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“Hi,” I say, smiling.
Laughing, he replies, “Holy fuck, am I speaking to Golden Globe winner Serenity Jackson?”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “Thank you for not using my real last name.”
“I’d say you rose above it all, still intact.”
“Cian!”
I can’t pretend to be outraged by his double entendre for long. The laughter makes the negative memories fade. The mockery. The scrawled post-it notes on my locker.
“So,” I say, my skin tingling with excitement. I can’t believe I’m saying it. “You want to try that terrible kiss again?”
He groans, and I can almost see him squeeze his eyes tight with embarrassment to block out the memory. “It was terrible on your end, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t great,” I admit. “But I’m happy to report you didn’t have bad breath, at least.”
He laughs harder. “I feel so much better about it now.”
“My gosh, it’s good to hear your laugh again,” I sigh. It truly is. It’s so good that my stupid heart skips a beat.
“It’s good to be hearing your…everything.”
I feel like I’m 18 again. Giddy and silly and excited about life.
“You’re just as sweet as ever. I’m gonna give you the biggest hug at that reunion,” I say.
“I’ll fight off a dozen fans begging for your autograph to get that hug.”
“You’re overstating how impressed people are of me in my hometown,” I remind him, cringing at the thought of all my tormenters who’ve sent me Facebook friend requests over the years, only for me to delete, delete, delete.
“Fuck ’em. Look what you did! You’re incredible.”
“You’re really angling for that kiss, aren’t you?”
“Just promise me we won’t have to re-enactAnne of Green Gablesagain,” he begs.
“I promise. We can go straight to the kiss.”
Wow. This escalated quickly.
We share a charged silence. My face feels hot, my hands shake, and my heart pumps hard. I glance up at Ellen, who’s giving me a weird look. She trots off to the kitchen, and a minute later, I hear the blender. Here we go.
“I think there’s an American football game or something we’re supposed to go to as well, isn’t there?”
That’s right. Homecoming weekend. Everyone’s meeting up for the game on Friday night, and the main party is Saturday. Crap.
“To tell you the truth, the last thing I want to do is sit through a football game,” I say. “But I know how these things go. It’s all included in the ticket, and it’s bad form not to go to the game.”
“Tell you what. I’ll go to your American high school football game with you, and then after, I sweep you off your feet with that kiss redo. Then, you come with Ireland to watch some hurling.”
“Listen, I have it in my contract that I won’t be vomiting on screen. I don’t know why you think I’d enjoy it as a spectator,” I tease.
He laughs, making me feel like I’m glowing from the inside out. Duchess wags her tail like a little lunatic, her beady black eyes watching my face for cues. She knows it’s time for our morning stroll on the beach. Spoiled little runt.
Of course, I know full well what hurling is; I just fell back into teasing Cian about it.
“Hurling, then you’ll have to endure the third degree from my sister and a game of dominoes with our Dad.”
