Paper Hearts

10

"Kiss me," he said, and I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

"What?"

"Kiss me." He repeated himself, and the second time around, it was even more shocking.

"What?" I repeated, pushing myself from the wall, panic crashing into me. "Why the hell would you— "

But he caught my hand mid-sentence, pulling me towards him until we stood face-to-face, our breaths mingling, my heart pumping wildly in my chest as he drew me nearer, nearer—and then he dipped his head, filling the space between us, until his lips were on mine and I was kissing him back, voluntarily, in the moment and not letting go.

Until he did.

Luke Callaway drew back, his eyes still distant as we broke apart. But he smiled, the grin taking over half of his face as he said,

"There. First fake kiss is over with."

It took me a moment to register what he was saying, but once it sank in, I felt the embarrassment flood me like a tidal wave.

Oh.

Oh.

I cleared my throat, hoping that the warmth in my cheeks didn't show.

"Yeah," I said. "Um, that's—that's a start."

"Well, we need to make it believable, don't we?" he asked, and I stared at him.

"I—I didn't think we—not now—"

"If we kissed for the first time at the wedding, people would know." He pointed out coolly, and my gaze dropped to my shoes. "It's best to—practice, I guess."

He made it sound so logical. Like he felt nothing. Like the kiss was just practical, just something that we needed to do before spinning our web of lies.

And, although I hadn't even realized it before, he was right. He was absolutely right.

"Well." I said finally. "That...that makes sense."

"I think so, too."

I watched as he glanced back towards the gym, and I managed to stammer out,

"Um...do you want to go back in? Are your friends waiting?"

There was a pause. Hesitation. And then,

"Nah. I think I've had enough. How about you?"

For the first time that night, I actually smiled.

"I'm up for anything but this."

At this, Luke grinned—a true, familiar grin, and laced my fingers in his in a sort of friendly gesture.

Friendly. I reminded myself. This is all friendly. Nothing more.

But that didn't stop my heart from beating a thousand times faster in my chest. Not to mention the fact that the sensation of his touch instinctively caused me to remember the kiss that we had just shared, seconds earlier.

"Sorry I've been such a douche tonight," Luke said then, quietly, and my gaze snapped up to collide with his. "I've just...I've been thinking."

"It's okay," I breathed, glad that he was back, that he was finally being himself again. "Everybody needs some time to think."

He laughed, pushing himself from the wall and pulling me along with him, without another word. We went the opposite way than from where we came, leaving unannounced and completely carefree. I couldn't help but imagine what the athletic-pretty-girls' reactions would be when they found that we had just disappeared.

The spontaneity of it all was enough to have me feeling unstoppable, and I walked down the hall with Luke with a certain confidence that I wasn't used to having.

"Ice cream sound good?" he asked, once we moved into the back parking lot, walking around the school so that we could get to his truck.

"Sounds amazing," I said, with a smile that he returned instantly.

"Good to hear. 'Cause I'm practically broke, you know."

I laughed, and he caught my eye, a chuckle erupting from his chest as he did so, his gaze warm and adoring. It was, I realized, the first time that anyone had looked at me that way, and I have to say—it made me feel invincible.

________

"What's your favorite flavor?" Luke asked, as we stood before the illuminated stand of ice cream buckets, a bored employee waiting for us to make my decisions.

"What, like I can only choose one?" I scoffed, and he shot me a look.

I traced my finger against the glass, out of habit, like I used to do when I was little. I skimmed over the regular flavors—chocolate, strawberry, vanilla—and began to look at the specialty ice creams, my finger finally coming to a rest over the bucket that read "Bittersweet".

"What's in this one?" I asked the employee, and behind me, Luke laughed.

"So you mock about having more than one flavor, and you don't even know what you're going to choose?"

I held up a hand to silence him, and—surprisingly—it was effective.

"That one has dark chocolate and raspberry with white chocolate chips," the employee said, her tone flat and exasperated. "Do you want it or not?"

"Sure," I said, smiling, and she scooped into the carton, producing a plastic cup and spoon to go along with it.

Once she'd finished and handed it over to me, I turned to face Luke, who glanced up at the employee and said,

"Vanilla, please."

"That's it?" I asked him, and he shrugged.

"I'm a simple guy."

I shook my head, rolling my eyes. "Whatever. Your loss."

Luke paid, and we collected ourselves at a small, rickety table in the corner. The shop was about to close, and the lights were flickering, but we were able to make easy and light conversation until the employee shooed us out.

"You guys have to leave now," she called out to us, from behind the counter.

"Okay," Luke said, with a winning smile. "Thanks."

To my utter surprise, she smiled back, murmuring a barely audible "you're welcome" in return.

We exited the store, and I threw away my cup first.

"You know," I said, "I think that's my new favorite flavor."

"It changes?" Luke asked, as we began to approach his truck.

"Almost daily," I replied, with a small laugh. "But that was seriously good. I might keep it as that flavor for a week."

He laughed, opening the door for me. I slid in, closed it behind me, and watched as he crossed to his seat, starting up the truck.

I wasn't sure what I expected. Perhaps a bit more than small talk. Perhaps some conversation of the deeper level—something that wasn't just barely scratching the surface of each other's lives.

But it wasn't like that. The words between us remained light and simple, and I played along. As if nothing between us had happened, as if we'd just gone out for ice cream as friends. As if we were having a casual Saturday night, nothing special, nothing extraordinary.

It was as if the kiss had never happened.