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His stare traces back up to my eyes. “I don’t know if you should come any closer.”
I take a step closer, letting my hand wander up, settling on the back of his neck. “And why not?”
“I thought you didn’t like it when people touch you,” he whispers.
“You,” I say, taking his hand and slowly guiding it to my face, “aren’t people.”
His dimples pop from a soft smile. His head dips closer to mine, breath warm, inches away from my lips. His other hand wraps around my waist with a timid touch as if he’s still asking for permission.
“Why are you still holding back?” I whisper.
He pauses. “Because I’m afraid you’ll regret this.”
“I won’t. I know what I want.”
He traces my face with his eyes. “And what’s that?”
I move even closer. Close enough that my lips graze his when I speak. “You.”
His soft lips meet mine, and he pulls me into him. His kiss is hesitant at first, but each one after becomes more bold and urgent.
I never thought that kissing someone—being this close to someone—would feel so good, but now that I’m in Caleb’s arms, I don’t want to leave. I want him to keep breathing me in. To kiss me not once, but a thousand times.
I wrap my fingers into his dark hair, kissing him back.
At this moment, we are the only ones around. Everything else melts away. All my problems seem minuscule because the only thing on my mind is the way Caleb’s lips feel against mine.
He finally pulls back, resting his forehead against mine.
I rub his cheek with my thumb, letting it run over his smooth skin. His pain tears me up inside when I think about the boy that ran into our home all those years ago. That’s the version of Caleb that’s in front of me right now. Not the optimistic version of himself he always pretends to be.
“Bec,” he says, breathing in slowly. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. “What changed?”
I lean into him and rest my head on his chest. “I don’t really know. But the other day, when I was upset, you were the one I ran to. I need you, Caleb.”
He leaves a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
“Are you still upset about your mom?”
He shrugs. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s not. You can tell me how you really feel.” I hold him tighter, letting his cedar scent fill my senses.
“I don’t know how I feel. It doesn’t feel real. Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t know me—doesn’t see me.”
I peer up at him. “I see you.” His dimples show again as the corner of his mouth turns up. “Tell me what you want. We can do whatever you want. I promise.”
He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “You don’t have to try and make me feel better. It’s okay.”A little smirk coats my face. He moves my bangs out of my face, tucking the hairs behind my ear as he looks down at me. “What?”
I clear my throat. “Caleb?”
“Bec?”
“Will you go to the winter formal dance with me?”
He laughs. “I thought you hated dances.”
“Butyoudon’t,” I say, poking my finger into his chest.
