Page 87 of First Impressions of You

“Tell that to Maria,” Olivia says, squeezed between two of her older sisters. We all laugh, knowing full well our oldest sister would be with us in a heartbeat if we asked her for it. And that if she ever need us, we’d go to her, no matter the distance.

“I love you guys,” Olivia whispers. We’re not a very verbally affectionate family. We don’t go around distributing “I love yous” left and right like some families do. So it feels extra meaningful when Olivia says it now.

“I love you too.”

“I love both of you,” Julia repeats. “But Luli, if you don’t wanna be late for your rehearsal, you have to leave,” she warns me.

“Shit,” I cuss. Grabbing my phone, I realize I need to call an Uber right now to make it on time.

“Go,” Olivia shoos me away. “We don’t need another one of us in trouble.”

I shoot her a quick glance before I bolt out the door, my fingers already tapping on the screen of my phone.

As I make my way to Movieland, I try my best not to panic, knowing that Olivia’s fate is not the only one at someone else’s hand. My visa is expiring in just a couple of months, and if Movieland doesn’t offer me sponsorship, there’s a chance the three Bento sisters will be returning to Brazil at the end of the year.

Chapter 24

Turns out, finding a solution for Olivia’s problem is not as easy as I hoped. Our first attempt goes exactly as I expected.

Olivia talked to her professor, showing her that she’d sent Graham the script before he ever registered it on his name. The professor promised to take that into consideration, but as expected, when she contacted Graham, he claimed she had only helped him with a few things on the script.

There is nothing in their text thread that proves otherwise. She simply sent out the file, without contextualizing, so it’s hard to prove that he is lying about that.

But as they decide Olivia’s fate, at least they let her go back to attending her classes so she won’t be behind in case she can prove her innocence. And I’m glad she has her classes to busy her mind with. I don’t know how she’d handle being home all day thinking about what could happen to her.

Meanwhile, tech rehearsals get more and more complex. Some adjustments are still being made, especially with the lighting, but I can already see how amazing the show will look. Knowing I’m a part of this lights up a sense of pride inside I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We’re having our friends-and-family dress rehearsal just four days from now, and at this point, it all feels very real. Terrifyingly real.

“You,” Winter says, pulling me closer to him. We’re alone in the dressing room, the rest of the cast already gone for the day. “Can’t stop impressing me.” He plants a kiss on my lips, and I revel in the familiar taste of cinnamon that accompanies the warmth of his mouth of mine. I smile against his lips.

“It’s easy when I have you on stage with me,” I say, realizing how true those words are. “Everything is easier when you’re with me, Winter.”

“I love you,” he blurts out. The way he says those three words, so casually and nonchalantly, as if they didn’t hold the power to upend my entire world, is like a key locking into place. “I love that I can make life easier for you because you don’t just make things easier for me. You make them better. Brighter. I can’t tell you the exact moment it happened. I can’t place where I was or what was happening. I was at your feet before I even realized I was falling.” The hand that is cupping my face starts to lazily stroke my cheeks as he touches his forehead to mine, breathing me in. “I don’t know what kind of spell you’ve put on me, but I don’t ever want to break free. With you, I’m not afraid of letting go of control. You ground me. You made me love acting again. You brought a kind of joy back to my life when I didn’t know that was possible anymore. You’re the sunshine I’ll always want in my winter.”

He calls me sunshine, but right now I feel like he is the sun. His words, the warmth of its touch, their power blossoming something inside of my chest, an overwhelming sense of love, of being loved.

I tip my head slightly, closing the distance between our mouths. Our lips connect in a bolt of electricity. This kiss feels different, urgent, promising. Slipping my tongue over the crease of his lips, I can feel the vibrations of his groan as he responds, opening his lips and eagerly claiming my mouth.

The sudden rush of emotions that flood me at realizing I’m the only one who can unravel him, undo him like this has me wanting to shout from the rooftops. His wandering hands continue exploring my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. As his hands trace down, he palms my ass before sliding his hands to the back of my thighs.

“Up,” he urges. In a quick move, he sweeps me off my feet, hands firmly gripping under my ass to keep me in place as I wrap my legs around his hips, feeling the evidence of what I do to him right between my thighs .

The kiss deepens as he presses me against the wall. He grinds his hips against mine, the bulge in his jeans causing a deliciously sweet friction that sends a jolt of lust through my bloodstream.

But as much as I want to, and as much as I know it to be true, I can’t bring myself to say those three words back to him. I know how strongly I feel for Winter, but there’s a part of my brain, the small part that can still manage rational thoughts, that knows this… us… it can’t last.

My future is too uncertain to make promises. Declaring my love for him right now only to have to say goodbye in January terrifies me.

It doesn’t make sense, but I convince myself that if I don’t tell him out loud, I can pretend what I feel for him isn’t so intense. That these feelings don’t hold the power to trigger an earthquake in the foundation of my very existence. So, instead of using words to answer him, I just kiss him. I kiss him with the hope that he can taste everything I’m feeling for him in the clash of our tongues, in the touch of our lips.

When we finally break apart, when the sweet cinnamon taste of his lips isn’t flooding my senses anymore, I feel the weight of reality threatening to bury me alive.

“Sunshine,” he says, his right hand on my cheek, pushing my hair away. “What’s wrong? Where did you just go?”

I shake my head. If I try to speak, I might start crying, and I don’t want to taint this moment. I don’t want this memory to be anything but perfect when it becomes all I have from him. A memory I can replay over and over in my mind.

I try to slip down, but he tightens his hold on me.

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