Page 45 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“I have terrible news,” Peter says. “I have to write a report over the weekend.”

“Peter Park.”

“I’ll start on Monday,” he says and holds his hand up. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you really a Boy Scout?”

“Another Mark story, our dads thought it’d be good for us. But the other kids were just racist.”

“Kids are assholes.”

“Yeah.” Peter nods. “I swear I have good memories.”

“Can you tell me one?”

“Tonight is one,” Peter offers before he cringes at his own words. “I’m sorry, that was cheesy. I always loved cooking with my mom—she’d always let me help, and we perfected our own little kimchi recipe.”

“You’ll have to share it with me sometime.”

“And my dad, he loves his garden. He never got the chance to have one in Incheon; their apartment was too small. But they have a huge backyard in Comer, he grows all kinds of flowers and vegetables, and he let me help when he thought I was old enough. Eventually we started to take what we harvested to the farmers’ market on weekends. Everyone loved his tomatoes; said they were the juiciest they’d ever had.”

“Do you still cook? Or garden?”

“Nah, I wanted to when I moved into my apartment. There’s a lot of good space in the backyard that the other tenants said I was free to use, but I never did. I guess gardening and cooking didn’t have that same magic being away from them.” Peter’s voice is melancholic, as if he’s imagining that he’s right there with his parents in the garden or the kitchen.

The bus brakes at the intersection ahead of them, and Eli takes a leap. Metaphorical, of course. “Um . . . I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you good night?”

“You want to . . . to kiss me?” Peter stumbles through the question.

“Only if you want to,” Eli says. “For practice?”

“Yeah . . . I mean, yes. Of course, that makes sense. We’re supposed to be boyfriends, and boyfriends kiss. That’s a normal thing for boyfriends to do, and I guess I should learn how to kiss, I think that—”

“Peter?”

“Hmm?” In an instant, Peter seems to snap out of whatever trance he worked himself into.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Eli promises. Perhaps the idea was a little far-fetched.

“No, I mean . . . I like kissing. And I think kissing you would be fun.”

“Do you want me to lead?”

“If you don’t mind?”

Eli takes Peter’s other hand, just as his bus pulls up to the stop, the brakes hissing as their lips meet for a short, chaste kiss. It’s simple, sweet, Eli lingering just long enough to taste whatever moisturizer is on Peter’s lips. He even has to stand on his tiptoes to meet Peter, and that’s barely enough to truly close the distance.

It’s not much. But it’s enough to turn Peter bright red again. From his cheeks to the very tips of his ears.

“How was that?” Eli asks.

And Peter smiles brighter than Eli’s ever seen him smile. “I liked it.”

“Good. Now.” Eli lets him go, stepping onto the bus just as the doors open. “Do me a favor?”