I sat in the living room, my notebook in my lap, writing while Jeremiah, Isla and Steven played video games on the TV. Isla might look tiny and sweet, but playing games with her is dangerous. She's mouthy and violent, not afraid to shove Jeremiah to win. Currently, she was pushing his side, trying to get him to swerve his car in the game out of the way, "Flo, control your best friend," Jere says, although he's laughing, enjoying her antics more than he'll admit.

"She's a free spirit," I shrug, tapping the end of my pencil against my paper in thought, "she can't be controlled."

"Except by my parents," She rolls her eyes. To be honest, I'm still shocked her parents let her stay a week here. I'm sure they were going crazy right now. She'd tried asking them to stay longer, and neither budged.

"You mean the same parents I called a few hours ago and said you could stay for the rest of the summer?" Jeremiah asked. He said it so casually it took Isla and I a minute to comprehend what he said, his smirk growing at our shocked expressions.

"Y-you called me parents?" Isla asks him, stuttering, "I can stay?" Jeremiah nods, and it takes less than a second for Isla to drop her remote, jumping onto Jeremiah's lap and tackling him into a hug, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"It was nothing," Jeremiah's cheeks are bright red as he wraps his arms around my best friend's torso.

"This is not nothing, Jere," She uses his nickname so effortlessly like she's known him for longer than she actually has, "thank you." She pulls back, and I think they both realize just how close they are because their eyes go wide, and Isla climbs off his lap, her cheeks bright red.

"What's going on in here?" Conrad walks into the room, noticing how Jere and Isla completely disregarded their remote controls, both wearing matching blushes. He looks at me, and I have to bite my lip to control the grin that wants to spread across my lips. When I woke up after my nap, the two of us didn't say much, everyone else coming home shortly after.

In unison, both Jere and Isla answer his question, "Nothing."

"Isla's staying for the rest of the summer," Steven explains, pausing the TV, "and we're going out to celebrate, Shayla's throwing a party, and you're all coming."

I point to my head with my pencil, "I'm concussed," I remind him, tapping my temple lightly, "so no partying for me."

"Yeah," Isla kicks my brother lightly, rolling her eyes at his forgetfulness, "and I am hanging out with my best friend because I feel extremely guilty about ditching her all afternoon."

I bite my tongue, refraining myself from saying she shouldn't feel guilty. I had a great afternoon, knowing she'll find that suspicious and question both Conrad and I. Which I'd typically be fine with, but not in front of Jeremiah and Steven. I feel guilty for wanting her to go, guilty that I want more time with Conrad, alone.

I also selfishly want her to spend more time with Jeremiah. They don't know it yet, but they'd be perfect together, and I'm determined for the two of them to see that.

"I'm just going to be writing tonight," I tell Isla, raising my notebook, "I've got a lot of work to get done. You should go. Let me live vicariously through you."

Isla glances at Jeremiah and Steven, who are both looking at her for a response, sighing before she says, "okay, I'm in."

"Conrad?" Steven asks, looking back at the other boy. Conrad eyes me out of the corner of his eye, and I look back down at my book, trying not to catch his gaze.

"I think I might hang back tonight," Conrad says nonchalantly, his gaze flickering back over to me, "I'm pretty tired."

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Isla looks between Conrad and me, her eyes widening in realization, "wait-"I kick her from where I'm sitting a few feet away, glaring. Shooting her a look that says we'll talk about this later, "shouldn't we be leaving now?" At that, both Steven and Jeremiah both stand, getting their phones and keys before leaving, all waving goodbye to Conrad and I before going, "have a good time writing, Flo." Isla winks before closing the door behind her.

"And then there were two," Conrad says, walking into the room. Without a thought, I turn so my legs are resting on the coffee table in front of me, leaving the space where my feet were originally for Conrad to sit. "What do you wanna do?"

His leg is warm against my own, the soft material of his flannel brushing against my bare arm. "I do need to write," I say, holding my book up, "but-"

"But you're gonna spend time with me anyway?" Conrad asks, cutting me off playfully. His smile is crooked and smirky, so close that I only need to lean forward a couple of inches to kiss him. Conrad must catch my eyes lingering on his lips because his smirk only grows, his lips pressing together smugly.

"I was going to say I can take a break soon," I finally say, looking back up at his eyes. They're just as pretty as his smile, making it hard to look away, "just let me write for a little bit more. I'm at a pretty big scene right now... and then we can do something?"

