The Beach House (a The Kissing Booth novella)

15: The Beach House

            But we hadn’t talked about the kiss.

            And we hadn’t mentioned it this morning, either.

            “One thing,” Lee whispered, still leaning toward me.

            “Never mention it to anyone else?”

            He nodded, his mouth curving up in a smile. “Exactly. Just, because, you know…”

            “Rachel and Noah are never gonna find out, don’t worry,” I promised, beginning to grin. Lee gave a breath of laughter.

            “It’s such a stupid thing to worry about,” he said. “’Cause, you know, no offence or anything, but it wasn’t… You know.”

            “I know.”

            “Is there enough juice out?” June appeared back in the doorway for a moment, and Lee sat back up from leaning on the table to me.

            “Unless Lee carries on drinking like a fish, then yes.”

            “Do fish actually even drink? I mean, really? It’s like saying, do fish take baths? They live in water, so how can they take a bath and clean themselves? They live in water, so how can they drink? I mean, maybe they just get their water to function from what they eat.”

            I blinked, trying to follow him. He spoke so rapidly and about such a random topic, I was barely following.

            “Um… Wait, what’s your point?”

            “That I’m not really drinking like a fish. Maybe more like a camel.”

            I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were such an animal expert.”

            Lee laughed, and pulled a face at me. I got the impression he was making fun of me, so I poked my tongue out. We were both breathless with laughter when June brought out a fresh plate of French toast.

            And that was it. That was basically the most we ever said about the kiss.

            I figured it would probably be the kind of thing we’d tell as a funny story over Thanksgiving in years (like, a lot of years. When we were thirty or something) and everyone would laugh and it would be some random story that didn’t matter or make much difference to anybody.

            But for the next thirteen years or so, neither of us was going to say a word about it.

            I suppose it was just as well really; I already had enough on my mind, what with Noah leaving for college on the other side of America in a couple of weeks.

            He’d called me as they were picking up the hire car, and text me a couple of times, but I hadn’t spoken to him since. I wondered if he liked it there, if he loved it there, if he couldn’t wait for September. If he’d even really thought about us since he’d been there.

            I ran my fingertip around the side of my glass, leaving tracks in the condensation on it.

            “What’s up?”

            I shrugged. “Just thinking about Noah.”

            Lee rolled his eyes. “And you think I’m clingy.”