Page 102 of The Sweet Spot

He leans in, slanting his lips to mine. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks after a long, slow kiss, eyes serious as he pulls away.

I decide to go for it. “Summer. Are you gonna go to Brazil?”

He exhales, then nods. “I think so.”

My heart falls to the boardwalk below. Maybe I’ve been in denial, but I’d hoped he’d say no. “When?”

“My flight’s booked for the 16th.”

Luca’s graduation is June 12th. That leaves us barely any time. “You already have your ticket?” I shake my head, my stomach in knots. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a pretty recent decision.” He’s quiet for a beat, finally bringing his eyes to mine. “I was going to tell you, but I knew you’d be upset, and I didn’t feel like fucking up the mood.”

Part of me likes that he considered my feelings. But most of me is just sad. Unsure of what I want to say, I stare at the empty car in front of us.

“See? You’re upset.” Luca’s lips brush my temple. “Mãe’s upset, too. I feel like I’m pissing off every woman in my life.”

I smile a little, thinking of his mother. We’ve gotten to know each other better over the last month, mostly through Sunday dinners. It’s easy to see she thinks Luca hangs the moon, so I’m not surprised she’s upset at the thought of him leaving again.

“I’m not pissed off.” I touch Luca’s face, rubbing my thumb over the soft, smooth skin of his cheek. He’s even more beautiful to me now than he was the first time we rode the Sky Glider together. “Just a little sad.”

“I won’t be gone forever,” he jokes, but it falls flat. “Just the summer.”

“How do you know, though?” I look out at the uncharacteristically calm expanse of water just beyond the beach. Two surfers float on their boards, killing time as they wait for a swell. “You keep going to Brazil; there has to be something about it that draws you in, right? And you’re almost done with school, so it’s not like you have to come back to Santa Cruz.”

Luca drums his fingers over my knee. “School was never the only thing bringing me back, Wren. California’s home. It’ll always be home.”

I nod. I can understand that.

“My dad’s over there, but my family is here. My friends.” He pauses, and I look up at him. The setting sun reflects in his eyes. “You’re here.”

Suddenly, the words my mother has spoken my entire life detonate in my brain like mental IEDs.“Men don’t stay…they never stick around, little bird…don’t expect much.”

You don’t need a man.

No, I don’t need a man. But I want this one. His lips meet mine, soft and familiar, and I open to the warm, wet slide of his mouth, relishing the way his kiss touches my soul as much as my body. It scares me, becausethisman has become an integral part of my life.

Yeah, I’m here. I’ll always be here.

But will he?

* * *

“How ya doing?” Arlo’s voice is loud and echoey, like he’s in a vast space somewhere.

“I’m okay.” I grin, lying back on my unmade bed. “Getting ready for the end of the school year, exams, study groups…you know how it goes.”

He chuckles. “I do. I doubt NYU in the nineties was anything like Santa Cruz nowadays, but some things don’t change.”

We chat for a moment about my grades, the classes I’m over and the ones I’ll miss. “You’d love my Art of Happiness class, Arlo. It’s my favorite. I’d take it again if I could.”

“Dr. Sonia Torres, right?”

I laugh in surprise, trying to recall whether I’d mentioned my professor to Arlo. “Yeah! How’d you know that?”

“It’s pretty well known—in fact, I listened to several of that podcast’s episodes on my way to Rome last winter.”

“That’s crazy. I’ll have to check out the podcast, too.”

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