Rebecca Frost

Jo

We’ve started the negotiations, but this one was more like laying down the rules. After everyone left Jamie suggested we agree to no phones in the bedroom, and I suggested we go right to bed. Easy. I’m not sure I want to call physical contact a negotiation, but … well. That one’s a work in progress. He’s got a queen-sized bed, so we can basically each sleep on our own side, and I wish I could just zap certain memories and not have to think about the only other person I’ve shared a bed with, but I eventually fall asleep.

The first time’s always awkward. That’s what I keep telling myself.

He’s got a clock on the bedside table—and only one bedside table, because there’s only one of him—so I can see what time it is when I wake up. It’s early, pretty much too early for a Saturday, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to fall back asleep. Jamie’s still out, snoring softly, but I don’t know how deep of a sleeper he is, and I’m, what, suddenly too shy to shift around and get comfortable in case I wake him up? There have to be things I do that annoy him, but right now I can’t think of any time he shows his annoyance. Mostly he just seems happy, if not surprised, that I’m still around.

Look, I know that I’m not all the worst things Jake and Tess said about me. At least I know I’m not all of those things all of the time. We’re allowed to have bad days, and we’re allowed to lean on our inner circle on those bad days, okay? Especially the members who’ve spent so much time leaning on us. But I’m not perfect, and even if Jamie and I are somehow perfect for each other, there have to be things about me that he doesn’t like. Right?

Okay now I’m lying here frowning up at Jamie’s stucco ceiling trying to think if there’s something about Mom that Dad doesn’t like, or vice versa. Exactly how negative am I going here with doesn’t like? I don’t think there’s anything they hate about each other, but there have to be things that annoy them about each other. I mean, I love them both deeply and they still embarrass me, usually on purpose.

They’re high school sweethearts who went off to college together even though their parents tried to get them to pick different schools. Their parents also tried to convince them to wait to get married until after graduation, like marriage automatically means pregnancy. Mom’s parents assumed she’d drop out, and I guess I’ll never really know what Mom and Dad were thinking in the moment, but the way they tell it, they were confident. They knew what they wanted, so they went after it.

Technically I think they wanted to adopt more than one kid, but they didn’t even foster any others after they got me. I was their handful, and they’ve never blamed me for it, but I’ve wondered sometimes.

Okay mostly I wondered after Jake and Tess told me they were in love. That’s the first time someone really shook me by showing me the happiness was just a mask. As far as I can tell, my parents are in love, and they’re happy—not just satisfied, but happy—with the way their shared life is going. It would be better, of course, if they hadn’t had to help me through my divorce and all, but they were ready and willing all the same. They had the means to support me and, like being a handful, they’ve never made me feel like I was too much, or it was my fault, or I was holding them back from something.

I’m not a disappointment to my parents. How strange and wonderful is that?

Jamie takes a deeper breath and rolls over, tucking his hands under his pillow as he sort of squints at me. “It’s way too early for you to be awake.”

“Are you the pillow police now?” But obviously he’s at least not completely asleep, so I roll over and mirror his pose.

He gives me a lower wattage version of his lop-sided grin. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I mean, rarely.” I shake my head a little. “I’m fine. I used to be able to hit snooze and fall back asleep, but lately I’m just awake when I’m awake.”

Jamie frees a hand so he can reach out and cup my cheek. I can tell he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever’s on his mind, though, so I wait. “I just think I’m doing it all wrong,” he admits with a little shrug. “Telling Mom, not telling Mom. Sleeping with you but not sleeping with you.”

Oh, okay. We’re getting serious before seven a.m. This doesn’t feel like a casual lying down conversation to me so I sit up, crossing my legs and turning so I can face him, catching his hand between both of mine. “First, I think you’re doing a lot right.”

He takes his hand back long enough to push himself up so he can lean against the headboard and then returns it to mine.

“I can’t tell you how to handle your mom, because I’ve got even less of an idea than you do.” I duck my head and kiss his hand. “Okay, and you’ll also notice I didn’t show you Dad’s text until after you showed me hers, because we’re not ready for that conversation yet.” Shit, I’ve brought up his frown line.

“You and I might be,” he says slowly. “Not with our parents, but us.”

I close my eyes, but I’ve still got his hand. “I don’t want to get married again just so I don’t have to check divorced on every damn form for the rest of my life.”

Jamie takes a slow breath. “And if we had that conversation now, you’d feel like you were doing it that way?”

“I thought the whole point of the apartment was giving us time so we don’t have to have that conversation right now.” I try not to snap it, but it was the thing that made me feel like I could relax. “Like, yes, it will be a conversation, but …”

He tilts his head, considering my face. “Allan said there’s no way I can be without you. Like I was fine before you, because I didn’t know what I was missing, but I can’t miss you.”

Okay but that’s Allan’s judgment when he barely knows me, thanks.

He’s known Jamie for decades, though. That assessment is really about Jamie.

Fuck. “We did the big white wedding because Jake wanted the big white wedding.”

“Meaning you don’t want another one?” he asks softly, eyes locked on mine, “or that, if I want it, I’ll get it, too?”

“Do you want to marry me?” God, that sounds too much like a proposal. We can’t be doing this now.

He shrugs one shoulder. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The movies tell me that’s how it’s done.”

I really can’t commit to this right now. Seriously I need that apartment, because the apartment buys me time to face down the ghost of Jake freaking Cooper. I’ve never really confronted that question: exactly how much of my first marriage was me just giving Jake what he wanted, and how much was me ignoring what I wanted? Except it’s not fair for me to take things out on Jamie by doing the opposite of what I did with Jake, just because I’m thinking all this now. Nothing I can do would hurt Jake the way he hurt me, because he just doesn’t care.

