Page 12 of Caden & Theo
I blink. That’s it?
“Uh—yeah. Totally.”
I move toward the side door, my legs still jelly, when I hear footsteps behind me. Caden’s followed me downstairs, the absolute picture of calm. His face is neutral, polite smile in place, like he didn’t spend the last hour with his hand under my shirt.
“Hey, Mr. Brooks,” he says, grabbing a bag of cans without being asked.
My dad smiles. “Hey, Caden. You survive prom?”
“Barely.”
They laugh, and I want to crawl under the table and die.
We head out to the bins. Caden’s chill. Like, “we just kissed for the first time, but now we’re tossing recyclables”kind of chill. Meanwhile, my heart is breakdancing in my chest, and I’m positive I’m glowing like a radioactive peach.
We come back inside just in time forherto walk in. Amelia is fourteen, all attitude, and with a sixth sense for existingexactlywhen I want her not to.
She pauses at the bottom of the stairs and narrows her eyes at me. “What’s with your face?”
I freeze. “What?”
“You look weird.”
I fumble. “I don’t—this is just my face!”
Caden snorts behind me, and I shoot him a murderous glare.
Amelia tilts her head, suspicious. “You’re acting like you did something. Orsomeone.”
“I—Amelia!” I practically screech. “Go. Away.”
She smirks. “Oh my God, you’resoweird right now.”
My dad walks in. “Hey, Theo, have you finished your homework?”
“Uh-huh. Just working on it now. Gotta go!” I grab Caden’s arm and drag him back upstairs. We slam the door behind us and stand in my room, trying not to laugh.
“Youarebeing weird,” Caden says, amusement all over his face.
“You don’t understand,” I say, pacing. “She has powers. Sheknows things.”
“She’s your little sister, not a psychic spy.”
“Same thing.”
He laughs and flops back onto my bed. Papers and notebooks are scattered everywhere, corners bent and pages sliding half off the comforter—leftovers from when we’d started kissing before I was finished. He nudges a crushed worksheet out of the way with his elbow. “Pretty sure this is not how you get an A.”
I groan and sink beside him. “Yeah, well, I need that A.” I smooth the nearest page, like that’ll undo the wrinkles. “It’s not just about grades. If I want to get out of here—really get out and make a difference—I can’t half-ass anything.”
He tilts his head, studying me. His smile softens. “That’s so you. Already thinking past this town, past high school. Most people can’t see past Friday night.”
I shrug, but there’s a little fire in my chest anyway.
He reaches out, hooking a finger through mine. “Well, you’re cute when you overthink.”
And just like that, the panic dissolves. My pulse slows. The smile comes back.
So yeah. My sister’s annoying, my dad’s recycling bins are a battlefield, and my essays are probably glowing with post-kiss crinkles, but Caden’s right here. Holding my hand like it’s easy. Like we’re already figuring this out.
