Forgotten First Kiss

Chapter 12

“Jeremy. You missed another great tailgate party.” Garrett tossed me a cold can of Pepsi from Aunt June’s fridge. “I heard from Rufus you were busy stealing golf carts from the clubhouse instead. Always in trouble. Always. Even when you can afford to buy your own golf cart. It’s ridiculous, don’t you think? The trouble that girl gets you into?”

“Danica is so much trouble.” I popped the top of the can, and the hiss of carbonation escaped. Tiny bubbles pinged against my lip as I sipped the cola-flavored nectar. “More like Danica is in so much trouble.”

“Did she get arrested for stealing the cart? Or—wait. You’re saying she’s into you? No. Dude! Really?” He pounded my back hard enough that a slosh of Pepsi splashed onto my hand. “All this time, and you’re finally going for it. I bet her family isn’t too happy about it. What do her parents say, or are they keeping out of it because Danica’s been injured?”

What Garrett said was a possibility. They might be giving Danica a wide berth since she’d been hurt.

“She mentioned me, but when they reacted, I think she stopped talking about us to them. If she does tell them everything, though, do you think they could chalk it up to her memory loss and be happy for us?” My voice grew thin at the end of the question.

“Jeremy, do you remember her sister’s wedding?”

I bit my lips together and closed my eyes.

“I see you haven’t forgotten. The swan, the swimming pool, you on the motorcycle in the black leather jacket with Danica’s name embroidered on it.”

“I admit, I was going through a phase. But to be fair, Penelope is the one who told me that women crave a grand gesture to prove their love. She was studying romance novels back in her days of wanting to be an author. Thank goodness that ended.” Now, Penelope was a full-time mom and a part-time perfumer, with her own signature scent she sold online. Quite successfully, too. Her kids got the bulk of her attention, though. “Look, I am going to choose to believe that those good people in the Denton family are capable of overlooking adolescent follies and of trusting their adult daughter’s decisions about whom she chooses to love.”

“Whom.” Garrett guffawed. “All the grammar has been unleashed.” He shook his head. “Are you sure she’s into you?”

“Finally, Garrett. After all this time, she is giving me a chance. She really, honestly likes me.” I almost said loves. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“She likes you, but does she know you?”

“I think so.”

“Have you thought this through? What if she does love you? What will her family do?”

“They’ll take it in stride,” I said, though I hadn’t actually thought through the possibility of her loving me and all the implications. The reminder of her family’s disgust for me was a kick in the gut.

“If you ask me, you’re playing with fire.”

I was. He had no idea how fiery things got between Danica and me on a regular basis.

“And with a girl’s feelings. A good girl. A girl who is at a major disadvantage unless you enlighten her.”

When he put it that way, I did feel like a heel. “I’ll tell her. In my own way.”

“Better not delay. If things are moving as fast as Rufus hinted, you’re either soon to be married by choice or by the tip of her dad’s shotgun.”

“It’s not that much fire.” But it was close. Garrett was right.

Then, he sobered. “Honestly, Jeremy. She’s a very nice girl. She deserves someone who tells her the whole truth. Don’t play her.”

He stalked away.

I set down my Pepsi, the taste of it suddenly turning metallic against my tongue.

???

“I love it when you make me dinner.” Danica wrapped her arms around my waist as I stood at the stove in her kitchen. She rested her head against my back, and her heartbeat pulsed through to my spine. It felt so right, the way we fit together every way we’d touched. “I still owe you that truck-washing for teaching me to make orange chicken and all those other things. Tonight I have a surprise, though.”

“Yeah?” I salted the chicken and added a little more butter beneath where the meat met the pan. “What’s that?”

“I made dessert.” She let go of me and bounced toward the fridge, where she opened the freezer and took out a cake, layered with ice cream. “I followed all the directions in the cookbook. I even sifted the flour and the other dry ingredients together. I made a cupcake with some excess batter, and when I tasted it, it worked! You were so right! Anyone can cook, even me.” She put it back in the freezer. “I will admit that I bought the ice cream, though, for the layers. Is that cheating?”

“Ice cream was an ingredient in the recipe, right?”