Page 20 of What's in a Kiss?

“Compete.” He meets my eyes. I wonder if the fumes from the pot dispensary next door have found their way into my blood. Because now I’m frozen in place staring into Glasswell’s green eyes. My body warms, centering in the area just below my navel.

What the hell?

Glasswell looks away, and everything neatens back to normal.Everything but my racing heart. I push past him toward my mom’s block.

“See you tonight, Dusk,” he calls.

••••••

When Gram Parsonsand I reach the house where I grew up, my mother is puttering around the garage. She’s facing the storage rack with my duffel bags from summer camp, my rolled-up Jonas Brothers posters, the box with every Halloween costume I’ve ever worn. When she hears the door open, she waves to me over her shoulder:

“How was the bachelorette? Did you trick Mash into thinking you were taking her to get twerked on?”

“Mom,” I say, hoping to communicateeverythingto her with that single grounding word.

She turns to look at me, concern practically tattooed on her face. Dressed in pink and orange ombre jeans and a matching flowy shirt, Lorena looks like a human mai tai—a comparison that can’t be lost on her, seeing as she has a purple orchid tucked behind her ear.

“Liv. Baby,” she says tenderly. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say, a tremor in my voice. “And full disclosure, I come sans latte. This morning has been an absolute—”

I break off because suddenly my mom comes forward to place a fragrant, steaming gyokuro latte like a miracle in my hand.

There, her smooth familiar caress tells me.You are loved, and everything’s okay.

I close my eyes and take a sip, swallowing the lump of relief in my throat.

My mom lifts her own latte and takes a luxurious slurp. “It’s my week to pick up the drinks. Did you forget?”

“I guess I did.”

“What’s the matter? Did you accidentally take the 405 again?”

I nod. “And that’s not the worst of it.”

“Honey!”

Gram Parsons yelps his impatience at not being greeted yet by his grandmother. Lorena remedies her oversight and picks him up.

Part of me wants to be Gram Parsons, blanketed in my mother’s embrace. Part of me just wants to move on, to feel the weight lifted from my chest now that Glasswell’s gone.

But I don’t feel lighter. I feelloser, which is how Glasswell always makes me feel. I picture him inside my teahouse, generously tipping my favorite barista, firing texts to former high school friends.

You’ll never guess who my Lyft driver was...

“So,” my mother probes. “What happened?”

“It’s just... the wedding.”

“No. It isn’t.” Lorena shakes her head. “You’ve had that wedding locked down for months. This”—she points at me—“is something else.”

When I don’t answer, because I cannot lie to my mom, and because I wouldn’t know where to start, I feel her gaze run over my body, my face, my head.

She grabs my hat—then gasps in horror.

“You left the dye on too long, Liv! I told you to set a timer because you always get distracted. Ever since you were a toddler. Your father used to say—”

“I have an appointment to fix it, okay?” I say with more hostility than I intend.