Kiss You Back

Book 1: Spring Hills 10-Year High School Reunion Series

by Mel Walker

Genres: African American Romance; Contemporary Romance; American Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance; Small-town Romance; Second Chance Romance; contemporary romance; small town romance; nerd romance

Synopsis

Love Doesn’t Come with an Expiration Date

 

Kennedy Myers was the queen of Spring Hills High School: beauty pageant champ, head cheerleader, and the most popular girl in school. She only made one mistake—she said yes to the wrong boy. 

 

Elijah Stevenson was the resident nerd at Spring Hills High. Convention said he should have never been friends with someone like Kennedy Myers. He hid in the shadows and avoided the spotlight, where she thrived. Not wanting to risk their friendship, Elijah watched as she ran off with the boy he knew wouldn't love her the way he did. 

 

The Spring Hills Ten-Year High School reunion gives them both an opportunity to revisit the point in their life that they both hold with regret. Will the reunion allow them a second chance or will it be just another missed connection? 

Release date: November 10, 2022

Print pages: 241

Sample

Chapter One

Elijah

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” The excited voice of a woman pulls my attention from the book I’m signing—my latest novel, Only You. Her crystal-blue eyes are wide with excitement, powder-puff pink manicured fingers, the same color as her cardigan sweater, and she clutches her purse tightly against her chest. She bounces from one foot to the other as I bite down on my lower lip, preventing yet another I can’t believe this is happening smile from spreading across my face.

“Elijah Stevenson here. In the flesh,” the woman screams as if this is news to anyone. The giant poster in the window of the bookstore kind of gave it away. And if that somehow went unnoticed, the six-foot banner of me holding my novel next to the table is a dead giveaway.

“Thank you so much.” My black Sharpie hovers over the large open space on page three, which I use for my signature. “Who should I make this out to?”

The lady pushes a strand of bleach-blonde hair around her ear. She glances over her shoulder at the queue of five remaining customers. She leans forward over the table, one hand cupping the side of her mouth. “Do you mind? Can you make it out to ‘my one and only Jaclyn,’ spelled J-a-c-l-y-n?”

“Of course.” I smile as a Post-it note appears inches away on the table. I turn to face my younger sister, Jada. She is my assistant for today’s book signing, running interference, working logistics, and making sure I spell everyone’s names correctly.

Jada holds up her small hand, five fingers indicating five more people on the line. The end is finally in sight. I nod and complete my autograph, taking my time to make sure it’s smooth and legible. I have no pretense that my autograph will have any value in the future, but I do respect the fans and am still blown away anytime someone purchases a book of mine.

Only You is book six in my small-town romance series, Only. The final installment. It is the most anticipated book I’ve written to date and my most successful.

“Thank you so much, Jaclyn. I hope you enjoy the book.” Her fingers brush against mine when I hand her the book. It lingers a few extra beats before she pulls back.

Jaclyn appears to be in her early thirties, just a few years older than me, but she honors me with a schoolgirl blush before giving me a nervous nod. Jada takes her by the elbow and escorts her away as the next customer steps to the table.

I don’t do a lot of author signings, though my agent and publisher are always pushing me to do more. Connecting with fans and having a consistent public presence are two of the key marketing pillars they attempt to drum into my nonanalytical mind. I’d much rather be writing. I’m an introvert by nature, and I find social gatherings like this exhausting.

Ten minutes later, the line is gone, and I’ve done a quick debrief with the manager of the bookstore. She’s pleased with the turnout and mentions that nearly half of the customers picked up other books while in the store. My eyes glaze over when she begins to mention upsell percentages, foot traffic, and shrinking margins of brick-and-mortar bookstores. Luckily, Jada is right here, a numbers geek through and through. She provides the manager with some tips and tricks she’s discovered researching the field. I’m sure by the time we leave they will be best friends. That’s Jada’s nature.

We may be siblings and grew up in the same household, but we are as opposite as day and night. “Whew, I’m glad that’s over. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon,” I mutter to Jada when she returns to the table.

