Easy, breezy, soft kisses.

Kisses that warm my heart.

Kisses that make me feel like a girl in love.

I can’t deny it. I’m in love with him.

I have been for a long time.

Even though we’ve been together day and night, and even slept in the same bed, we haven’t had sex. Brooklyn says we should wait until it’s right.

But I know he’s waiting because he thinks I’m still a virgin.

We’re leaving tomorrow and driving from where we are now on the eastern coast of France to the west coast. If we drove straight through, it will take us about nine hours, but we’ve decided to not be in a hurry and stop anywhere that looks interesting. The trip might take us days. Once we hit the west coast, we’ll go from Seignosse, to Hossegor, to Biarritz. Then we’ll cross into Spain and visit Zarautz. After that, we’re going to the Canary Islands. Staying a week at a resort on Fuerteventura and then another week on Lanzarote. Basically visiting what are supposed to be some of Europe’s best spots to surf.

“So you keep telling me that you want to wait for sex so that it will be right. What’s going to make it right?”

He cups my cheek in his hand. “I don’t think you should be in such a hurry to grow up. I think we’ll both know when it’s right.”

“What do you mean, in a hurry to grow up? I’m almost seventeen. I’m pretty much grown.”

“You know what I mean. You want your first time to be special. To mean something. Don’t you?”

I let out a big huff of air. “I did, yes.”

“What do you mean, you did?”

“I mean,” I sigh. “Never mind. I do want our first time to be special and to mean something.”

He moves his hand off my face quickly, like all of a sudden my skin burned him. “Our first time, but not your first time. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“That’s correct; it won’t be my first time.”

He sits up, rocking the hammock. “Who did you have sex with? Damian?”

“Oh, gosh, no. He wouldn’t. He’s writing a song about us. He knows I’m in love with you.”

I stop talking. My stupid mouth hangs wide open.

Shit.

I so did not mean to say that. I’ve been waiting for him to say it.

I clamp my mouth shut.

He looked mad before, but now he looks softer.

“You’re in love with me?”

I shut my eyes tight and cover my face with my hand.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I can feel the tears prickling my eyelids.

I am so freaking embarrassed, but I nod my head yes. Then I get brave, open my eyes, and peek at him through my fingers.

He pulls my hand off my face. “Why are you crying? Do you not want to be in love with me?”

“No. I don’t know. I just didn’t mean to say it. I don’t want it to be some dumb crush. I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what this is. What we are.”

He leans down and kisses me.

“What we are is in love, Keats. I love you too.”

“Really?”

Now the tears really start falling.

He nods softly, and I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him again.

He pulls me tightly into his chest.

“I’m sorry about us leaving you that night. I should have waited for you. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s the night it happened. I’m sorry. I thought I didn’t mean anything to you. That it was, I don’t know, just a hookup to you. I thought you were down there hooking up with other girls. Damian told me it was surfers. I’m really sorry. He told me he loved me and after your rejection, I needed to feel loved. I wasn’t in love with him at the time.”

“At the time? Does that mean you’re in love with him now?”

“No. I’m not.” Definitely not. Especially after he blamed me for what Mandy did.

“Was it that guy from the beach that day? The one that twirled you around?”

“Yeah. It was Cush. He’s who I was going out with.”

Brooklyn takes my hand in his and kisses it. “It’s not where you’ve been that matters, Keats, it’s where you end up that does.”

“Is that from a poem?”

“No, I think I just made that up.” He laughs.

“It’s poetic. You should write it down.”

“I might have to do that. Wow.”

“Wow, what?”

“Now that I’ve finally said it, I want to say it all the time. I love you.” He kisses me sweetly on the neck. “I love you.” He kisses my cheek. “I love you.” He kisses my forehead. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Wednesday, June 29th

Keats for my Keats.

7pm

Our drive across France was supposed to be relaxed and fun. We stopped along the way for lunch, but Brooklyn seemed to be in a hurry.

When we were almost to the city of Bordeaux, I find out why.

He turns off the main road and onto a little lane. The countryside in this area is amazing. Rolling hills, rows of grapes growing from dark dirt, and green as far as the eye can see.

“So, my dad stays here and loves it,” he says to me with a grin. “When I told him we were headed this way, he booked us a special suite.”

And special was a good way to put it. The small luxury hotel was recently built of all recycled wood and finishes. Our suite is its own structure that sits on stilts over a pond. It has a cozy, cabin-like feel, a large deck for relaxing, and a big bed topped with luxury linens and a beautiful quilt. I’ve never stayed anywhere quite like this. The property also features a small bistro, a five-star restaurant, and an incredible spa.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

“You’re beautiful.”

He kisses me and then leads me toward the bed.

He slowly unbuttons the white cotton blouse I wore today.

As it slides off my shoulders, he kisses my neck and whispers in my ear. “Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced.”

“That’s Keats, right?”

“Keats poetry for my Keats,” he says with a nod and a grin.

“So does that mean I finally get to experience you?”

He caresses my shoulder, kisses my neck, and then looks into my eyes. The way he looks is better than anything I ever scripted. Better than anything I ever imagined. I smile at him and wrap my arms around his waist.

He gently pushes my bangs out of my face and looks deep into my eyes. “You said when you did it before that you weren't in love with him. I've never been in love before either. So in a way, it's both of our first times.”

I fight the temptation to throw him on the bed. I’ve waited a long time for this. I want to savor it.

I pull his shirt up over his head and pepper his chest with teeny kisses.

