His Stolen Kiss My Golden Reign

My best friend was peeling an orange for me when she tilted her head and asked, completely out of nowhere:

"When Owen kisses you, does he taste like oranges too?"

My fingers seized against the hospital bedsheet.

Before I could breathe, the door swung open. Owen walked in, casually tucking the corner of my blanket over my knees. His tone was breezy, effortless:

"The director threw in an unscripted kiss scene at the last minute. Forgot to mention it."

Sloane held a glistening segment of orange to my lips, her smile dripping with wide-eyed innocence.