“You tell me that every time, mister introvert.” Jada’s sparkling hazel eyes buzz with energy, a natural extrovert. She scoops up the Sharpies from the table, her gold bangles and bracelets jingling a musical melody, which causes her to hum. I rise from the seat and step around her, my hands landing briefly on her thin shoulders. The light green dress is a perfect complement to her mahogany skin. Jada is twenty-six years old, two years younger than me, and is my best friend. “Which is why you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”

“Uh-oh,” I brace. Jada stands only five four, and she looks up at me and bats her eyelashes. Her hazel eyes, a mirror of mine, sparkle with mischief. I cross my arms against my chest, knowing Jada has done something to meddle, something she’s become remarkably good at recently.

“I was talking with Cheryl,” she begins, and I relax a bit. Cheryl is my agent of three years. Finding her has been a godsend and a challenge all at the same time. Cheryl Forsythe, or Cheryl Forces as I call her under my breath. Since taking me on as a client, she has forced me to become more diligent, forced me to be better organized, forced me to be better, hence the nickname.

“What did you two scheme now?” After becoming overwhelmed with all the non-writing activities it takes to be an author, Jada stepped in to help as my assistant and all-around organizer. To no one's surprise, she was a natural. Organizing things As part of her responsibilities, I gave her a direct line to Cheryl, who was more than happy to talk to someone who didn’t disappear into a writing cave for weeks on end.

“Well, you know how we have your ten-year high school reunion next week?”

I chew on my tongue, afraid to react. It took nearly three hours of Jada pleading last month to convince me to finally RSVP. Since it’s our hometown, she signed on as my plus-one, not an unusual position. I’ve lost count of the number of events I’ve dragged her along as my plus-one.

High school for me was a mixed bag. It was a necessary part of growing up. I was an extreme introvert back then, also known as a nerd, so it’s not one of my favorite memories. It’s a period of my life filled with missed opportunities that still haunt me to this day. I’m a totally different person today, or so I’d like to think.

“Cheryl and I thought it might be good for you to have a book signing at the reunion. You know, the whole returning hero, nerd turned bestselling author. A success story Principal Bonaparte is going to pimp for the next ten years.” Jada presses her hands together in prayer. “My friend Lincoln is on the reunion committee. He’s already given me a thumbs-up. All we need is your approval.”

Jada is pressing every button. She knows me so well. If it was up to me, I’d rather slip on my noise-canceling headphones, hide away in the school library, and read for a week. But she pulled in others, raising expectations, knowing how much I hate to disappoint people. She’s right about Principal Bonaparte. She is a huge alumni booster. “First of all, I’m not a bestselling author. I’m barely what they call mid-tier. The New York Times hasn’t exactly come calling.”

“Yet,” Jada jumps in, like she always does. My biggest cheerleader. Where I see darkness and restraint, she sees open skies and endless possibilities.

“Besides, isn’t the schedule for the reunion already set? I got the email last week with the full list of activities for the weekend. There isn’t space or time to add a signing.” I suck at planning and logistics. Even after nearly two dozen book signings, I couldn’t tell you what’s involved in putting together such an event.

“Details. We’ll send a revised email. Easy peasy. I’ll figure it out with my contact.” Jada pumps her small fist in victory. “I’m taking that as a yes. I can’t wait to see all those girls who ignored you in high school come crawling to worship at your feet.”

“Wait, what?” Her comment throws me. Yes, I was ignored by nearly every girl in my high school. I didn’t care. I was there to learn, to study. But if I’m honest with myself, there was one. She is the real reason I’m not jumping at the chance to return to Spring Hills. Missed opportunities and heartbreak are what I carry from those times.

Jada’s hands land on my shoulders and twist me to face the floor stand advertising my signing. My six-foot image stares at me, confident arms crossed, a stylistic black blazer, which Jada picked out for me, and a warm smile. “Dude, I keep telling you, you are the total package. You’re talented, finally have a little money, making a name for yourself, and lastly…” She points at the signage. “You’re a freaking hottie.”

