Chapter 3: The First Kiss
The dress was a mistake.
Miri stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem for the eleventh time in as many minutes. It was dark green, velvet, something Chloe had unearthed from the back of her closet with a triumphant little cry. The fabric clung to places Miri usually kept hidden—the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips—and the neckline dipped low enough that she kept wanting to pull it up, cover herself, disappear.
"You look incredible," Chloe had said, her voice warm with something that sounded like pride. "Stop fidgeting."
But now Chloe was gone, off to some study group meeting she'd sworn she couldn't miss, and Miri was alone with her reflection and the slow, creeping certainty that she was about to make a fool of herself.
The fairy lights strung across her ceiling flickered slightly, casting soft shadows across the cluttered shelves. Her room felt smaller tonight, the walls pressing in, the air thick with the scent of lavender and old paper. She'd tried to clean—really tried—but the chaos was too ingrained. Stacks of books teetered on every surface. Half-finished essays spilled from her desk onto the floor. The Scarlet Letter sat open on her nightstand, its spine cracked, a dog-eared page marking a paragraph she'd read a hundred times.
She checked her phone. 5:47. Thirteen minutes.
Her stomach performed a slow, nauseating somersault.
She'd barely eaten all day. Couldn't. Every time she'd tried, the food had turned to ash in her mouth, her throat closing around the simple act of swallowing. She'd managed half a piece of toast at breakfast and a few sips of tea before giving up entirely.
This was a mistake. She should text him. Cancel. Tell him she was sick—no, that was a lie, and she was a terrible liar. Tell him she'd forgotten about a paper. That her grandmother had died. That the building was on fire and she couldn't possibly leave.
Her phone buzzed. She nearly dropped it.
On my way. Be there in five.
Five minutes. She had five minutes to figure out how to be a person. How to exist in the world without tripping over her own feet, without saying something irreparably stupid, without giving him a reason to look at her and realize what a colossal error he'd made.
She pressed her palms flat against her stomach, trying to steady herself. The velvet was soft and warm under her fingers. She'd never worn anything like this. Never owned anything like this. It felt borrowed from someone else's life, someone braver and prettier and more deserving.
The doorbell rang.
Miri's heart stopped. Then started again, racing, pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She grabbed her keys from the desk—then dropped them, then picked them up again, her fingers clumsy and cold. She grabbed her coat. Then dropped that too.
"Get it together," she whispered to herself. "Just get it together."
She didn't get it together.
She walked down the stairs in a daze, her hand sliding along the banister for balance. The hallway was dim, lit only by the faded glow of the porch light filtering through the front windows. She could see him through the glass—a tall silhouette, broad shoulders, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark jacket.
She opened the door.
Leo stood on the porch, his breath misting in the cold evening air. He was wearing a dark blue button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and jeans that fit him like they'd been tailored for his body. His hair was dry this time, pushed back from his forehead, and he was smiling that slow, easy smile that made her knees feel like water.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi." Her voice came out as a squeak. A literal squeak. She wanted to die.
His smile widened. "You look..." He paused, his gaze traveling over her, and she felt it like a physical touch—warm, deliberate, lingering. "Wow."
"Wow?"
"Yeah. Wow." He stepped forward, and for a moment she thought he was going to hug her, but he just reached past her and pulled the door closed, his arm brushing against her shoulder. "You ready?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He led her to a black car parked at the curb—not flashy, she noticed, not the kind of car someone driving a Ferrari would own. Just a modest sedan, clean and unremarkable. He opened the passenger door for her and waited while she climbed in, the leather seat cool against her bare legs.
"You're quiet," he said once he'd settled into the driver's seat.
"I'm always quiet."
"I know. But this is a different kind of quiet." He glanced at her, his eyes catching the glow of the dashboard. "You nervous?"
"No."
He laughed. It was a warm, low sound that filled the car and made her chest feel tight. "You're a terrible liar."
"So I've been told."
The car pulled away from the curb, and Miri watched her house shrink in the rearview mirror. The streets were quiet, dotted with the occasional streetlamp, and the sky was a deep bruised purple, the last traces of sunset bleeding into the horizon.
"I'm not going to bite," Leo said after a moment. "You know that, right?"
"I know."
