured-soul specials would you recommend?”
“Try our Solstice Reverie. Our bestseller and truly life-changing.” He winks. “And it’s on the house. Only for a special friend like you.”
“You’re way too nice. I hope the drinks are as cool as you.” I hand the menu back to him, then eye his beige shirt, printed with tiny zeppelins. “Love the shirt, by the way.”
He flashes one last grin before he leaves with my order. I turn to Sean, excited to share my joy of getting in touch with an old friend, but he’s rubbing at his temples.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yup.” His tone is light, too light, like he’s deliberately keeping it that way. Then he sighs and pushes his notebook away. “All right. To be honest, sometimes maybe you flirt a little too much with everyone.”
My mouth falls open. “Come on, I was being friendly!”
“Why didn’t you tell him I’m your boyfriend?”
“I—I didn’t think. I wasn’t even sure you’d want me to introduce you like that.”
“Why wouldn’t I want that?”
My fingernails dig into my thighs.Get it together. Are you stupid?This is the first time Sean has shown even a hint of frustration, and it hits hard. He’s always been so patient—indulgent, even—and I let my guard down. I got too comfortable with his affection, so much that I forgot it wasn’t something I was owed.
He’s as mature as the dark-roasted coffee he drinks, while I’m a lollipop—bright, shiny, all sugar on the outside and empty calories underneath. I’m lucky to have his attention at all, and now is not the time to blow it.
Sean pushes his hair back with one hand. “I overreacted. I’m sorry. I’ve been so stressed lately, and I let it get to me more than it should have.”
“I’ll go back there and tell him you’re my boyfriend.” Through this whole mess, there’s at least a small consolation that Sean acknowledges himself as that,my boyfriend. Sean Foster is my boyfriend. Intelligent, handsome, respectful, irresistible. He chose me, and I need to do better.
“Oh no, that’ll be weird. Forget I said anything.”
“How about we go social media official?”
“Like the grid and everything?”
I nod.
