First, he left the bar without saying good-bye—which wouldn’t have been a surprise if he hadn’t been so sweet up to that point—leaving me to drink Bloody Marys with Jamison, Mick, and Maddie.
After Maddie and I returned from the bathroom, Jamison was totally civil, almost weirdly so, in fact, but my nerves were already shot.
Fifteen years in the past or not, every time I’m around Jamison and Jake at the same time, I feel as guilty as a sinner in church. I don’t like having secrets, even old, stupid secrets. It was enough to make me decide to spill my guts to Jake—just to get the secret out in the open—and I would have, if Jake had given me the chance.
But every time I gathered the courage to head across the street for a chat this week, he found some reason to disappear.
First, he had to take paperwork for an arson case down to the police station, then he had to run to the store to grab a case of soda for the break room fridge. And just this morning, an alleged donut emergency sent him bolting for the door as soon as I walked in, even though I’d come bearing chocolate croissants fresh from the oven and anyone with sense knows chocolate croissants trump all other breakfast treats, hands down.
I would assume Jake still hates me like cookies with raisins and is simply doing his best to continue avoiding me, but every time our eyes meet lately…he smiles.
He smiles, and the world goes pink around the edges and my stomach flips and my heart does squirmy, fluttery things in my chest.
Because it isn’t just any smile; it’s the real Jake smile.
It’s the smile that was on his face when I said “yes” to being his girlfriend our sophomore year. It was the smile that lit up the shadows when I surprised him with a seventeenth birthday party in the tree house in his backyard and the same grin he flashed the morning I kidnapped him on the way to school to play hooky at a pumpkin patch our senior year.
It’s a smile that says, “You delight me, and I really like being around you,” and it warms me to the tips of my toes every time I see it. Even if that is only for a few seconds before Jake finds an excuse to make a run for it.
“Do you want me to save you a seat at our table?” Maddie calls from just inside the door to the VFW hall.
I force a smile before turning to wave at her. “No, it’s fine. If he doesn’t show, I’ll just head home.”
Maddie frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Totally. I’m not that hungry anyway,” I lie.
I’m starving, but I don’t want to eat turkey alone. I want to share this with Jake. If he doesn’t want to share it with me, then…well, I’ll gnaw on a hunk of sharp cheddar from the fridge for dinner, sniffle into a glass of Chardonnay, and call it a night.
“All right,” she says, “but if you leave, text me when you get home, and let me know you got there safe.” She ducks back into the hall, obviously not convinced I’m okay, but willing to let me off the hook in the interest of keeping our dirty laundry under wraps.
People are still straggling into the building for the dinner and silent auction, people with big ears who, by tomorrow morning, could have spread the gossip that I was stood up by my high school sweetheart all over town.
I cringe at the thought.
No matter how hungry I am or how good that turkey smells, there’s no way I’m going inside without my date. If Jake doesn’t show in the next five minutes, I’ll take a page out of his playbook and make a run for it. I’m a celebrity chef for goodness sake, I don’t have to eat a pitiful cheese supper. I can whip up something every bit as delicious as Homer Johnson’s deep-fried turkey.
I’m plotting what I can make with the mushrooms leftover from fajita night and the rosemary I bought to make savory scones—and wondering if there’s any polenta hiding out in my parents’ massive pantry—when Jake jogs into sight, his keys in one hand and a fistful of sunflowers in the other.
The moment he spots me, he smiles.
My anxiety vanishes like fog evaporating in the sun, swept away in a flood of warm feeling and warmer blood rushing beneath my skin. By the time Jake reaches my side, I’ve completely forgotten that he kept me waiting. All I can think about is the light in his eyes and the beauty of his smile and the way the evening chill suddenly feels deliciously refreshing against my flushed cheeks.
“Sorry I’m late,” he pants, out of breath. “I wanted to get you flowers, but I know you hate roses and there isn’t much else for sale this time of year. I had to go to three places before I finally found these.”