All that, when sometimes it’s as simple as s’mores and Coke and leaning over in your Adirondack chair on the beach.

I look at Jasmine—really look—at the trace of melted marshmallow on her lip and the apprehension in her eyes and a freckle on her shoulder and then I’m the one leaning over and doing the kissing, tasting sweet artificial cherry on her tongue and feeling so damn good in this moment we didn’t work for.

It’s so good that I don’t realize we’re falling out of our chairs until we land on the sand, our laughter floating into the summer night amid the crackling flames until our mouths find each other again and there’s no more laughing at all.

NOW

“Lara? Hey.” A gentle, masculine hand lands on my shoulder. “Did you want butter?”

Chapter Nine

NOW

“I think I got it this time!”

“You said that about the last one,” Beth calls from where she’s taking inventory of the mystery/thriller/suspense section. “It looked like a toddler’s handprint at best.”

“Hey, I’m new at this!” I scrutinize the leaf pattern I’ve drawn in the foam of my fourth cappuccino of the morning, and it definitely looks better than the other three. “A little support would be nice.”

“A few more hours spent watching those YouTube videos would be nice,” she mutters, but the store’s empty except for us, and I hear every word. I’ve been trying to up my barista game by watching videos on drawing foam art, hoping to impress Beth with hearts and leaves and butterflies. Unfortunately, I’m about as good at doing art with foam as I am at doing it with paint, charcoal, decoupage, pencils, or anything else—which is to say, not at all.

The only thing I have to show for my training is a pair of slightly jittery hands from quickly downing my first two mistakes. (Beth graciously took the third, despite it being many shades lighter than her soul.) Latte art looks easy on YouTube, but so do makeup tutorials, and I suck at those too.