Keeping the Distance (I Heart Iloilo Book 1) Page 17

  His smile was nothing short of magazine cover-worthy. “Stop me before I jump around and start whooping.” The mischief faded from his smile, and his face, his entire being, turned soft. “I love you, too.”

  Her arms around his waist, Melissa buried her face in his chest and realized how utterly comfortable it was. She wanted to stand in the middle of Atria with her face superglued to Lance’s chest. Forever. Staring crowds be damned. “I can’t believe I waited this long to say that to you.”

  “I understand why it took you so long to figure it out.” A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “You were blinded by my pretty face.”

  She thumped him on the chest with the flat of her palm. “Oh, I was definitely blinded. By the long list of ex-girlfriends. By the cheesy pickup lines. By the sheer arrogance—”

  He kissed her again.

  And Melissa kissed him back with all she was worth.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Please, please, please record everything.”

  Lance glanced at down at the phone that was currently on loudspeaker on his dashboard, not knowing whether to be annoyed at Julianne for needling him or at himself for answering her call. His sister’s hair was platinum blonde this month, and it drove their father batshit crazy.

  “Don’t screw this up for me.” Lance grabbed the phone from the dashboard with one hand, fishing his car keys out his pocket with the other. “Melissa’s father already hates my guts.”

  “God, I can’t believe it.” He could picture Julianne shaking her head, blonde curls flying in her face. “You. Having dinner at a girl’s house and meeting her parents. It’s blowing my mind.” She made explosive noises for added emphasis.

  “I appreciate your support.” He pressed the end call button and began the drive to Melissa’s house.

  What was usually a fifteen-minute drive ended in what seemed like five seconds. Roads zoomed by, the scenery of buildings and houses blurring in the background.

  Before he knew it, he was pulling a bouquet of flowers out of the backseat and into his arms. He shut the car door and made his way to the gate, pressing one finger against the doorbell. Lance glanced down at the bouquet of flowers and belatedly realized how stupid it was.

  Flowers? For her mother?

  What was this? The 1950s? He should’ve brought something useful like wine, but Mr. Ortiz might disapprove of a high school student bringing alcohol to a family dinner. Maybe he should’ve bought dessert instead, a huge chocolate cake or ice cream. It would’ve been a safer bet.

  Also, why was he sweating so much? Rivulets seemed to run down his spine. His shirt—his fanciest blue button-down—was going to be soaked in no time.

  The gate opened, and Melissa’s beaming face appeared in front of him. “You came.”

  Her arms encircled his neck, and when he tried to speak, mumbled words burst forth from his mouth. He could only gulp and gape at her, the only two things his body was capable of doing as he stood on the threshold of her house.

  He wasn’t picking her up by a vacant lot with overgrown weeds anymore. He was walking through the doorway of her house while holding the dumbest bouquet of white roses he’d ever laid eyes on in his entire life.

  Lance didn’t know where to look first as his disbelief faded with each second he spent inside. The Ortiz home wasn’t as big as the Ordonez mansion, but it was cozy, warmer than his own home had ever been for as long as he could remember. Matching throw pillows were in disarray on the couch, and a jumble of mail sat on the coffee table. The walls were a warm yellow. There were signs of life everywhere. He didn’t know how else to put it.

  Photos of Melissa from when she was a baby to last year’s class photo hung on the walls along with framed certificates of her achievements throughout the years. He took a step forward and examined the closest one, a colorful photograph of Melissa blowing out the candles on her cake at her seventh birthday party. He stared at the children that surrounded her and found his own seven-year-old face among them, party hat askew on his head.

  He turned back to face Melissa, his girlfriend. It felt good to be able to call her that. He grinned. “I was at your seventh birthday party.”

  She returned his grin. “Yes, you were.”

  It was a tiny thing, but it still felt like something.

  “You must be Lance.” A beautiful woman in her early forties who looked like Melissa walked out of what must’ve been the kitchen, wiping her hands on a floral cloth. Thank God the only thing Melissa inherited from her father was her eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Lance straightened to his full height. His girlfriend’s father might currently be plotting his murder, but charming her mother wouldn’t be a problem. He could do this.

  Full of confidence, he opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again. “Yes, I’m Lance. I mean, hi, I’m Lance. It’s very nice to meet you, and you have a very scary husband. Shit, I’m screwing this up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say ‘shit.’ Twice.”

  Behind him, Melissa let out a most unladylike snort.

  He stifled the urge to run a hand over his face. Feeling his face flush, he handed the bouquet to Mrs. Ortiz before his mouth decided to embarrass him even further. “These are for you.”

  “Thank you, Lance.” Mrs. Ortiz’s laugh was light and reminded him of wind chimes. She stared down at the bouquet with a little smile. “It’s been so long since I got flowers.”

  “Remind me to get you your favorites tomorrow,” Mr. Ortiz said as he walked down the stairs, his eyes already attempting to set Lance on fire.

  The urge to run a hand over his face threatened to take over Lance again, and he barely managed to overcome it. The party was just getting started.

  Dinner was a simple and entirely awkward affair. Mr. Ortiz sat at the head of the table, his wife on his right and his daughter on his left respectively. Lance did his best to maintain a respectful distance between him and Melissa, which meant at least two feet in front of her father.

  Mr. Ortiz glared at him during the entire dinner, while his wife attempted to distract him by heaping mounds of food on his plate. When Mr. Ortiz asked him to pass the mashed potatoes, he did so with surprisingly unsteady hands. As he shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth, he said a silent prayer of thanks that Mr. Ortiz did not have a gun collection.

