Kissing Booth (Rewritten)

7 | ρσт, мєєт кєттℓє

Pot, Meet Kettle

Scar Patterson

Two years ago during winter break, I realized I loved Francesca Petkov.

It was before we had both agreed to an open relationship, and it was before she became the most sought after girl at school. We had been dating for approximately four months, and we were sitting on the pier of the only harbor in town. It was vacant for the most part, considering that the water had frozen over so sailors couldn't keep their boats there, but it was mostly because everyone was inside warming up next to the fire, enjoying a cup of eggnog, and unwrapping presents.

Everyone except for us.

Ever since Dad died, my family's Christmas celebration slowly started to dwindle year after year. Mom was too caught up in her own head to buy a Christmas tree, Amy would lock herself in her room and never come out until she had to eat, and I would sit in my own room and stare at the four walls, wondering why he, of all people, had to go.

I didn't know how she did it, but Francesca made me feel better. I thought it was something about her eyes; they were big, round, and full of happiness. But maybe it was her smile, the way her lips curled provocatively and made her nose crinkle. Or it could very well be her hair–those soft, loose, dark waves that reminded me of the beach. Or perhaps, it was just her. The soft comforting words she spoke and the elegance of her voice were what drew me in. She embodied love, friendship, and compassion, and that was why I loved her.

She had squeezed onto my hand gently. "Well, would you look at that?"

My eyes fell on her as my brows drew in together. "Look at what?" I asked her.

She nodded off into the distance. "During the summer, sunsets are so beautiful. It's what makes you fall in love with those cheesy romance flicks." Her lips curled into a comical smile. "But in the winter, people don't notice the sunsets as much, do they? They're easy to miss if you don't look hard enough."

At the time, I didn't understand what she was talking about. Out of all the things we could have been doing, she was ranting about a sunset. "Why are you saying that?" I continued to ask her, growing more interested.

She finally turned to look at me with her chocolate orbs shining with delight.
"Because they're equally as beautiful."

I blinked a few times before I glanced at where the sun had met the horizon. It was mostly covered by gray clouds and a slight hint of fog, but when I strained my eyes, I could see it. It wasn't as prominent as a summer's sunset, but there was something cool about it. "Wow," I had breathed out, "you're right."

"There's beauty all around us, Scar," she had said. "You just gotta look for it."

And that was why I couldn't let go of Francesca: I saw the beauty in her.

"What are you doing here?" were the first words that leaked out of my mouth when I stepped foot into my room to find Francesca seated on the edge of my bed with a grin on her lips.

She scoffed as if I had just asked a dumb question. "You gave me the key to your house, Scar. Did you forget that?"

I pressed my lips into a thin line, suddenly remembering that I had given it to her as a birthday present. "I didn't ask how you got in here. I want to know why you are here."

She gaped and placed a manicured hand over her chest. "Do you not want me to be here?"

"We broke up, remember?" I answered with another question simply because I didn't want to admit that I actually liked her presence.