“I . . . like you.”
Theo’s head jerked around, and Grace felt a rush of pure panic. Oh, God, what had she done? It sounded so stupid out loud like that, but there was no stopping now, it was there, hanging in the space between them, she had no choice but to stumble on; cheeks burning.
“Not like a friend, or family — God, not at all like family!” Grace forgot how to breathe. “I like you like you, I mean. And it’s OK if you don’t feel the same,” she babbled, “or even want to be friends, I just had to tell you because I’ve been carrying this around forever and I can’t keep it in anymore —”
She stopped, she had to. Theo was kissing her.
Oh.
His lips were warm, soft against hers, almost featherlight, until Grace leaned in, instinctively. The kiss deepened. His hand went to her cheek, the other light on her waist as Grace tasted him: toothpaste and cola and Theo.
She surfaced for air, giddy. They blinked at each other.
“I —” Theo began, and this time, it was Grace who silenced him.