Page 72 of Last First Kiss
“So you told her you’ve loved her since you were teenagers?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. That feels like too much, too soon. How do you tell your best friend you’ve been in love with her for years without totally scaring her off? How do I explain to her that I’ve never even tried for a romantic relationship with someone because my heart was already full, and it was all hers? I think it’s safer to keep that part to myself for now.”
Valeria gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think anything will change between you,” she says softly. “But I understand why you feel the way you do.”
I smile and pull Valeria into a quick hug. “Thanks,” I whisper, grateful for her understanding.
We step back, and my gaze wanders across the room to Alejandra. She’s with Diana, dancing side by side to a routine they made up when we were kids. They pull it outat least once whenever there’s music. They look ridiculous, and I can’t help but smile.
The rest of the night—thankfully—is blissfully drama-free. Diana gets plastered alongside Alex. Alejandra and I flirt and dance for hours, listening to our friends go on and on about “how they always knew it.” And for once, we’re not worrying about our friends, or Mia, or anything else; we’re fully present, savoring the beginning ofusout in the world.
Honestly, it couldn’t be more perfect.
Alejandra and I don’t go back to sleeping in our rooms; if anything, Alejandra has asserted herself in my room more.
More and more of her things keep showing up in my space, but I don’t say a word. Honestly, I love it. Every night ends with her curled up beside me, and my mornings are brighter—even if I do wake up buried under a sea of her hair.
We continue to do all the things we did before we started dating. I love that we can so easily go back to being friends like nothing happened, and that the new intimacy between us isn’t earth-shattering like I thought it would be, and as much as I love still feeling like her best friend, being her partner is my new favorite thing.
I’ve discovered her in a completely different way, and it’s intoxicating. Addicting, and I only want more. I can’t even handle a few hours away from her anymore. So here I am, walking into Alejandra’s studio with two coffees in hand, right in the middle of her workday, because I miss her so much, I’m practically inventing excuses to see her a littlesooner.
The second I step into the building, my eyes scan the room until they land on her. Alejandra is standing behind the camera, effortlessly giving directions. She moves around set with such ease, it’s almost like she’s dancing, taking shots at exactly the right moment.
She looks perfect—as usual—and my heart does that little flutter it always does when I see her.
I step into her line of sight, and when her eyes land on me, her entire face lights up.
“Clara!” she says with a big, glowing smile. “What are you doing here?” She skips toward me and kisses me like she hasn’t seen me in months. I melt, pure bliss washing over me.
I didn’t tell her I was coming. Honestly, I didn’t know myself. It wasn’t until I was in line at the coffee shop that I decided Alejandra was probably due for a midday chai, and I was overdue for a kiss.
I hold up the two coffee cups, and her smile grows.
“I thought you might need this,” I say, and Alejandra leans in to kiss me again.
“You’re an angel.” Her lips curve into that smile that always makes my heart beat faster.
I hand her one of the cups, and she takes it with a sigh of relief.
“You came all this way to bring me a chai?” Alejandra pouts.
“Yes and no.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Tell me more.”
“You forgot?” I tease. She must have. I mean, yes, I got here a little earlier than I should have to give her a chai, but it’s not the only reason I’m here.
“What?” she says, genuinely confused.
“We’re supposed to go to Diana’s today,” I remind her.
Her eyes widen as realization sets in. “Oh my God, you’re so right. I’m sorry, today has been hectic. I need an hour to finish up with the rest of the models, and then we can go.”
Alejandra doesn’t usually work during the weekends, so I’m not entirely surprised she forgot. I nod and sink into the green leather couch she has set up at the far end of the studio. She got it for a shoot once—a brand sent it over and then let her keep it. She was planning to take it home, but it turned into her unofficial editing station, so it stayed.
She turns back to the model, giving clear, confident instructions, but her voice is warm. There’s an ease to the way she moves: steady, assured, completely in her element. She walks around set, adjusting lights, tucking a strand of hair behind the model’s ear, her focus completely locked in, like nothing else exists but the shot she’s after.
It’s kind of captivating, honestly. There’s something magnetic about the way she works—it’s like watching someone do exactly what they were born to do. I don’t even think she realizes how mesmerizing she looks when she’s caught up in creating something, how her whole face lights up with it.
