Chapter Three: lemonade confessions
771 Words
The sun dipped lower as Leo and I cycled side by side along the beach, the breeze gently tossing my hair as laughter bubbled in my chest.
He turned to me with a smirk.
“Shall we race?” he whispered.
I blinked at him. “OMG, are you serious right now?”
“Couldn’t be more serious,” he said, eyes sparkling.
And just like that, he took off.
“Hey!” I yelled, pedaling hard to catch up with him as the golden sands blurred beside us. My heart pounded—not just from the race, but from the moment.
We slowed down only when a little food truck caught our eye. It was painted in pastel colors, with fairy lights twinkling faintly in the evening light. It looked adorable.
“Leo, should we stop here?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’m really hungry,” I admitted, clutching my stomach for dramatic effect.
“Let’s get something to eat.”
“Alright, alright,” he laughed, steering his bike to a stop.
We walked over and browsed the menu. I scanned every corner of it, hoping to find one thing in particular. But…
“Do you have lemonade?” I asked the owner hopefully.
He gave a sheepish smile. “We did, but we just ran out. Took it off the menu a few minutes ago.”
“Oh no, I was really craving lemonade…” I sighed.
That’s when Leo leaned in and whispered, “I make really good lemonade.”
I turned to him, surprised. “What?”
He nodded. “I’ve been making lemonade since I was ten. I know what I’m doing.”
I raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “Are you sure? I don’t like my lemonade too sugary or too watery. It needs to be perfectly balanced.”
“Trust me,” he said confidently.
“People who try my lemonade always say it’s the best they’ve ever had.”
“Bold claim,” I smirked.
“Alright. We’ll see. When we get back, you’re making me a glass.”
“Deal.”
We ordered some quick bites, sat on a nearby bench to eat, then cycled back to the beach house. The sun had fully set by the time we returned, the sky now painted in soft indigo hues.
Inside, the living room buzzed with chatter. Everyone seemed settled with bottles of beer in hand, music playing low in the background. I made my way to the kitchen counter and started searching for lemons.
“So you’re already prepping for the lemonade?” Leo said, suddenly behind me.
“Of course,” I grinned, pulling out a few lemons.
“You promised me the most amazing lemonade I’d ever have. Naturally, I’m excited.”
He chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’m on it.”
He stepped into the living room, calling out to the others, “Anyone else want lemonade?”
“From you?” Ryan scoffed. “Nah, I’m good.”
Nobody else seemed interested. Apparently, Leo’s culinary credibility wasn’t exactly strong in the house. But for some reason, I trusted him.
I helped him prep—cutting lemons, handing over sugar, grabbing ice. He was surprisingly focused, like he’d done this hundreds of times before. Fifteen minutes later, he handed me a glass with a proud smile.
We returned to the living room, drinks in hand. Immediately, all eyes turned to us.
“Wow, you two are really hitting it off,” Ryan teased.
I shot him a glare. “Stop.”
“She’s like my sister, Ryan,” Leo replied casually.
That one hit like a slap I didn’t see coming.
A sister?
I didn’t know why, but my heart ached a little. Maybe I had imagined the vibe between us. Or maybe… he didn’t feel it the same way.
I sipped the lemonade, bracing myself—but to my surprise, it was actually really good. Not too sweet, not too tangy. Just right.
“Okay,” I said, trying to hide my smile, “You passed. That was impressive.”
“Of course,” he beamed.
“Everyone who’s ever tasted my lemonade says it’s the best.”
“Woah, woah, slow down. It’s good, but not the best,” I teased.
“I’m offended,” he said with a dramatic hand on his chest.
We both laughed, the awkwardness of the “sister” comment slowly dissolving into the warm, cozy hum of the night. The rest of the evening melted into soft conversation, shared glances, and the quiet clinking of glasses.
- Writer
