“That’s all?” He laughs, sounding relieved. “I didn’t kidnap you. You don’t have to stay here. But if you do, we can also just like, make out, and then crash.”

I just smile, and after a pause, he adds. “Or not that either, if you don’t want to.” He holds up his hands innocently.

I scooch my chair closer to him. “No, that sounds good.” I kiss him on the cheek.

A smile begins to form on the edge of his lips, and his eyes sparkle. I lean forward again and kiss him. His lips are soft and he kisses me back lightly, like he’s not sure that I’m sure. I wrap an arm around him and lace my fingers through his hair, then pull him toward me. He takes the hint, and his lips press harder, more eagerly against mine.

It is my second kiss ever. And it is remarkably, amazingly, like the ones I’ve seen in movies.

I pull away. “Yeah, let’s keep doing that,” I whisper.

He laughs against my lips and kisses me again, the scent of the sea around us and the taste of wine and sugary cereal on his lips.

I feel like I’m in a dream.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Roberto

“Is it thirty-five?” Mateo looks at me hopefully.

I spin the paper toward me to double-check the question. “Yeah.”

“Yes!” He pumps his fist. “I’m a genius.”

I laugh. “All right, but let’s see if you can do this next problem.” I hand him back the paper. I used to tutor him every week when I lived at home, and since I am in town this week for Thanksgiving, I am checking in to see how he is doing.

He insisted he was “too old” for me to do the problems with him, and I could check his work only when he was done. So I brought my laptop with me, and we’ve been sitting at his kitchen table doing our homework—multiplication and linear algebra, respectively.

“Want me to check yours?” he asks, leaning out of his seat as he peers over at my screen.

“Sure,” I say, turning it toward him.

I hear muffled laughter from the kitchen, where Mateo’s mom is putting away groceries and starting dinner.

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “All wrong.” A smile missing a front tooth spreads across his face as he sits back down and starts on the next problem.

The savory aroma of onions sautéing in oil wafts from the kitchen. My stomach pangs. Dining hall food is truly not the same as the real deal.

Mateo scribbles quickly before dropping his pencil and tossing the sheet back at me. “Forty-five!”

I shake my head before handing the sheet back to him.

“Ugh.” He sets his head down on the table. “I’m sick of math.

“Mom!” he yells toward the kitchen “When is dinner?”