I shake my head without thinking. Being called a hottie by your younger sister is cringeworthy. Besides, I don’t see it. I’ve always been the nerdy, quiet, introvert. Things have gotten progressively better, starting in college, but Jada is looking at me through rose-colored glasses. A large part of me will always see myself as the shy nerd regardless of where I’m at. “I don’t…”

A tap on my shoulder interrupts us both, and we turn. “Jaclyn.” The woman from earlier stands in front of me, her gaze avoiding my eyes, landing somewhere around my neck, I suspect. She continues to clutch my book to her chest with one hand, a phone in her other.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was so nervous about meeting you before I forgot to take a picture with you?” She's nervous. The thought that someone, anyone, would have anxiety meeting me is foreign to me. I'm the nerd who writes make believe stories about a world he wishes existed.

“Not at all,” I say and nod toward Jada. “Jada, do you mind?”

“Of course.” Jada takes the phone and steps back. Taking photos is a regular part of her role as an assistant at the signings.

Jaclyn wraps an arm around my waist as I lay a careful hand on her shoulder. “Is that your girlfriend or something? I didn’t see rings on either of you,” Jaclyn whispers to me as Jada raises the camera.

“Jada?” I scoff. “That’s my sister.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. More reasons to love you,” Jaclyn whispers as her hand slips from my waist down a few inches. I feel it rest just below my belt. Jada taps the camera just as Jaclyn’s hand lowers another few inches resting on the top of my rear. Her anxious fingers tap and threaten to lower ever further.

“Great, I think you have what you came for,” I mutter and untangle myself from her.

“Here you go,” Jada says with a knowing smile, handing Jaclyn her phone.

Jaclyn nods at Jada and then pivots to me. “Not quite…”

“Excuse…?” I hear the confused tone in my head, my own voice unrecognized.

“I don’t have everything I’ve come for… not yet” Jaclyn says, holding out her phone, her arm straightening. “Selfie. Do you mind?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from giving her the answer I’d like to. Her prior anxiety is gone, replaced by an awkward look that I suspect is her woman on a prowl look. She leans into me, adjusting the height of her hand to capture us, our cheeks nearly touching. Her perfume is a perfect match for her, too strong and none too pleasant. She clicks, and I release a breath. “One more,” she says, turning toward me before I can react. Her lips land on my cheek as she clicks. “My girlfriends will never believe I kissed Elijah Stevenson. I’ll tag you when I post it. You’d make my day if you replied and followed me.”

For some reason, I find myself nodding. I blame my parents. The respectful upbringing to always be kind and courteous to people.

Jaclyn walks away, and I turn to face my sister, who approaches with a shit-eating grin. She lifts a fist to her mouth, speaking into it, “Attention, janitorial services. We have another Hottie McHottie cleanup in aisle three. Bring a mop and a pail.” She lowers her hand and continues with the ribbing, “We may have to notify the weather service to issue flash flood warnings at your future signings.”

I wave a hand at Jada, who bends over in laughter. “I just don’t get it.”

“That’s because you still see yourself as that skinny, nerdy kid from high school. You really need to look in the mirror more closely.” The corners of her mouth tick up, and I know she’s not done with this yet.

“Go ahead, get it out of your system. What else you got?”

Her hand covers her mouth to suppress a laugh. “I think if I took ten seconds longer with those pictures, she was about to grope you. Right in front of me, no less. Should I notify HR?”

I shake my head and clear the remaining supplies off the table. “And you wonder why I don’t enjoy these events.”

Jada lowers the floor standing poster and slips it back into our travel bag. “Bro, you are a special breed. Most guys your age would be sopping this attention up. You are like the real-life embodiment of the romance hero from your novels. Most men I know would be using that for evil purposes. Scheduling women in their hotel room like chapters in a book. Next chapter, Next Chapter.” She looks up at me, her eyes filled with admiration. “I’m proud of you, Elijah. Don’t change.”

I nod. Like I said, my sister knows me better than anyone. “I don’t think I can. I believe in what I write. That there is a special someone out there for everyone.” My mind races to the one name that occupies a permanent space in my head—Kennedy Myers. My high school friend, the woman I’m petrified of seeing again.

“Oh, by the way. While you were playing kissy face with stalker babe, I confirmed the signing with Lincoln. He recommends we arrive a few days early to square everything away. I’ll handle the logistics. I can’t wait to see the old high school; it’s been too long.” Jada zips the bag and carries it to the travel cart we use for signings.

