At first I thought he was kidding, being funny, like he seemed to do when things got too heavy. But when he turned in my arms, put his forehead to my shoulder, and held on to me like his life depended on it, I realized he wasn’t. I didn’t think I was a sympathetic crier. I mean, my parents had cried many times and I’d stood there as dry eyed as the Sahara desert. But there was something about holding Jackson that got to me.

I rubbed his back like he had mine until it stilled. Until my feet were numb from the lake. He straightened up, touching his forehead to mine. He was a shadow in the darkness, but I could see his eyes shining. He took my face in his hands and kissed my cheeks where my tears lingered. Then he kissed my forehead. My hands held his wrists and I could tell he was going to move away so I tightened my hold. He paused, hesitated, then with a deep breath, kissed me.

My hands went to his hair, pulling him closer. His mouth was warm, his breath hot. I parted my lips and his tongue ran softly along them before it found mine, joining us closer together. He backed us out of the water, gripping my hips now. My hands went to his shoulders so that I didn’t fall.

His mouth tasted of cinnamon. Cinnamon was my new favorite flavor. My back hit a tree and he pressed himself against me.

And then his phone rang.

He groaned. “It must be twelve oh five.”

I tried to catch my breath, unsuccessfully. “If it’s your parents, you should answer so they know you’re safe.”

“I don’t know that I am safe.” He gave me a quick kiss, then picked up the phone.

I turned on my phone as well, shining the light on the ground so I could gather our shoes. I held them with one arm and with my other grabbed his hand and led him back to the truck while he assured whoever was on the phone that he was on his way home and had just lost track of time.

He hung up and kissed me again. “Yep. Totally worth it.”

I smiled.

We both looked at our muddy feet. He opened the truck door, dug the squirt gun out of the Eric box, and sprayed my feet several times. “I thought that would work better,” he said. “Like your brother was looking out for us or something.”

“I’m guessing my brother would find this amusing.”

“Are you once again pointing out that your brother is similar to me? After you were kissing me and everything?”

“Jackson. You are not my brother.”

He squirted my feet one more time. “I think I would’ve liked your brother.”

I hugged him. “I think I would’ve too.”

Thirty-Three