i shake my head. "nope. my parents and little brothers are still back home in kentucky." 
he lets out a low whistle. "from kentucky to california, huh?" 
"guess so." i shrug. "what about you? were you born here?" 
"born and raised in boston," he replies. 
"hey, that's even farther than kentucky." 
"i guess that's true." he turns the conversation back to me again. "do you miss your family?" 
"i do, but i'm also lucky enough to get to see them pretty often. and my mom makes a point of calling every night." 
"that's really sweet," chris says. "my mom's the same. i bet they'd like each other."
i laugh. "really?" 
"yeah. i bet she'd really like you, too."
before i can respond to that or unpack the way his comment made my heart start racing, chris hits me with another question. "do you stay here for the summer, then? or do you go back home?" 
i think about the approaching end of the school year, and about the decision i have to make soon: staying or leaving. "i stayed in L.A last summer," i answer, "but this year . . . i'm not really sure yet, to be honest." i want to stop there, but for some reason, my mouth opens and i continue talking. "it depends on if i land a role or not. on the one hand, i could stay here and keep trying, but if i don't find anything . . ." i break off with a laugh. "L.A is expensive, is what i'm trying to say. i'm thinking maybe i should just go back home and work all summer." 
after blabbing about my personal life like that, i expect chris to look uncomfortable, but he's gazing at me like i'm the most interesting person in the room. and i saw a dude with a neck tattoo when i walked in. 
i wish he wouldn't look at me so intently, because i guarantee that he can see my blush right now. 
"i think you're going to find something." he says it like he sees something in me, like he knows that what he said is true. 
it takes a moment for me to speak, touched by his words. "thank you, chris." 
just then, georgia appears in front of me. "you two want to come over to the kitchen?" she asks. "nick's cutting the cake." 
i look around us and realize that most of the people who had previously shared this space had moved over to the kitchen. i don't know how i didn't realize that we were the only people left. i must have been absorbed in our conversation. or in his presence, my mind autofills. i get up from the couch. 
"yeah, sure." chris and i follow georgia into the kitchen where everyone is gathered around nick and a giant butcher's knife. 
"careful with that, nick," matt warns, sounding like a stern father. 
nick pretends to hold the knife like he's about to stab someone and matt shakes his head. "just cut it, dude."
nick finally complies, sinking the knife into the cake, and everyone erupts into cheers. he passes out the first piece, and continues cutting until everyone gets one. oooh, i think as he hands me mine. i take it graciously and thank him. it's chocolate.
"thanks for coming, everyone." nick addresses the group. "i'm so grateful for everyone that helped make this launch happen. working with all of you has made me so so happy." he holds up his piece of cake. "so enjoy!" 
everyone claps and smiles around at each other. i feel a little weird having contributed literally nothing to nick's brand, but i appreciatively dig into my cake nonetheless. 
i stand with georgia and the other model, along with a photographer, making small talk and mostly listening to their stories. every once in a while, my eyes wander to wherever chris is in the room, my mind subconsciously tracking his whereabouts. 
the cake is delicious, but i find myself wishing i had snagged a soda earlier on. i glance back at the fridge and see it standing there, beckoning to me to explore its contents. unable to resist the refrigerator's calls, i excuse myself from the group and make my way  towards the kitchen. 
i stop at the large garbage can next to the island, throwing out my paper plate and plastic fork. when i look back up i see chris standing in front of me. 
"here for more pepsi?" i ask as i step towards the fridge. 
"i was just throwing out my trash, but now that you mention it, i could go for another." 
the massive fridge has double doors, and we each grab hold to one of the handles, opening it up. i grab two cans, handing one to him, when i notice something else in the fridge. 
"what's the hot sauce for?" i ask, curious and slightly confused. 
chris reaches in and grabs the bottle. "no idea. it's not ours. another renter must have left it here." i remember georgia telling me this place is a rental. 
i take the bottle from his hands and read the label, shaking my head. "how do people eat this stuff? i can't even handle takis." 
chris nods. "yeah, and this is the extra hot stuff. crazy." he shuts the fridge. "so, are we trying it?" 
i let out a startled laugh. "um, no? did you miss the part where i said i can't handle spice?" 
chris grins. "i'm noticing a pattern when we hang out together, bree," he says. "you say you're scared of something, and i heroically convince you to face your fears." 
i scoff. "first of all, i never said i was scared of spice. i said i can't handle it, on account of it burns my tongue and is extremely unpleasant." 
"second of all?" 
"second of all, i would hardly call you heroic." 
"ouch. and third of all, you're trying it?" 
i try to glare at him menacingly but my lips won't stop turning up into a grin. 
"fine." i give in. "only if you are." 
he grins like a kid and grabs two plastic spoons from the table, loading them with sauce. the red stuff looks like fuel for an upset stomach, which makes me wonder why i ever listen to this boy. but when i look up at his eyes, i realize that there are a lot of things i'd do to share a moment with chris. make a memory. face a fear. eat hot sauce, i guess?
"three, two, one . . ." 
we stuff the spoons into our mouths and i let the hot sauce settle over my taste buds. we look at each other, confused for a second. 
"that's actually not too bad—" 
and then my whole tongue lights on fire. 
within seconds, we're scrambling for the sink, spitting into it while laughing, except laughing hurts, so tears are streaming down our faces. a few people notice us making a scene, but they only laugh and continue their conversations. 
i'm gripping the faucet and drinking straight from it. it does little to ease the searing pain in my mouth. 
"my turn!" chris pushes his body against mine, stealing possession of the faucet and taking big gulps of water. 
i give him a total of two seconds to inhale the stream before i take back ownership. we go back and forth like this for a minute, until i can finally speak again. 
"why did we do that?" i croak. "that was such a bad idea."
"the worst." 
it takes a solid five minutes of spitting and drinking water and breathing heavily for the pain to subside enough to function properly again. 
i place my hand on chris's shoulder, looking at him very seriously. "so, chris. what did we learn?" 
he looks back at me, just as serious. "that some fears should never be faced," he replies. 
we laugh, and i nod in agreement. though for some reason, to be this close to him, to laugh with him, to have my hand on his shoulder like i do right now, a mouthful of hot sauce feels totally, one hundred percent worth it.