  “How has Hunter been lately, Mel?” Mr. Ortiz asked in the middle of dinner after taking a sip of iced tea.

  Melissa’s eyes darted to Lance before she answered. “He’s fine, Pa. Busy with his band.”

  “You know, I was a bit disappointed at first when he decided to form a band and not focus on his studies, but I believe in him more now,” Mr. Ortiz continued, feigning ignorance to the growing awkwardness around the table. “His grades are higher than ever. That only shows he knows how to manage his priorities. Hunter’s going to go far in life, I’m sure.”

  Mr. Ortiz’s eyes slid over Lance as if to hint that while he was sure about Hunter, he wasn’t so sure about the boy currently sitting at the same table. “What about you, Lance? What are your plans after graduation?”

  “I’m studying Management so I can take over our construction business in a few years.” Lance looked Mr. Ortiz in the eye as he said the next words. “But I don’t want to relax and enjoy what my father started. I want to have more clients, bigger projects, and better output. Just more.”

  He didn’t have ‘higher than ever’ grades like Hunter or an interest in music and artsy things like Melissa, but he was showing Mr. Ortiz who he really was. He was laying all his cards on the table, and he hoped they were enough.

  Obviously, they weren’t, because Mr. Ortiz didn’t comment.

  Dinner continued, as excruciating as ever. Soon, their plates were cleared away, and they sat around the table with full stomachs. Without looking at Lance, Mr. Ortiz stood up and as he walked away, said, “Tell Melissa what you’d like for dinner next time, Lance, so we can prepare it.”

  He almost beamed.
>
  It was the tiniest of olive branches, but he was going to take it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.

  ***

  Lance had gotten her mother flowers as Melissa had imagined.

  They sat on the front porch, a respectful distance between them, because her father might predictably get the urge to check on them. Her mother had already placed the flowers on a vase in the middle of the dining table, a place of honor. Melissa tilted her face up to the sky. The stars stared back at her amidst their blanket of darkness.

  She and Lance were under the same expanse of dark sky. On her front porch. With her father's permission. The wind whipped her loose hair around her shoulders. The night air was chilly, but her sheer giddiness made feeling cold impossible.

  The smile blossoming across her face couldn't be helped. She faced Lance and saw that he, too, had tilted his face up to the sky as he leaned on his palms. Her left hand slithered in his direction until their pinkies touched. Just barely.

  He glanced at her, his smile as happy as her own. She looked into the face she previously wanted to smack with her thickest textbook.

  "Are you a fart?" Melissa found herself saying.

  Lance smirked. "Why?"

  "Because you blow me away."

  He was silent for a heartbeat. Then, his shoulders began to shake, and a laugh erupted out of him as he buried his face in her neck. He breathed her in, like every breath was his last. They continued to laugh for a long time, at the stupidity of her pick-up line, at the novelty of being together without being afraid someone would see.

  "You have the worst pick-up lines," Lance said once he got control of himself again.

  "Well, I learned them from you." Melissa took the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair, to feel the strands slither across her fingers. It was a right she'd denied herself for too long.

  Suddenly, Lance sat up. His gaze darted to the open doorway that led to the house before he looked at her. "Do you think this—us—will work out?"

  The things the future held flashed through her mind. Her father still didn't fully approve, and they were going to be in college next year which meant new people and new experiences that might pull them away from each other.

  But she knew better now. Neither of them was going to walk away when things got tough. She had faith.

  She raised one hand and ran her thumb over his lower lip. Surer than anything, she said, "We will."

  Acknowledgments

  There are times when I’m filled with doubt about my writing and all the other crazy (but wonderful) things that come with being an indie author. However, I’ve never come close to giving up, because of the support of so many wonderful people.

  Thanks to Mama and Tito Edwin. The two of you never bat an eyelash when I don’t come out of my room for days and emerge looking like I belong in a crypt. Don’t worry. I haven’t been doing anything illegal. At least, I don’t think so?

  Thanks to Josh. Our 2 A.M. chats about writing and life in general kept me sane. I look forward to criticizing your footwear choices when you come home.

  Thanks to Jenny, my editor. You were the first person who read the completed draft of this book, and your feedback was beyond helpful. This book is a little more in shape because of you.

  Thanks to Dan for designing my cover. How lucky was I to find a friend as talented and sharp-tongued as you? Your wicked one-liners shall someday make their way into my books. You’ve been warned.

  Thanks to Carl and Maj. You kindly sacrificed your Sunday afternoon to pose for the cover of this book. I shall eternally owe you M&M cookies and blueberry tea.

  Thanks to Rud John, Aifree, Ace, Ian, Roman, Carl Andrew, Francis Joy, and Vince. You guys demanded that you should be mentioned in my next book after I published Prom Queen Perfect. Well, here you go. Haha. All of you made college bearable.

  Thanks to Kiko, Thom, Eunella, Bob, Lea, Lani, and Judelyn for making stressful hours at work fly by.

  Thanks to the wonderful people from #romanceclass. I never would’ve taken this writing thing seriously if I hadn’t found our community online and the inspirational people who belong in it.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank you, reader. You took the time to read this book, and you’ve even managed to make it this far. I hope Lance and Melissa were worth it.

  About the Author

  Clarisse David is a Young Adult author from the land of epic heat waves a.k.a. the Philippines. She graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Literature and cannot survive without Taylor Swift songs, red lipstick, and books. When not hanging out on Twitter, she can be found working on her latest writing project.

  You can find Clarisse online at:

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