Page 59 of Mixed Signals
He huffs a laugh. “Croissants and coffee. In the morning.” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
I nod again and tip my face towards his, hoping for another kiss before he has to go. He chuckles and ducks down to press his mouth to mine.
This one is sweet. A cherry on top of a vanilla ice cream sundae. His tongue swipes slowly at my bottom lip and I feel like that ice cream cone he was eating on the beach. I sway into him.
“Goodnight, Layla,” he says against my mouth.
I grin. “Goodnight, Caleb.”
THIRTEEN
CALEB
There aretwelve people in my kitchen when I let myself into my house.
Or I guess, when I float into my house.
Because I have no idea how I managed to get home from Layla’s. I have no idea how I put one foot in front of the other and walked away from her. I probably shouldn’t have been operating a moving vehicle. I don’t even remember pulling into my driveway.
Warm skin. Panting breaths. Layla’s mouth moving against mine.
I wanted to give her a classic movie kiss and instead Layla gave me an end of the world kiss. A mountain top kiss. A launched into space kiss.
I’ve never kissed a woman like that in my life. I’ve never been kissed like that, either.
I rub my fingertips over my lips and slip through the back door of my kitchen, my mind still somewhere at the bottom of Layla’s porch steps, her body wrapped around mine. Her thighs around my hips and her hand against my stomach. I had been seven seconds away from pressing her up against her porch banister, slipping my hands beneath her borrowed shirt, and feeling all that lovely lace teasing me through the wet material of her dress.
I step into my kitchen and my entire family freezes, a comedic still-frame of dinner in progress. My mom is holding a large steak knife over a tomato. Luis is doing something bizarre with a dish towel and a corn cob. Sofia is digging around in my crisper. And in the middle of it all, like the center of a perfectly orchestrated storm, is my grandmother with her hands in a mixing bowl. She stops what she’s doing and gives me a critical look, one stern eyebrow arching high on her forehead.
“Uh.” I look over my shoulder to check that there’s no one behind me—that I didn’t inadvertently ruin a surprise party. At my own house. I lean back and double check the metal numbers above the door. Yeah. This is where I live. I step all the way in and pull the door shut. “What’s going on?”
The room remains silent, a miracle when all of my cousins are wedged together in the same small place. This kitchen was not built for the full brunt of the Alvarez family.
My grandmother finally finds whatever she’s looking for in my face. She nods once and continues mixing whatever it is she’s got in that bowl, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. I hope it’s pozole.
“Bien,” she says. “You kissed her.”
Like she’s just snapped her fingers and issued an order, movement resumes in my kitchen. My cousin Sofia whoops from the fridge, her entire front half hidden as she rearranges my produce. My mom returns to her chopped tomatoes and onions. And Luis does—whatever it is he is doing with that corn cob.
I stand there, confused.
Alex appears at my side and hands me one of my beers that he got out of my fridge in my kitchen. The kitchen that he has been sitting in for an untold amount of time with the rest of my family while I was not here.
I am still so confused.
I scratch the back of my neck and frown. “Did I forget someone’s birthday?”
“No.” Alex takes a long pull from his beer. “Abuela called and said you were in crisis. That we all had to come to your house and feed you.” He grimaces at my shirt. “Why are you all wet?”
I ignore his question. “How did you get in?”
“The key.”
“What key?”
“Everyone has a key.”
I blink. “Everyone?”