“I guess this is really happening,” I mutter to myself. Maybe Kennedy won’t attend. The thought appears and disappears just as quick. Of course, Kennedy will be there. There has never been a party at Spring Hills High Kennedy Myers didn’t attend. It’s been ten years, and I’m still not ready.

 

 

Chapter Two

Kennedy

“I won’t do it,” I spit out in Lincoln’s direction, but he ignores me. I shake my head and continue to scan the local community board posted on the café wall. It only takes me a moment as I’ve practically memorized every flyer and event in town for the next month. There’s only one new flyer, and it’s for one-on-one guitar lessons.

I spin to spot Lincoln dumping a bucket of ice into the container next to the coffee station, something he does every hour since the temperature has reached ninety and the iced coffee rush stretches all day long.

“Can we just skip ahead to the part where you begrudgingly agree, and we move on?” Lincoln grabs a napkin from the holder on the countertop and wipes his sweaty forehead. His tone is filled with playfulness, but I sense the undertone of frustration. He’s been dragging me kicking and screaming to become more involved, to network more, to get out and talk to people, all things I used to be a master of. All things I used to enjoy. All things I avoid like the plague ever since moving back to Spring Hills last year.

“I’m still not sure I’m even going to the reunion.” I can’t believe it’s been ten years since I’ve graduated high school. Life was so much simpler then. I was on top of the world, my future so bright I wore shades. Thousand-dollar, titanium, designer shades that blocked me from seeing what was important.

“Tuesday.” Lincoln’s odd reply stops me cold.

“What?”

His brows rise, and he rolls his eyes. “We covered that last Tuesday. You gave me three dozen reasons why you couldn’t go to the reunion. I gave you the one reason why you would. I won. You agreed to come.” Lincoln washes his hands in the small sink behind the cafe counter and then slips on a pair of gloves, straightening the display of muffins and treats in the glass case.

Lincoln manages Spilling the Beans, the most popular coffee shop in Spring Hills, and that’s saying something as this town loves their coffee. His parents own the shop, but they have begun to drop hints they want to retire and disappear to the Caribbean. They are grooming Lincoln to take over the shop one day.

“I don’t recall it that way.” I shake my head as Lincoln lifts a blondie cake treat and nods in my direction. He knows I have a weakness.

“More games.” He huffs out another breath and places the blondie on a saucer. “I don’t have time today, Kennedy. We both know I’m going to keep offering you treats, and you are going to keep saying no and then finally will accept the first one, your favorite, the blondie. It’s our thing, and I love it, but I really don’t have the time today.” Lincoln holds the saucer-filled treat and makes his way around the counter, and the cashier.

I follow him toward my new favorite seat in the back of the cafe. Just another reminder of how things have changed. Years ago, my friends and I owned the table in the window at the front of the cafe. Best seat in the house, we claimed. An open view of the town square where we could see everything going on and be seen by everyone. Gossip and rumors would fill the air for hours. Now, I couldn’t care less and pray no one notices me.

“You still good with your coffee?” Lincoln asks. Lincoln is white, a year younger than me at twenty-seven, and stands five ten with dirty-blond hair that goes well with his blue-gray eyes. He’s a workaholic without a social life. We are kindred spirits in that sense. All except for the workaholic part. I haven’t had steady work since I’ve returned to Spring Hills.

“All good, thanks,” I say, and he slips the treat in front of me. He’s gifted me the corner piece, my favorite. I’m always amazed at how his mind catalogs every customer’s preference—how each of them take their drink and a million other tiny details. I break off a corner and push it into my mouth. “These are so good.”

Lincoln lifts his hands to the air in victory. “Sugar over sense. Gets them every time. So, you’ll do it, right?”

The savory sweetness of the blondie sends my seriously underweight self on an instant sugar high. I push back a loose black braid, hoping Lincoln doesn’t notice I’m three weeks past a proper hair treatment. My funds are tight, and this upcoming reunion is forcing me to think about things I haven’t in some time—manicures, pedicures, dry cleaning, hair. These are the other dozen reasons I failed to mention to Lincoln last Tuesday when he dismissed them all with four simple words as to why I must attend the reunion—you are the queen.

