“Is he out there?” “I don’t know. He was a minute ago.” “Then just in case,” Peter says, and he leans his head out and kisses me on the lips, open-mouthed and sure. I’m stunned. When he pulls away, Peter’s smiling. “Night, Lara Jean.” He drives off into the night and I’m still standing there with my fingers to my lips. Peter Kavinsky just kissed me. He kissed me, and I liked it. I’m pretty sure I liked it. I’m pretty sure I like him.