Jamie cares.

Okay. I reach for his other hand, too. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to say, how the truth’s going to form itself into words, until it comes out: “I love you.”

He blinks, then blinks again, and pulls me in for an awkwardly angled but very sincere hug. “I love you, too.”

---

Chapter Forty-Two – coming November 11

Jamie

Unlike most Fridays, Jamie had to keep checking his phone. Mom didn’t usually text from bridge—she was too busy playing cutthroat cards—but tonight it was a series of photographs, chronicling a lovely evening with her firstborn child: the paddle boat. Their table for dinner. Their hotel room. She even sent him some musings that really didn’t need to be addressed tonight: I think we need to repaint the back porch. Do you think Stu and Howie would like a paddle boat ride? I’m thinking of redoing the shutters on the house.

He understood what was happening here. She needed to know she was still important in his life, and maybe Mom and Allan had talked a bit about him and Jo on their way, because Mom was also now worried about the future. If she got Jamie talking about the house and committing to changes and updates, then he was still committed to it, and therefore to her. God, he hadn’t even mentioned the apartment to Allan and already Mom was grappling with it.

Maybe it was good, because that meant she’d have plenty of time. She could work through her feelings and yeah, she’d probably recruit Shane to try to guilt Jamie into staying and choosing Mom over Jo like that, except even moving out wouldn’t be choosing one over the other. It was his future, and he could still be there for Mom and be involved in her life without being stuck under her roof.

The roof needed to be replaced before they thought about the shutters. Jamie debated, then gave Mom’s message a thumbs-up and set his phone down again.

All of them were there, and maybe the rest of the group had already anticipated Mom’s neediness because they’d picked Monopoly instead of something where Jamie had to pay attention to every single move. Because he was distracted, either as a means of poking at him or since he wouldn’t actually be paying attention to everything, the others were back on Ricky and Chase’s itemized list.

“I give Jamie five hundred,” Jo proposed.

Ricky nodded. “Valid move.”

“Jo gives Jamie seven fifty,” Dune suggested.

Ricky shook his head. “Jamie gives Jo seven fifty.”

Trevor had a little pad of paper out and added to his notes as Chase ignored the conversation and took the dice.

“Jamie gives Jo five hundred,” Talon proposed, moving his hand to rewind the conversation because they’d missed something.

This made Ricky tilt his head back and forth. “Probably not.”

“Is there something between five and seven fifty?” Jo asked, trying to read Trevor’s handwriting upside down.

“Honey, there are lots of numbers between five and seven fifty,” Ricky responded haughtily.

Chase tilted his head. “Fifty-dollar increments.”

“Well, shoot,” Trevor grumbled, tearing off that page and starting a new one. “Why didn’t you tell us that before?”

He shrugged. “Nobody’s actually asked before.”

Even though he still had one eye on his phone, Jamie grinned and leaned over to nudge Jo’s shoulder. “It’s that curiosity working in your favor.”

“Killed the cat,” Mitch cautioned.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” Jo, Jamie, and Dune chorused together.

Chase blinked. “That can’t be the actual phrase.”

“Sai King would argue otherwise,” Dune sniffed.

Jamie’s phone lit up again and he read the preview without clicking on it: Allan seems to think you’re going to marry Jo. Shit. He blinked and belatedly reached to move the phone, but Jo and Mitch had both already leaned in for a look.

“Damn,” Mitch said in a low voice, blinking a bit guiltily because he clearly hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Ricky reached across the table to pick up Jamie’s phone and get the screen to light up again even if he didn’t try to unlock it, and held it so Chase could see it, too. Sure, guys. Just pass it around. When Jamie looked back down at the table he saw Jo’s phone in front of him, unlocked and on a message from her dad she’d left on read: Mom wants to know if we keep June open or if you’re going to jet off to Vegas some weekend and come back Jo Whittaker.

Uh.

After a beat, Ricky grabbed Jo’s phone, too.

Chase shook his head slowly. “You’d have the same initials. You couldn’t monogram anything.”

Jamie blinked, but Jo, who’d apparently already considered changing her last name, countered, “Or we could monogram everything.”

“June’s too soon for a wedding,” Talon argued, craning his neck for Jo’s phone. “Most places won’t even consider selling you a gown less than a year out.”

Okay, but Talon hadn’t worn a gown. Nobody at this table had worn a gown.

Somehow the table was casually discussing a wedding.

Jo reached out for Jamie’s phone and handed it back to him. “Tell her you haven’t even begun to figure out how to ask me yet, so there’s no telling until you get an answer.”

Ricky clucked his tongue. “Dangerous. Now he’s committing to asking you but you’re so capricious you can’t be trusted.”

“So tell her you haven’t even thought about it yet.” Jo shrugged it off that easily.

Jamie shook his head a little. He had thought about it, but not … now.

“Haven’t even considered asking her yet,” Trevor suggested. “Then you’re not committing to asking, ever.”

“Yeah, do that one,” Jo agreed, and when he looked up at her she smiled and shrugged, like she knew that yet was doing a lot of heavy lifting.

He’d gotten her an apartment. She’d been having a bad morning until she found out about the apartment. This was a conversation he’d have to have with Mom at some point, not to get her permission or even her blessing but to keep her updated. I haven’t thought about asking her yet. He wanted to add more, to pad it with something about Allan’s eternal optimism or point out that this really wasn’t the time, but he just sent the message instead.

Mitch handed Jo her own phone. “I notice you haven’t committed.”

“Two votes for Vegas,” Trevor added, nodding at his husband unnecessarily.