"So stop looking like you're about to jump out of a moving vehicle."
She turned to look at him. His profile was sharp in the dim light, his jaw strong, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. He looked so calm. So at ease. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.
"I don't do this," she said.
"Do what?"
"This. Dates. Talking to people. Being..." She gestured vaguely at herself. "Out in the world."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Neither do I."
She blinked. "What?"
"Not like this." He kept his eyes on the road, but something in his voice shifted. Softened. "I go to parties. I hook up. I don't... I don't do dinner. I don't do quiet restaurants and long conversations." He glanced at her. "But here I am."
"Why?"
"Because you're different."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
The restaurant was tucked away on a side street, a small, family-owned place with checkered tablecloths and candles in old wine bottles. It smelled like garlic and basil and something sweet baking in the oven. Leo led her to a corner booth, his hand hovering at the small of her back, not quite touching, and Miri felt the heat of it through the velvet of her dress.
A waiter appeared almost immediately, an older man with a thick mustache and kind eyes. He greeted Leo by name—"Ah, Leonardo, back again"—and Leo ordered for both of them without looking at the menu.
"You come here often?" Miri asked once the waiter had gone.
"Every Sunday. My mom lives about ten minutes away. We have dinner here together."
She stared at him. "You have dinner with your mom every Sunday?"
"Is that weird?"
"No. It's..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence. It wasn't weird. It was unexpected. Sweet. Nothing about Leo Castellano fit the picture she'd built in her head.
"She's the reason I'm in school," he said, and there was something careful in his voice. Measured. "She worked three jobs to put me through high school. Wouldn't let me quit football even when we couldn't afford the equipment." He shrugged. "Least I can do is show up for dinner."
Miri didn't know what to say. She'd expected arrogance. Entitlement. The casual indifference of someone who had never had to work for anything. But this was something else entirely. Something real.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I assumed..."
"I know what you assumed." He smiled, but it was a softer smile than before. "Everyone does."
The food arrived—a steaming bowl of pasta for her, something with seared chicken for him—and for a while they ate in silence. Not the awkward silence she'd been dreading, but something quieter. Companionable. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.
"You're not eating," he said eventually.
"I'm nervous."
"I noticed." He reached across the table and nudged her bowl closer. "Eat. I promise I'm not going to judge you for enjoying food."
She picked up her fork and took a bite. The pasta was rich and creamy, the sauce tangy with fresh tomatoes. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.
"Better?" Leo asked.
"Better."
He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Something you've never told anyone."
She almost choked on her pasta. "That's a hell of a question for a first date."
"I don't do things halfway." He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving her face. "Come on. Something. Anything."
She thought about it. Thought about all the secrets she carried, locked away in the quiet corners of her heart. Most of them were too heavy. Too raw. But there was one—small and silly and harmless—that surfaced before she could stop it.
"When I was twelve, I wrote a letter to the curator of the British Museum. Asking if I could be buried with the Sutton Hoo treasure."
Leo's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "What?"
"The helmet. The shield. The whole burial mound." She could feel her cheeks heating up, but she kept going. "I'd just read a book about Anglo-Saxon history and I was convinced it was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard. I wanted to be part of it. So I wrote a letter."
"What did they say?"
"They never replied."
He laughed. Not the polite chuckle she'd expected, but a real laugh, loud and surprised, his head tipping back, his shoulders shaking. "That is the best thing I've ever heard."
"It's embarrassing."
"It's adorable." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm and rough, the same as it had been in the coffee shop. "Tell me more."
So she did. She told him about her favorite historical figure—Eleanor of Aquitaine, obviously—and the time she'd spent an entire semester researching a single medieval manuscript, just because the marginalia had looked like tiny doodles of cats. She told him about the summer she'd tried to teach herself Latin from a library book and ended up crying in frustration after three days.
She talked and talked, and he listened. Nodded. Asked questions. His thumb traced slow circles on the back of her hand, and by the time the waiter came to clear their plates, Miri had forgotten to be nervous.
"Can I ask you something?" she said as they walked out into the cool night air.
"Anything."
"Why did you ask me out? Really?"
He stopped walking. They were on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, the streetlamp casting a pale circle of light around them. Leo turned to face her, his hands sliding into his pockets.
