The wood beneath my sneakers creaked as I stepped up onto the tiny platform, the hand-painted sign above me reading KISSING BOOTH – $1 in dripping red letters. Summer air clung to my skin, warm and sweet, thick with the smell of popcorn and funnel cake. Somewhere behind me, my friends were absolutely losing their minds.

“DO IT,” Maya stage-whispered, which somehow carried across the entire carnival.

“This was your idea,” I muttered, gripping the edge of the booth. “I hate you all.”

“You don’t,” Jada called back. “You love us. Especially when you kiss your crush.”

I shot them a look that promised revenge—later—then turned back around.

And froze.

Calvin Blakes stood on the other side of the booth, leaning casually against the pole like this was the most normal place in the world to be. Cal. My project partner. The guy who smelled like clean laundry and sunshine. The boy I had absolutely not planned on seeing in this way.

He blinked when he saw me. Then smiled. A slow, surprised one.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey.”

My brain immediately shut off.

“Hi,” I managed, my voice cracking just enough to be embarrassing.

He laughed softly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I—” I cleared my throat. “My friends dared me.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding like that explained everything. “Peer pressure. The strongest force on Earth.”

I exhaled, relaxing just a little. “What are you doing here?”

Cal shrugged. “Helping my cousin run the booth. I lost a bet.”

That made me laugh, and the sound felt too loud, too obvious. His eyes flicked to my mouth for half a second before meeting mine again, and my stomach flipped.

“So,” he said, tapping the little jar beside him, “rules are pretty simple.”

“Of course they are,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

He grinned. “A dollar, one kiss. No refunds.”

I glanced back at my friends. Maya was filming. Of course she was. I groaned and turned back around, pulling a crumpled dollar from my pocket and dropping it into the jar.

“Well,” I said, my heart pounding. “Guess that’s that.”

Cal hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Hey,” he said gently. “If you don’t want to—”

“I do,” I interrupted, surprising both of us. “I mean—yes. I want to.”

His smile softened, less teasing now, more real.

“Okay,” he said quietly.