Page 50 of Icing Hearts

Five minutes in and the meet-cute happens. Vince gives me a questioning look—as if to ask, “Should they have kissed?”—and I lean in, taking his stubbled cheek in my hand. It’s a quick and tame kiss. A little sweet because of the Slurpee. Not earth-shattering by any means, but my stomach does a little skip. It’s enough.

We don’t talk much, but laugh at the same funny parts, even if they’re corny. After Vince finishes his popcorn and Slurpee, I hear a metallic ting and take one of the mints he offers me. It’s the green kind. Not a favorite of mine, but it’s better than carrot breath and definitely better than popcorn breath.

Halfway through, the big kiss happens, and Vince doesn’t hesitate. It’s new and comfortable all at the same time. We’ve kissed before but not this long and not this sober.

There’s no denying it. Vince is a good kisser. He knows where to put his hands and how much tongue is too much. Mostly, he lets me take the lead and responds appropriately. We kiss for a long time and it’s nice. When I finally pull away, I immediately miss how quiet my thoughts were for those minutes we kissed. There was nothing and no one else. Just kissing. Mindless kissing.

We kiss two more times but they’re shorter. I’m the one who reaches for his hand as we walk out, but he doesn’t let me go until we’re back at the car, and he gives me a little spin and kisses me against the passenger door.

Before we get to my house, Vince pulls off into a parking lot and says, “Can I be honest with you, Clara?”

“Sure,” I say.

There’s a shop sign still aglow that illuminates his face. I’ve never noticed Vince’s eyelashes before. They’re incredibly long and create spiked shadows on his eyelids that disappear into his brows. They move rapidly as rambles, “Look, I really like you. You’re cute and smart and funny, and I like those ribbons you wear.”

I giggle at the ribbons thing. “I like you too, Vince.” The words don’t feel foreign coming out of my mouth like I thought they would. “I mean, I kind of guessed you favored me, you know, with all the kissing.”

Vince laughs, and it’s a stereotypical guffaw that makes me laugh in turn and then we’re just laughing together. Our bodies lean over the arm rest between the front seats of his car. I run my fingertips over the pebbled black leather, just beside his forearm. Vince wore a navy and hunter-green striped rugby shirt. I think he’s one of those people who is always warm because his jacket never made its way back to his body after the movie, and he’s pulled his sleeves up. He has nice forearms. Thick, corded. The kind you want to hold on to as he walks you to class.

“But—”

“There’s always a but.”

“Life certainly feels that way sometimes. The thing is, I dated my last girlfriend for two years. She went off to Michigan State. We were gonna do the long-distance thing. I was totally committed to making it work.”

I vaguely remember Vince’s ex-girlfriend. She was a cheerleader. But she was a senior last year, and I was a sophomore so we never really crossed paths. I just remember her painting his number on her cheek every game day and sitting on his lap at lunch. They were cute. He definitely had heart-eyes for her, so I believe every word he’s telling me.

Tentative fingers move from the leather to his arm. I feel his muscle relax beneath my touch. He’s nervous.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened.”

“I do. I don’t feel it’s fair to continue down this road with you without providing some context. Basically, she got to school and two days later slept with someone else. Totally her choice, and I respect that, but I don’t respect the fact that she strung me along all summer.”

“I’m so sorry, Vince.”

“Don’t be. It was for the best. I never would have walked away on my own. But getting dumped like that really hurt, and I’m just not in the right headspace to jump into another committed relationship. My heart needs to heal this year. And I don’t want either of us to be strung along. Like, if we don’t see things continuing, I want to end it before it gets too far, if that makes sense.”

“So you want to date, but not be exclusive boyfriend/girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Is that something you’d be open to?”

“Sort of like an open relationship?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I’d be open to that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve never really had a serious boyfriend. I don’t think I’m cut out for it. Not in high school anyway. But someone to hang out with and go on dates with sounds just my speed.”

A relieved breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. This is perfect. Actually perfect. An open relationship doesn’t come with all the expectations of exclusive dating. Vince won’t be expecting to hang out at my house or have family dinners with the chief. It sounds fun. Surface. My specialty.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He nods once, pulling out of the parking lot and continuing toward my house.

“Why did Tory kind of…warn me about you?”

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