The ten-year reunion is not only a big deal for the school but for the town. We are a small town, but one that is proud of who we are and what we’ve done. And every year, the returning king and queen of the senior year prom are the hosts.

For twenty-two years, the school has hosted the reunion. And for twenty-two years, the returning king and queen have presided. Lincoln warned me there was no way I would be the one to break the streak. Especially since I returned to Spring Hills and now live here full-time. But Lincoln should also know that the reason I hesitate is not because I am the queen, but rather because of who is the king.

“Tuesday,” I spit out and hide behind the crumbles of blondie falling from my mouth. Lincoln stands. He has a business to run, and I’m wasting his time. He’s usually not this short with me, oftentimes grabbing a cup and joining me, but not today. He’s volunteered as the head of the reunion committee and is doing double time. “I agreed to the reunion last Tuesday. You got me. But this—this is above and beyond.”

He grips the back of the chair, and my gaze follows a thick vein up his arm until it reaches his tired eyes. “I can use the help. It was a last-minute request from Jada. I know you don’t remember her. She was two years behind you, but she’s a friend, and I told her I’d make it work. I just don’t know how I can, not with all I already have on the plate.”

I nod. He’s said all this before, and normally, I would leap at this chance. He wants me to organize and run a complete event, a showcase event that will be covered by the local press and every returning alumnus. It could do wonders for my struggling consulting business. But it’s never that simple. Lincoln continues to lay out all the reasons why it’s a good opportunity for me, not realizing he’s about to mention the two words that warn me why it’s such a bad idea.

“Elijah Stevenson.” He pauses and stares down at me, waiting for a reaction. “You guys graduated together. I know you didn’t remember me in high school, but surely you remember him.”

I steel the expression on my face with a slow nod. We did more than graduate together. He was my warm blanket. A good friend, until we weren’t. High school is a bizarre time. A period when you are attempting to grow up, thinking you have the world figured out one minute and feeling helpless like a child the next. Add in a whirlwind of emotions, hormones, expectations, and the fear of choosing your entire future when you can barely figure out directions to the post-graduation party, and it is riddled with confusion and bad decisions.

“It’s a book signing that needs to be added to the reunion weekend agenda,” Lincoln continues to rattle on. “I’ve cleared it with my parents, and they’ve given me the okay to use the cafe, but I can’t manage the event. I need you to do it. Just say yes already so I can get back to work.”

Since coming home nearly broken and broke, Lincoln has been a godsend. I barely remember him from my high school days, but he most certainly remembers me. Somehow, he’s found a way to look past my self-centered high school years, and we’ve become good friends. He’s given me dozens of free treats, comped me on so many coffees I’ve lost track, and has even delivered a meal or two on my doorsteps with a kind note: Made too much today, you are a better option than the trash – Linc.

We’ve only talked about my financial struggles once in all the time I’ve been home. And, just like Lincoln, it was direct and to the point. “My last name isn't Musk, but I see you, and I got you. If you are ever in a jam…” He changed subjects the minute he saw the tears well up in my eyes a year ago and has never brought it up again. I have no clue how I ended up with a friend like Lincoln, or how I didn’t pay more attention to him when we were in high school together.

But if I really think about it, it’s not all that surprising. There was so much I didn’t notice that was right in front of me when I was in high school. And at the top of that list is Elijah Stevenson.

“Well?”

Lincoln remains planted in front of me, arms on the chair, waiting for my response. He rarely asks me for anything. And if Lincoln can somehow forgive me for my inane high school behavior, maybe I will have a similar outcome with another.

“Fine,” I say, bringing a smile to Lincoln’s face. He pumps his fist and turns, not giving me a chance to change my mind.

If he had lingered, he’d recognize I don’t share his joy. Having a boy you barely knew forgive you for ignoring him and becoming friends years later is a piece of cake.

Purposefully walking away from a good friend who you knew in your heart had feelings for you is totally different. I’m not sure there is any coming back from what I did to Elijah Stevenson.