He falls back onto the bed, pulling me on top of him.

I half laugh, half scream, but keep kissing his chest. I want to kiss every bit of it.

I work my way down to his abs. Run my fingers across them. Kiss them.

Then I unbutton his shorts. He quickly kicks them off, then flips me over so that he’s lying on top of me.

He kisses down my neck and runs his hands all over my body. Then he reaches behind me, undoes my bra, and kisses across my chest. I really don’t know how much more I can take. I move one of my boobs closer to his mouth, and when he finally complies, I let out a little gasp.

Screw savoring it.

I shove my hand between his legs and roughly rub the front of his boxers. He starts breathing a little more heavy, but doesn’t stop going slow.

He kisses down my stomach, stopping only to unbutton my shorts and slide them off, my panties coming off along with them. Then he kisses the rest of me.

My stomach.

Down my legs.

The insides of my thighs.

Which about drives me insane.

He even kisses the tops of my feet, the tips of my toes, then, finally, he stops going so incredibly wonderfully excruciatingly slow.

He kisses fast up my legs and slides his finger into me.

I pull him to my lips, run my fingers wildly through his hair, and kiss him frantically while I push his boxers off with my feet.

He stops for a second to roll on a condom and then . . . finally.

Thursday, June 30th

Come and find you.

9am

I wake up to Brooklyn running his hand gently across my face.

He smiles at me and says, “Last night was incredible. I'll never forget you, forget this perfect night.”

“Is that more Keats?” I tease.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. While you were gone, I was drowning myself in Keats poetry. I think I memorized half of what he wrote.”

“And I’ve been drowning myself in bad decisions. It’s a good thing you showed up.”

He laughs. “I’d say I showed up last night.”

“That you did. It’s true what they say. About it being better when you’re in love.”

“I do love you, Keats. I have for a while. I just wasn’t sure what to do about it. You were with Sander. Damian told me I should just come out and tell you. He thought you’d break up with Sander if I did. I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to be the cause of a breakup. I was so damn happy that night on the beach. You looked so beautiful in your dress. It took everything I had not to tell you then. To only kiss you on the cheek.”

“You told me I was desirable.”

He grins and kisses me. “You are, obviously,” he says as he rolls on top of me.

Brooklyn orders us breakfast, and we snuggle up in bed while we wait for it.

“So what do you think of France so far?” I ask him.

“It’s great. I miss home though. I miss our beach.”

“I’ve been thinking about not going home. About living here. Or traveling the world.”

“You kinda need to finish school first, don't you think?”

“I’ll do it like you did. Like, online or something. I don't want to go back home.”

“You can’t run away from your problems, Keats, because eventually they’ll come and find you.”

“Sure you can, and you should. I'm happy here. My problems aren’t here. Life is perfect.”

“Would you be happy if I wasn't here?”

“Not as happy.”

“Damian told me why you didn't want to come home. About your friends.”

“I feel like I made a deal with the devil. I grew up on movie sets. I've always scripted versions of my life. Like how I thought it should happen. What I wanted to happen. I even wrote scenes where you told me you loved me. When you told me you loved me, it was nothing like the script. We were supposed to be on the beach in the moonlight. I always looked perfect and glamorous. In real life, I was crying when you said it. Life has not been following my scripts.”

“Life is messy. Like that quote we like.” He points to the necklace I had made for him last Christmas. The corded necklace has a charm of the Chinese symbol for chaos. “Life is divine chaos. It’s messy, and it’s supposed to be that way.”

I nuzzle my face into the side of his neck. “This doesn't feel like chaos.”

“But it is. Particles are colliding all around us.” He grins at me. “What about when our lips collide?”

I grin back. “I like when our lips collide. I liked when we collided.”

“Me too. Wanna collide again before breakfast?”

“Oh, I’m all for more chaos.”

“I love you, Keats.”

I reach under the covers. “I love your chaos.”

Breakfast is delivered too quickly for me to enjoy his chaos again.

I’m munching on a wonderfully flakey croissant when he says, “Damian told me about the girl too. How you think you ruined her life. You didn't. Life is all about karma. She did something not only mean but dangerous to your friend. She got bad karma back. She deserved it.”

“But what about Cush? Did he deserve it? He's a nice guy. He was really sweet to me.”

“You didn't do it to be mean.”

“No, but he still blamed me for it.”

“You weren’t even there, Keats. It wasn’t your fault. And karma is all about your intentions. Are they good or bad? If they are bad, you'll get bad back. Besides, you can't run away from karma. You need to be with your family. You need to finish school. We’re going back home as planned. You can see your friends at school and hang out with me every spare minute you have.”

“I guess I do have to go back for my birthday. Mom and Kym planned that big party.”

“What big party?”

“Oh, I guess I wasn’t talking to you then. They decided I should have a big bash for my seventeenth birthday. They’re renting out a club. Inviting most of my school. Pretty much everyone we know. I’m actually really excited for it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sounds fun.”

“Hey, you're the one that wants me to get back to reality.”

“Let’s forget about reality for the rest of today.”

We spend the entire day in bed. We nap, kiss, make love. He recites more poetry, and we talk about our futures. And then we decide that since our near future involves traveling to the beach, and we haven’t made any hotel reservations, that we should probably do so.

“I’m gonna go get my laptop out of the car and see if I can find an internet connection somewhere around here.”

“Okay. I'm gonna call my mom. I've texted her, but I haven't talked to her all week—plus, she kinda thinks we’re still at the house. Then I’m gonna shower and get ready for dinner.”