“Three,” Dune said with an apologetic shrug. “Beautiful, but I barely remember anything and it was too stressful.”

Talon shook his head. “I wouldn’t do Vegas if we did it again. Smaller, yeah, sure, travel’s stressful, too.”

Jamie warily watched his phone, but Jo shifted in her chair and put her arm on the back of his, offering some of her space if he wanted it. It helped him take a slow breath and rest his hand on her knee. Why should it matter so much what Mom thought about it? Family mattered, but his happiness should come first. Right? And of course she’d bring it up like this, over text, at a distance, because it would eat at him and mean she got space at the front of his mind.

She didn’t know for sure Jo was staying the night, but she was panicking. Maybe it wasn’t about losing her place in his life, exactly, but the idea that someone else was rising in importance. He’d come if Mom needed him, but instead of right here, in the guest bedroom, he’d have to leave the house he shared with Jo instead.

A new message appeared: Maybe we need to redo the roof before the shutters.

---

Chapter Forty-One – coming November 10

Jo

We’re out in the garage again after lunch, because yeah, Jamie’s got a deadline for his packaging and prepping, but I’ve got my laptop so I can click through pictures of a model apartment. “It’s not overlooking the water,” Jamie tells me, and his apologetic tone is at odds with his grin. “They didn’t have any of those open, so I didn’t have to wonder if it’d be worth it.”

Obviously he knew it was a risk, but he also already pointed out that he picked an apartment, not a house. I could check out the other apartment layouts and decide I’d rather have a different one, or I can focus on the fact that my boyfriend kind of already solved my there’s not enough time to make a decision problem. “I don’t have a view of the lake right now, anyway, so you’d just be spoiling me.”

He looks up and his grin broadens, because yeah, he’s already spoiling me.

It’s just such a freaking relief. That’s one big question answered, and even if I can’t offload my downstate apartment right away—they always go fast in Traverse City, so I’m not expecting it to take long—I have some leeway to figure out my next employment step. Maybe I don’t want to put in an application at Babycakes and turn that into work, but there are plenty of other coffee shops around here that aren’t already my fun spots. That makes us into some sort of sitcom couple, the barista and the food truck guy, but I’ve done it before, and I know I like it. There are plenty of other options, but at least that one’s solid.

Oh my God, Jamie got me an apartment. He’s not the only one who can’t stop smiling.

I have time. I do need to figure out a few things—how to get a bed into the new apartment, for example, when mine’s downstate and I won’t be able to get it until my sub-letter moves out, which is after the new apartment opens up, or if it’s just less of a hassle to buy a new bed or even long-term rent one—but those are minor details. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure someone has an air mattress I can borrow. I won’t end up spending the night at Helen’s. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if I did, even if the expectation was that I took the guest room, but it’s the sort of thing I feel like she’d mark on one side of the paper and then, somehow, I’d never quite be able to make it up to her.

I take one more look at the apartment photos and close my laptop, setting it aside. “Okay. I can be helpful now.”

Jamie’s grin turns teasing. “Oh, can you?”

“Sure. Do you want me to get my hands all over your meat or your buns?” I ask sweetly.

He sighs and tells me I can start on the coleslaw.

It’s Jamie’s garage, Jamie’s workspace, so there’s no music. He doesn’t have a Bluetooth speaker or even headphones. I could grab mine, or open my laptop again and sacrifice sound quality, but that would feel like an intrusion. Jamie’s quiet is peaceful, not oppressive, and I guess I’m learning to see it that way.

Jamie’s behind schedule, at least based on previous Fridays, but with the two of us we’ll get everything done in time. Ricky or Chase will pick up today’s order and take it to the restaurant before game night, and we’ll get everything else packaged and stored so he—or I guess we—can transfer it to the food truck before the farmer’s market tomorrow.

It’s kind of weird that all his equipment is out here in the garage instead of inside, but there’s not really room in the house kitchen for a chest fridge and all the rest. The garage is at least on the same level as the food truck, so there’s no carrying things up and down stairs, and it’s large and heated. And clean, of course, considering. After PrideFest he found and took care of the hole that let in the squirrels or whatever they were, and he sanitizes things before and after. Honestly it’s a cushy setup, and there’s no way Jamie could live in an apartment because he’d lose this space. Maybe I’ve got an apartment now, but he needs Helen’s garage and her back porch and her driveway to keep up the food truck business. Did Allan and Shane think of that, or were they short-sighted enough to assume all he needed was the truck itself?

Honestly our timing is perfect. We’re just cleaning up when Ricky pulls in, and he gives us a wave but starts to head for the house. “She’s not here,” Jamie tells him with a little shrug, because of course Helen’s car is still in the driveway. There’s no sign that she’s gone.

Ricky pauses, cocking his head. “Left early for bridge?”

“Gone for the weekend.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Allan.”

Apparently that’s enough of an explanation, because Ricky turns toward us. “Nonstop sexy party, then?”

I snort. “Surprise family all weekend. My parents are up.”

He tilts his head. “I did wonder why you made it for four.”

The Rusty Barrel doesn’t actually do reservations. Most people can call ahead the day of if they want to, but since Jamie’s instrumental in so much of their menu, he gets special treatment.

Ricky can’t linger, since he needs to get the order down to the restaurant, but I’m sure we’ll hear more later. For now, though, Jamie closes up the garage and we head inside. He goes to the kitchen and the normal-sized freezer and holds up one thing of spring rolls and one of mozzarella sticks, silently asking which one he should heat up for tonight.

Have I had a single vegetable yet today? I point to the spring rolls.

