What A Kiss Is

Chapter Twelve

Twelve 

“You sure spend a lot of time on that thing.” Dad gestures with his head to my computer.

I shrug.

“How’s email sorting going?”

Right. The thing I’m supposed to be doing. “I haven’t…uh…”

He takes his glasses off and leans forward. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but there’s important stuff in there.”

I keep my eyes off him, my fingers, arms and shoulders tensing. Writing groove gone. “And it’ll still be there when I’m ready for it.”

“Antony.”

I jerk my face from the screen to look at him. “Can we drop it, please?”

“You boys ready for dinner?” Lynn jogs down the steep stairs like they’re regular steps.

“Anything but breakfast.” I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

She laughs. Dad’s still staring.

“I’ll help ya.” Dad stands up and runs a hand through her hair. Lynn glances back over her shoulder at him in a look that’s unmistakable.

Guess we’re off topic for now.

I try not to watch as I write, but I can’t help it. The touching as they move in the tiny kitchen is something I’ve never been around. They work together, reach around each other, and still seem to get a thrill from every look and every brush. They kiss a few times, and I don’t even mind it…much. Dad seems relaxed and happy. Lynn looks relaxed and happy. No wonder Amber’s confused about why they’re not together, together.

Suddenly it feels like I need to give them space, so I close my computer and head outside into the sun. Amber has the captain’s chair. She’s reading on her Kindle, and I watch as she glances over it, punches a few buttons on the navigation screen, and then goes back to reading.

“Hey.”

“Oh my gosh, Antony.” Her eyes are wide, but she looks almost like she’s going to cry.

“What?” Now I’m wary, afraid to move toward her, or away from her, and worried about saying anything.

“I’m like a third of the way through this. It’s amazing.”

“A third of the way through what?” I ask.

“Your book.”

“This is so weird.” I shake my head. It’s like she’s seeing through me, into me.

“You write such beautiful things. Do you really feel that deeply?”

I rub my face with my hands as if I need to take off a layer of skin. “This is why it’s weird when people read what I’ve written.”

“Sorry. It’s really good.” Her crystal blue eyes are soft, and there’s a faint smile that I really want to kiss into a bigger one.

“Thanks.”

She’s reading about the guy who lives in Bosnia. I met a few cool people my age there. Their parents worked at the hotel Mom and I stayed at. The kids worked, too, but on a tip-only basis. Mom tipped them well, so they were around a lot. We had a blast.

“Can we change the subject now?” I ask.

“Wanna learn to drive a sailboat?”

“Uh…” I don’t know where to even begin.