"Okay," He nods, I expect him to move, but Conrad scoots closer to me, leaning his head against my shoulder, his hair tickling my skin. "I can wait."

It's hard to focus with Conrad sitting so close. His shampoo smells like coconut. I find myself longing to lean my head on top of his, forgetting my writing altogether. On the other hand, Conrad sitting this close is also inspiring. It was easy to write a big love confession scene when the boy I felt that way about was right beside me. It was easy to describe pining and longing for someone when I felt the same way.

As soon as I'm writing, it flies out of me, my pencil moving so swiftly across the paper that only I could make it out, everyone else unable to decode my messy handwriting. Conrad watches the paper nonetheless. I can sense his eyes darting around the paper as I write, his hand resting on my leg.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks me a few minutes later, his fingers playing with the material of my sweatpants between his fingers.

"That is one," I say, placing my pencil down but not daring to look over at him just yet, "but yeah, sure, you can ask another one."

"Why do you like romance novels so much?" Conrad asks; he lifts his head, and I turn to look at him, once again getting lost in his curious green eyes, "I've always wondered, why romance?"

I understand his curiosity. I've never been the hopeless romantic kind of girl, in real life especially. I didn't have boyfriends in high school or even a ton of crushes. I focused on school and my future and often considered dating in high school to be a complete waste of time. Yet I loved romance. I have since I was little. "I like the happiness," I shrug, "that I can be in control of this happy ending."

Conrad nods, "have you ever been in love?" His words catch me off guard, and he must notice cause he adds, "you don't have to answer if you don't want. I was just curious because you write it all the time, but how can you write something you've never-"

"Conrad," I place my hand on top of his, cutting him off, "it's okay," I reassure him, interlocking our hands. His hand feels so right in mine. "I've never had a boyfriend or been in love with a guy in that way before. But I've seen it. I've felt other types of love for people. I write about what I hope to have one day. I know how I want to be loved in the future."

"How?" He asks. He sounds so curious; his entire body has turned, so it's facing me, taking in my every word.

"I want the kind of guy who knows me," I shrug, smiling at my lap, "the kind of guy who'd do anything for the people he loves and makes me laugh when I'm sad. I want someone who loves his family and respects me." I want you. I refrain myself from saying. Instead, I say. "Have you ever been in love?"

Conrad hums, nodding his head slightly, "I think so."

"Aubrey?" I question, teasingly, "was it the fake babies that sealed the deal? Or the way she'd stalk you on find my phone?"

Conrad sighs, rolling his eyes, "I regret telling you that."

"It really was a mistake," I agree, turning my body again to write.

I write a few more pages, unsure of how much time is passing before Conrad asks me says something else, "is this book about a girl falling in love with her best friend?"

"W-what?" I question, stuttering, "h-how can you read this? My handwriting a mess."

"Yeah, but it's yours," he shrugs, nonchalant, "I've been reading this whole time. So, it's about a girl who falls in love with her best friend? That's what I've got so far."

I shut my book, a blush spreading across my cheeks, "Sort of. He, um, was her best friend, but then he goes away for a summer, and everything changes between the two of them."

They're us. Mom always told me to write from experience, what I know. So, this entire novel has been somewhat based on everything that's happened this summer.

"Does it end happily?" He asks me. He sounds like he's teasing me, knowing that my writing is slightly based on truth, "or is he a jerk the entire time?"

"He redeems himself," I shrug, trying to repress the grin that wants to dance across my lips.

"Let me guess," Conrad leans closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "she's this selfless, super cool girl who has no time to put up with his shit?" I chuckle as he continues, "he's an idiot who can't admit his feelings and pushes people away out of fear?"

"He's not an idiot," I finally say something, "he's just scared and confused."

"Oh, that reminds me," Conrad fishes through his pocket to grab something, "speaking of scared," He reveals the familiar velvet box, "I figured it was about time I gave you this."

"For me?" I fake shock, holding my hand over my heart. Despite knowing what it is, I open the box to look at it, drawing my finger over the intricate loops, "I love it. Thank you." I turn around, so my back is facing Conrad, lifting my hair off my neck, "will you put it on me?"

"Yeah," He takes the chain from me, delicately placing it around my neck, his fingers brushing my skin as he does. His warm breath hits my neck as he concentrates, sending a shot of electricity through my whole body.

Once he's got the clasp, I turn to look at him, "how's it look?" I ask him, allowing my hair to cascade down my shoulders once more.

Conrad's eyes dart from the necklace to my face before he replies, "perfect."