“Ah, yes, the healthy choice,” he muses, turning to put the mozzarella sticks back. “Do you want to run your backpack upstairs?”

I think he means so it’s out of the way for everyone’s shoes, but it’s also going to be the first Friday where I don’t have a backpack here. Well, I suppose it’s also the first time I’ve parked in his driveway instead of across the street, so I can leave when I’m tired and nobody blocks me in. We’re totally already broadcasting that I’m spending the night. I go over to him first, though, so I can kiss his cheek, and he frowns a little, half teasing, and pulls me in to kiss me on the lips.

---

Chapter Forty

Jamie

There was something Jamie needed to tell Jo, but he hadn’t figured out how—there hadn’t been time to figure out how—and Jo had a look about her. She said she couldn’t stop thinking about him, which sounded like a good thing, but the way she burrowed into his arms on the couch made it seem like a bad thing. This was Jo seeking comfort, and of course he was happy to lie down with her and wrap his arms around her and be there for her, but was this a time when he should ask what was going on or try to wait her out?

Part of waiting her out meant sitting on his news and second-guessing himself.

Jo finally took a deep breath and shifted to prop her head on her hand, not quite looking down on him but not trying to disappear into his chest anymore, either. “I, uh.” She sniffed, even though she hadn’t started crying. Maybe she was close, but she shook her head and pushed on before he could say anything: “I got kind of bogged down thinking about The Future.” Her voice gave those words some weight.

Great. Uh. Obviously, it was an emotional subject, but he didn’t have a clear read on what aspects of the future, and if they were good feelings or bad. “Do you want to talk about it?” Ugh, and his question was far too cautious.

She smiled a little. “I think I’d rather make out, but.” Jo shook her head again and her gaze drifted. “I don’t know if I want to keep doing the research thing. I don’t know if I want to keep doing the Davis thing.” And maybe she felt him tense, because she met his eyes and smiled and swiped at an escaping tear. “I do know I want to keep doing the us thing, but my move-out date feels like it’s just around the corner.”

Okay. He still didn’t know the best way to do this, but this was the moment, so he shifted to pull his phone out of his pocket. The email was already on the screen, because that’s how close the timing was, and he handed it over to Jo. Frowning, she propped herself up more to have a look at it, and he sat up, too, trying to read beyond her frown.

“Wait, what is this?” Jo finally asked, even though it was right there: receipt of a down payment.

“I’ve been looking at apartments,” he explained, and it wasn’t quite trying to walk a tightrope blindfolded, but this felt like something he had to do carefully. “I’d started with houses and apartments, but … the timing …”

Jo scrolled back up. “A one-bedroom apartment?”

Jamie nodded, even though that seemed a bit dangerous when he wasn’t sure how high off the ground he was. “The property manager called this morning to say he was down to the last one with that layout. You’ve got it for a year.”

She blinked. “What do you mean, I’ve got it for a year?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask you to move in here.” He gestured around them at Mom’s place. “Not even as some sort of stopgap while we look at houses.”

“Houses are ridiculously expensive in Marquette,” she argued back, but that meant she’d looked.

Jamie nodded slowly. “I’ve got a nest egg. Dad left all of us a lot. The food truck’s doing well, so I’ve been able to keep adding to it.” He licked his lips, because she still hadn’t fully reacted yet. “I didn’t want to buy us a house without your input.”

Jo slowly looked up, still almost hunched over his phone.

“So I viewed the apartments, and that one”—he wanted to reach over to tap the screen, but he also didn’t want to disturb her calm in case it meant she’d turn him down—“is the one I figured would be big enough for both of us, depending on … well.” Shit, he’d stumbled right into the heart of the thing. “If you decide you want to keep me. And then we’ll have time to figure out the next step.” He blinked and sort of rewound some of that in his head. “August 15. You can move in on the fifteenth and then it’s yours until the fourteenth next year.” He carefully pressed his lips together because, if he kept talking, he’d just make things even more precarious.

She shook her head a little. “You got us an apartment.”

“Yes.” Technically it was her apartment, because he had his room here, but yeah, he’d picked it out. She’d never seen it, even though the building wasn’t all that far from where she lived now. That was part of the appeal, a sort of continuation of the summer beyond her planned date, but it was risky. He’d gone ahead and made some pretty big decisions about her future, or at least made decisions that opened up some options about her future, and there was a huge difference between doing all this behind her back and supporting her in the moment when she only needed a little nudge to keep moving in the direction she’d already chosen.

For all he knew, that it’s the last one, so take it or lose it spiel was a lie meant to get him to jump. Well, he’d jumped.

This breath brought the animation back into Jo’s body and she laughed a little as she carefully set his phone down. “God, Jamie.” She reached for his face and he noticed her hands were shaking. For a moment she searched his eyes, but maybe she couldn’t find what she really wanted to say because she ended up shrugging and whispering “Thank you.”

It was plenty. Jamie leaned in to kiss her, and then pulled her down on the couch again, this time for more than just a soothing embrace.

---

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Jo

I can’t concentrate. It’s wonderful that Margot has all these questions about a local author whose private papers and all were donated to the archives, and they can only be answered with intense searches and careful photographs of pages, but my mind’s not on it right now. I just want to be with Jamie, and it’s so unfair that my parents came up the exact same weekend Helen’s out of the house, because I can’t just go there and not leave until Sunday. I have to pretend that it’s fine to be away from him, even though the clock’s ticking and soon enough we’re going to be five hours apart instead of a short walk, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I have my apartment, and he has Helen.