"Because you said what you meant," he said. "You didn't try to impress me. You didn't laugh at my jokes before I made them. You just... were you. And that's rare."
"I'm not interesting."
"You're the most interesting person I've met in years."
She didn't know how to respond to that. So she didn't. They walked to the car in silence, and this time, when Leo opened the door for her, she let herself smile.
The drive home felt shorter. The roads were empty, the streetlamps blurring past, and Miri let herself relax into the seat, her hands folded in her lap. She could feel him glancing at her, brief and warm, and each time it sent a little thrill through her chest.
When they reached her house, he parked the car and walked her to the door. The porch light had flickered off at some point, leaving them in near-darkness, lit only by the pale glow of the moon.
"So," Leo said, stopping in front of her. "I had a good time."
"Me too."
She reached for her keys, her fingers fumbling in her coat pocket. They slipped, clattered to the ground, and she bent to pick them up.
When she straightened, Leo was closer. Much closer. His hand came up to cup her chin, tilting her face toward him, and before she could process what was happening, he kissed her.
It was soft. Gentle. His lips barely brushed hers, a question more than a demand, and for a moment Miri forgot how to breathe. Her hands hung uselessly at her sides, her heart thundering in her chest, and then something inside her unlocked.
She kissed him back.
Her hands came up, gripping the front of his jacket, and his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, became something warmer, something hungrier, and Miri felt herself melting into him, her body pressing against his, her knees going weak.
When they finally pulled apart, she was trembling.
"I've been wanting to do that," Leo said, his voice low and rough, "since the party."
She couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Her lips were tingling, her skin on fire, and every nerve in her body was screaming for more.
"Do you want to come inside?" she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "Miri..."
"Just to talk." Her voice cracked. "I'm not... I don't..."
"I know." He kissed her forehead, soft and slow. "Just to talk."
She fumbled with her keys again, finally managed to unlock the door, and led him inside. The house was dark and quiet, Chloe still out, and they climbed the stairs together in silence, their footsteps creaking on the old wood.
Her bedroom was a disaster. The fairy lights were still on, casting their soft, warm glow across the chaos. She saw it through his eyes—the shelf dedicated to her dragon collection, the paper crane mobile she'd made in middle school, the worn stuffed rabbit on her bed.
"Sorry about the mess," she said, but Leo wasn't looking at the mess.
He was looking at her.
"This is the most you I've ever seen," he said.
She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't have time to ask. He crossed the room in two steps, his hands cupping her face, and kissed her again.
This time it wasn't soft. It was slow and deep, his tongue tracing her lower lip, and Miri made a sound she didn't recognize—a small, desperate noise that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. Her hands found his shoulders, then his chest, then the hard planes of his stomach beneath his shirt.
He walked them back until her legs hit the bed, and she tumbled onto the mattress, pulling him down with her.
They lay there for what felt like hours. Kissing. Touching. His hands skimmed over the velvet of her dress, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the soft skin of her thigh where the hem had ridden up. She trembled beneath him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
"Is this okay?" he murmured against her neck. "Tell me if it's too much."
"It's okay." She pulled him closer. "It's more than okay."
His lips found hers again, and she let herself get lost in him—in the taste of him, the scent of him, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. It was nothing like she'd imagined. It was better. So much better.
At some point the kissing slowed. Became lazy. Leo rolled onto his side, pulling her against his chest, his arm wrapped around her waist.
"We should stop," he said, but he didn't move.
"I know."
"You have class tomorrow."
"I know."
He kissed the top of her head. "I don't want to stop."
"Me neither."
But eventually he did. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "I should go."
She nodded, even though every part of her wanted to ask him to stay. She walked him to the door, suddenly shy, suddenly unsure.
"Next Saturday?," he said. "If you're still free."
"I'm free."
He kissed her one last time—quick and sweet—and then he was gone.
Miri stood in the hallway for a long moment, her lips still tingling, her heart still racing. Then she walked back to her room and collapsed onto her bed, face-first, surrounded by the smell of him.
She stayed like that until she heard Chloe's key in the lock downstairs.
"Oh my God." Chloe's voice floated up the stairs. "Oh my GOD. Miri. MIRI."
Miri buried her face in her pillow and smiled.