We walked back down the porch steps. Our shoulders brushed again. The night wrapped around us as we crossed the yard. The sound of the party faded behind us until it was nothing more than a distant thrum.
He walked half a step ahead, then slowed so our strides matched. His hand swung close enough to mine that our fingers brushed once. He didn’t pull away. I didn’t either.
The streetlamps passed over us in wide circles of pale light. He watched the pavement while I watched him. His mouth formed the shape of words he wouldn’t speak aloud.
“Do you always take multiple long ways home?” he asked at last.
“Only when I want the walk to last.”
He lowered his gaze. “I see.”
We reached his walkway. His house glowed with warm, steady light behind the frosted windows. He stopped near the path. I stopped beside him.
I shifted my bag. His breath clouded in the cold. His lips pressed together as if he tried to hold something inside.
“This is me,” he whispered.
“I know.”
We stood there, breaths rising together in thin pale clouds. He looked at the stairs. Then he looked at me.
I felt heat climb up my spine. My heart knocked hard in my chest. I knew that feeling. I had felt it before with other boys, but never this exact way. Never this fiercely. Never with this strange mix of fear and softness tangled together.
“Seeing as I’m not gonna walk you home… Good night, Jason,” he said again.
“You won’t?” I pretended to be disappointed. “There go all my plans.”
“We’d be walking back and forth till dawn,” he said. His voice carried a tremor. Not fear or discomfort, but something fragile. Something new.
I should have said good night and left it there. I should have breathed out, stepped back, and let the moment settle into something safe.
Instead, I took one small step closer.
Then another.
He froze. His eyes widened just slightly, and the breath he drew in made his shoulders rise.
I leaned in before my brain caught up. I brushed my lips against his cheek.
Only a faint touch. A whisper of contact. Soft. Quick. Warm.
I meant to pull back.
But…
But.
But I didn’t.
He turned toward me at the same moment I leanedin the tiniest bit more. Our lips met. Not neatly. Not even confidently. The kiss landed off-center and clumsy. It was barely more than a startled press of mouths.
Bennet drew in a sharp breath.
I jerked back half a step, heat flooding my face. His eyes had gone wide behind his glasses. His mouth parted as if words had slipped out of him before he could speak them.
“Oh,” I blurted. “That was— That was not— I did not plan that. At all.”
He kept staring at me. Not moving. Not breathing. Not blinking.