The only thing that’s fallen into place this summer is Jamie. Maybe some people, somewhere, are pursuing Davis’s confession and trying to figure out who the other Milwaukee Millennium Murderer is, but mostly they’re treating it like a media stunt. He was very badly hurt and thought he might die, so of course he’d want to send everyone on a wild goose chase from beyond the grave. He got well enough to go back to prison—and lots more people complained about their tax dollars at work—and now he’s in solitary so nobody tries again before the trial.

I guess it’s like Helen said: lightning doesn’t strike twice. I can’t vouch for that as far as scientific accuracy, but I get what she means. I absolutely lucked into the connection because Kara and Tess asked for my help purely as a pity move. They could’ve asked anyone. If Davis hadn’t shown up at my adoption hearing, none of the rest would’ve happened.

So on the one hand that means I’ve come around to Jamie’s side of things: it’s his fault, not mine. I didn’t have his name until he popped in just the once, saying he cared, and then didn’t follow through. Obviously he didn’t know that one day, he’d be arrested for murder because of it, but even if he murdered Sophia and Akira as a perverted means of trying to deal with losing me, he didn’t have to murder my birth mother. He could’ve just walked away.

The fact that I wasn’t born in a hospital and didn’t have a birth certificate or any kind of records worked in my favor, because even though he gave them Cece’s name, she simply drops off the record when she’s kicked out of the house for being pregnant. Her parents are still alive, but they’re protected by lawyers, so basically everyone assumes she lost the baby. It sucks, but it sucks less than some of the other options.

Working with archival material means I can’t check out completely. I’ve got to handle it properly, one page at a time, and take my photos or make some notes on my laptop, and remind myself what Margot’s looking for. Just because she has questions doesn’t mean the archive has answers, but I have to make sure I check everywhere, just in case.

Normally it’s really cool looking at things people haven’t cared about in years, maybe since the original author wrote it. I feel like I know this guy from reading so many of his notes, even though he died when I was three. He writes a lot of his thoughts, and sometimes they’re fragmentary and really hard to decode, but every so often he comes out with this beautiful sentence that’s just been hiding in here. Even if I can’t find answers for Margot, I can get her those sentences.

It’s not enough. I’ve been doing research for a few years now, and it’s been fine, but right now …

There are plenty of coffee shops in Marquette. I could bring back my barista skills. There’s no way in hell that’d pay for an apartment anywhere near here, though. I’d use all my money on gas and all my time on the commute, which wouldn’t really help out in the end. I could go for roommates, but me having roommates and Jamie living with his mom doesn’t work out in our favor, either.

I can’t ask Jamie to abandon his mother and move in with me. Not when he only first kissed me less than twenty-four hours ago. Not when I’ve only known him maybe two months.  I could find someone to take over my Traverse City lease easily enough, but then I’d just be double screwed if things didn’t work out up here.

Yeah, I’m way too distracted to last a full day. Instead of my camera, I go to my messages. I’m useless here. I’m going to push through for another half hour or so, but then can we do lunch? Send. You’re just asking for lunch, Jo. Not the rest of your lives.

Three pages later, I’ve got a response: We can do whatever you want.

God, you can’t read tone in a text. Is he just being friendly and happy at the thought of seeing me, or are there deeper layers there? I’ll see you soon. I said half an hour, and I checked the time, so Margot will get another half hour.

A new message pops in: Not soon enough.

Okay sometimes he deserves to have his whole name thrown at him. I make a note of where I am and return all the documents to the folder. Annika just smiles. “The forecast’s too nice to spend all day in here,” she commiserates, even though she is, in fact, going to spend all day in here. My contract with Margot isn’t full time, but Annika’s position is.

It’s not a long drive to Jamie’s house, but it’s not walking distance, either. Honestly it’s just long enough for me to agonize over it: consider the future? Focus on the present moment? Lightning can’t strike twice, so does that apply to Jamie if Jake already happened? And honestly, if the conditions are right, lightning strikes the same place plenty of times. If it didn’t, lightning rods wouldn’t work. There are ways to attract lightning, which is basically the only way we know how to keep something from being hit: give the lightning something it wants more.

None of this is making any sense. I’m tired, and overwhelmed, and distracted, and I really should be focused on how my backpack is actually useful today because I’ve got my toiletries along with a change of clothes so I can spend hours and hours with Jamie, and I shouldn’t keep thinking about how limited our time might be. Not when I pull into his driveway and see he’s got the garage door open so he can keep an eye out for me and grin the moment my car comes into view. He pulls off his gloves and the hairnet and comes around as I open the car door. “I feel like I should point out, first, that you’re not useless,” he greets me.

“Useless in the archives,” I protest, but I feel myself flush, too, because yeah, he called me out on that. Self-talk matters. I lean back in for my backpack and shut and lock the door, but I can’t not say it: “I keep thinking about you.”

He tilts his head. “I was kind of hoping you’d say that.” And maybe he was only waiting for my text because he hits the garage door button, reaches for my hand, and pulls me toward the house.

---

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jamie

Jo got awkward sometimes. Jamie could think that because it was true, because it often happened to him, and because he didn’t mean it to judge. Okay, those rules probably said more about his own mental state than he really wanted to consider, but he saw the ways Jo responded to him—and to his mom, and to anyone else around them—and figured he could do some things for her. They hadn’t talked about it outright, but she hadn’t told him not to, and he could see how she relaxed a little when the decision was taken out of her hands.

That sounded terrible. It wasn’t like he had full control of her life, but he could see sometimes that she got stuck thinking about all the possible consequences of what might seem to other people like a simple action, turning into Dr. Strange following every possible path with the infinity stones. It still felt like overstepping when he told her what to do, even when it was clearly the thing she’d intended to do, but the quick flash of a grateful smile made him feel better about doing it.

It was weird, maybe, that Jo’s parents weren’t asking him about himself. He had to assume they’d talked about him, the way Mom had talked about Jo with him, but wouldn’t they want to hear the answers from his own mouth? Surely at some point they’d want to know exactly how much the food truck actually made, and if he was living with his mom because there was no way he could support himself, much less their daughter.

Okay maybe they didn’t want to ask that yet because it presumed some sort of solid future beyond just another month of Jo in Brent and Amanda’s apartment. And wait, Jo only had a month left up here? The summer was just slipping away.

“Well, I figure we’ll do dinner tomorrow night?” Mary-Beth said in response to Allan’s questions about their plans for the weekend, raising an eyebrow at Jo and Jamie.

Jo smiled and squeezed his thigh. “I’m planning on bringing them by your food truck for lunch.”

That made him smile more than it really should. “We could still do the Rusty Barrel, though. I could get us reservations.”

“Whoa, eating Jamie’s meat twice in one day?” Allan chimed in.

“Allan Nathanial!” Mom hissed, but Jo’s parents burst out laughing.

“Bet that’s the first time you’ve heard that one,” Kent told Jamie, wiping tears from his eyes.

Jamie shook his head morosely. “Yeah, first time. Nobody’s ever thought of it before.”

“The Rusty Barrel sounds great,” Mary-Beth reassured him, but she was flushed, and yeah, once again Allan’s charm and double entendres worked their way on a married woman. “I mean, for dinner. A rusty barrel as a concept isn’t very appealing.”

“They had that discussion,” Jamie reassured her, hoping he didn’t sound like he’d said this dozens of times before. “It was this whole thing about how upscale they wanted to make it and what sort of expectations people would have depending on the name.”

“What were the other options?” Kent wanted to know.

Jamie shook his head. “More generic things, really. BBQ or Barbecue something or other. They didn’t really want to put a name to it in case management changed.”

“Unlike your food truck,” Mary-Beth put in brightly.

“Hey, that was a brilliant name,” Allan protested. “It’s clear, it’s specific, and it’s easy to remember. Where did you get that? Jamie’s Food Truck.” He shrugged. “Brilliant.”

“Yeah so Allan and Shane actually bought me the truck,” Jamie explained, which meant Jo’s parents laughed again.

Allan shook his head and held up a hand so no one else would jump in. “And it’s your favorite color, isn’t it? Everybody recognizes it, everybody knows the name, and Comic Sans is a good font even if you’re dyslexic, so I stand by all our choices and you’re welcome!”

“Okay, but did you know that about Comic Sans when you picked it, or did someone just come along and tell you later?” Jo interjected.

He pointed a finger at her. “You’re just mad I didn’t look at your files and pull out a name.”

“Wait, what?” Mary-Beth wanted to know, and Jamie winced a little.

“They showed me their Milwaukee file,” Allan explained. “Jo pulled Davis’s name out of nowhere like that”—he snapped his fingers—“so she thought maybe I’d look through it and remember one of Jamie’s creepy neighbors or something.”

Mom sniffed. “As if you could expect lightning to strike twice.” She, at least, didn’t seem to notice the way Kent and Mary-Beth shot their daughter intense looks to see how much Allan knew about where, exactly, she got Davis’s name, but Jo just laughed.

“It can hit me once and Allan once,” she protested, but her smile also dismissed the idea and accepted Mom’s rebuke. “Fine, you used up all your luck naming the food truck.”

Allan laughed and leaned over to nudge her shoulder with his own. “Slightly different impact on the course of the world in general and popular culture specifically, but I’ll take it.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll enjoy the results of your influence tomorrow,” Mary-Beth reassured him, getting them back to the food truck rather than Davis deftly and without even a wink, but Jamie relaxed a little.

“When we eat Jamie’s meat,” Kent added deadpan, causing his daughter to sigh and drop her face in her hands.

Jamie laughed despite himself, more at the combination of Jo’s reaction and Mom’s tight non-reaction, and he gave Jo a side hug before getting up to start busing their dishes. It really seemed like a good time to end things before Mom got too frustrated with Allan and refused to go away for the weekend.

They ended up walking Mom and Allan to the car. Allan shook hands with all the Lewises, but it seemed like Mom was having one of her struggles. She shook with Jo’s parents but gave Jo a brief hug, although it wasn’t really any shorter than the one she gave Jamie. “We’ll be back Sunday,” she told him, either like he’d have to make sure to get the house cleaned up by then or like he’d never been on his own this long before and needed a deadline for survival. Jamie didn’t want to ask what time Sunday, since it would just cause a delay here and now, so he nodded and told Allan to drive safely.

This was also the corner for him to head up the hill, though, so after Allan drove off he had to figure out his own departure. Jo turned to him before he could think of what to say. “Mom and Dad are following me up to see the archives,” she told him, “but then they’re on their own for the rest of the day. I’ll come by when I’m done?”

He wanted to tell her to be done early, but all he said was, “I’m packaging and prepping today. You know where to find me.” It didn’t take as long as the smoking days, and she had his schedule down by now.

Jo went up on tiptoe to give him a kiss and he moved to meet her for a peck on the lips. That made her grin, and blush, and okay, maybe his message had gotten through loud and clear.

“Until tomorrow,” Kent told him, offering his hand, and Jamie shook with him and then Mary-Beth before Jo gestured her parents down the hill so they’d have a gentler slope on the way back to her apartment and he was left alone on his trek up.

---

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jo

I can’t tell if Dad told Mom exactly how he met Jamie or if he just let her assume he saw us walking down together, and I’m sure as hell not asking. I don’t need that conversation on our walk up to breakfast, thanks, especially when I can’t figure out what to tell them about Helen. They know Jamie hasn’t dated before, and they know why I went to talk to him in the first place, so I think they’re ready to tread lightly anyway. It’s also one of those things where I can’t tell if my parents are actually cringe or if I only think they’re cringe, generally lovingly, because they’re my parents.

They knock on my apartment door at a quarter to, and I’m all ready with my shoes on and backpack over my shoulder. “Okay, so do you want to drive up and go right to the archives from there,” I ask, “or walk back down here and get the cars?” They’re not spending the whole day with me, but I can at least show them around. It’s not quite take your parents to work day but I think it’s another aspect of what Dad said: Mom just needs to see how I’m doing, and that means at work as well as with Jamie.

“We can walk,” Mom says with a shrug, not even consulting Dad. I mean, it’s not like we need to: if walking’s an option, she’s picking it. Dad and I catch eyes and grin, but she either doesn’t see or ignores us. “Lead the way!”

“And tell us more about Allan?” Dad requests.

I can’t help the laugh. “He’s a fireman who poses for their beefcake calendar every year.”

“Oh my God, he’s that friend of Brent’s?” Mom fans herself, and I can’t tell how much is pretend.

“He won’t let her hang the calendar in the kitchen,” Dad adds.

Okay this laugh is more of a snort. “Helen keeps it in her kitchen.”

“So basically everybody greets this guy with hi, hello, I’ve seen you mostly naked?” Dad guesses.

“Yeah, you should try it.” He can stick with his intention to make things as awkward as possible.

Dad looks over at Mom, but she just rolls her eyes instead of telling him not to, so I may have created a monster.

They want more information, though, but I don’t really have much: lives in Green Bay. Divorced three times. Currently single. Taking Helen to Munising on the trip he’d had planned for his latest girlfriend—although at this point I wonder if it may have been a boyfriend instead. Does he just make up names for when he’s talking to people who don’t know?

They’ve already got basically everything I know about Helen: volunteers at the library and likes to think she’s hip with today’s youth. Book club and bridge night. No coffee or red meat. Likes to think she’s well-read and some sort of elite since her husband, whom she never talks about, was a professor at NMU.

“Oh, hey, that’s them,” I add when we come up to the one parking lot that’s closest to Babycakes, in case they’ve got questions that maybe I don’t want them asking when a Whittaker can hear.

Jamie breaks into a grin and his shoulders drop when he sees me, which means I smile back, and I notice Allan noticing even if Jamie doesn’t. Rather than nudge him or try to point it out or anything, Allan just waves at us and says “Jo’s parents! Hi!” He even takes over the introductions so I can go over to Jamie and take his hand and grin too much when he kisses my cheek. It’s just my cheek, though, which is why he avoids looking at me while I laugh and squeeze his arm.

It’s probably good that we met up here, though, because once we get to Babycakes we can scope out the tables and push two of them together while Mom and Dad consider all the menu choices. Helen sits to claim the table—and make sure she gets what she considers to be the best seat—and Allan insists on paying for everyone so we get our orders in and then have to sort out the rest of us. Helen’s in one of the chairs, so Allan sits across from her on the bench. I slide in from the other side, so I’m bookended by the brothers, and Dad takes the chair across from me. He immediately turns to Helen and says “So tell me about the work you do at the library,” either accidentally or on purpose leaving out the word volunteer and setting her up to go on and on.

Allan raises his eyebrows at me to give Dad silent props. It’s a bit of a reach, since he’s talking to the other end of the table, but he looks at Mom. “So you’re Amanda’s college bestie.”

She raises her water glass. “Class of ‘97. No, I don’t still have those pictures.”

I blink. “Mom?”

Mom giggles, and I’m not sure if it’s over Allan—who is, after all, older than she is—or at the memories. “There were some parties. It’s fine. Your father was there.”

Oh, man. If she’s calling him my father, then we’re talking wet T-shirt contest pictures at best. I know she was a bit of a party girl in college, which was the main reason why nobody thought their marriage or my placement would stick, but I’ve never seen proof of it. The photos on display are pretty demure, floral-print dresses with lace collars and sensible low heels.

Allan’s grin tells me he’s got more info on those pictures than I do. “That’s a shame.”

Mom clucks her tongue and gives him an oh, you gesture before taking pity on me. “Jo says you’re doing Munising this weekend. Kent and I went there for our honeymoon.”

That gets them onto safer topics like hikes and waterfalls and Pictured Rocks, and I slip my hand into Jamie’s as we just listen. It’s kind of hard to focus with the two different conversations going on, and I don’t think either of us wants to start up a third in case someone points out that hey, we can talk to each other any time and we don’t often see the other people here. Plus it’s like I said: Jamie doesn’t make me feel like I have to say something if I don’t want to.

Our drinks get brought out, and then our food, and Helen’s tea doesn’t stand out so much as her single plain croissant next to all of our breakfast burritos. My parents know how much I’ve struggled with food, starting with the best nutrition my mother could get me but never really having enough or knowing for sure if more was coming—and yeah, I’ve brought up with a therapist how other people’s we were poor but my parents never let us know it posts can be triggering—and then struggling with balance and body issues and how no, I totally don’t have the same body type as my parents. They’re both slender despite their breakfast burritos, and I’m … not … but I can pretend that Helen’s raised eyebrow and sniff is for any number of other things.

I think Jamie’s noticed it, too. He’s never said anything about how little I eat Tuesday nights, like maybe it’s just because I’m not such a fan of chicken or fish, but he sees so much else of what goes on with me.

Like right now, how he leans over and murmurs “Eat your breakfast” in my ear under the guise of giving me a kiss. It’s not even over guilt of cleaning my plate or because Allan paid for it. It’s because bodies need energy, and that’s what calories are.

I probably fail at giving him a normal, not overly grateful, smile, but I also see how Dad’s watching as he listens to Helen and I pick up my burrito and realize I’m hungry enough to eat every bite.

---

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jamie

Jamie first suggested to Mom that they all meet at 8:30, because he knew she’d have to change it, just because she could. “Can you bump it back to nine?” she asked over her cup of tea. Even though it was early, she was fully dressed, all makeup and jewelry accounted for.

When Allan visited Jamie in Milwaukee or Chicago, they could do their first cups of coffee in boxers and nothing else if that’s what they wore to bed, but the house on Ridge Street had its own rules. See, for example, how Mom tsk tsked at Allan’s damp hair. “What’s the plan?” he asked, presumably so he could decide whether to bother with coffee.

“Babycakes at nine with Jo and her parents,” Mom announced, and the inflection on her parents was odd coming from a woman who’d adopted a child herself. Maybe it was supposed to indicate distaste at meeting them at all, because meeting the parents meant things were serious, even if said parents showed up of their own accord, unplanned.

Allan checked the time. “Do you want to load up my car and just leave from there? I can call ahead and get us a paddleboat rental for this afternoon.”

It was smooth, and it was something Jamie learned from Allan in the first place: instead of asking if Mom really wanted to walk down the hill and back up again, he used their planned trip as an excuse and gave them a reason to leave earlier.

Mom considered it as she took a sip of her tea, and Jamie bet her contrariness was at war with itself. It often was, and the day he realized it must be an awful way to live was when he’d started offering her these choices more for her sake instead of his own. “Yes, I think that’s fine,” she finally said, getting smoothly to her feet. “I’ll finish packing.”

Allan grabbed a glass and filled it with water before he leaned against the kitchen counter. That was another thing they did when Mom wasn’t around: lean instead of sit. He tilted his head and looked at Jamie. “Do you have any idea how much you relax around Jo?”

Uh. That made it doubly ironic he’d been tensing for whatever Allan wanted to say. “What?”

“You relax around her. It’s not …” He nodded at Mom’s recently vacated chair and then grimaced at another thought. “God, so. Jo’s parents. Do I ask how you ran into them?”

Of course he hadn’t wanted to say in front of Mom. “I kissed her behind the apartment and her dad was like well, might as well make this as awkward as possible.”

“Seriously?”

Jamie couldn’t tell which part he was supposed to be confirming. “Seriously.”

“Man, that, uh.” He took a drink and shook his head a little. Then, when Jamie kept looking at him, he shrugged a little. “None of my business.”

“Ask anyway.” It didn’t even feel dangerous, considering … well, this was Allan.

Allan shrugged again and turned more to face Jamie. “Is kissing the most you’ve done?”

Ah. Okay. He nodded once.

“So I figure it’s more like my partner’s dad walking in when we’re in the middle of it,” his brother concluded with a shrug.

But Jamie shook his head. “I get what you’re saying, but it’s not like the dad’s going to react the same way both times.”

“Okay, true,” Allan acknowledged. “That’s never happened, by the way. During sex, at least. Man, do you think Shane’s given the boys any kind of talk by now?”

What, because their nephews were in middle school? “I would guess not.”

“Like he doesn’t remember being that age. Full of hormones. Well.” He winked at Jamie. “Most of us were full of hormones.”

Jamie wasn’t sure if being ace meant the hormones didn’t exist or what, but he’d definitely still thought female anatomy was something weird and gross in middle school even when his peers veered toward curiosity and fascination.

“I just, uh.” Allan shook his head again, but this time it was accompanied by the smile that meant girls had been curious about and fascinated by him since he was in middle school. “It clarified a lot, that’s all. And I guess … I guess I was thinking that we should’ve said something earlier, you know? I’ve never been close with Shane, but you and me?”

He nodded slowly. It was weird, maybe, because Allan was so much older. Obviously that made more of a difference when they were kids, but when Jamie thought of his childhood, he saw Allan as open arms. Shane was the back of a shirt, hurrying off to Mom.

Allan nodded upstairs. “Does Mom have any idea how things are with you and Jo?”

“She knows we’re dating.” What else was he supposed to tell her?

But Allan shook his head. “You can’t ever be without her. You could be Jamie before Jo just fine, because you didn’t know she was out there, but Jamie after Jo? Impossible.”

“We haven’t, uh.” Jamie cleared his throat, maybe because he’d already thought what Allan said and couldn’t find any way to make himself believe it wasn’t true. “We haven’t talked about any of that.” Even now, just with Allan, he didn’t want to say marriage.

“What, because of Jake Cooper?” Allan clucked his tongue. “You’re worth ten of him, easy.”

Jake Cooper was Jo’s own age, for one, which meant there was a far bigger gap between him and Mary-Beth. And Jake was classically good-looking with his short black hair, green eyes, tan skin, and perfect teeth.

Okay but Jake Cooper was also the kind of guy who’d cheat on Jo. That meant he thought that, for whatever reason, there was someone better than Jo. He’d even known Tess for as long as he’d known Jo, so why hadn’t he just gone for Tess in the first place? Except Jamie thought he had the answer to that: Tess wasn’t the kind of woman who’d support Jake through grad school. Honestly it was like she was using Jake and even the scandal to get clicks.

Allan waited for Jamie to focus back on him. “You’re worth ten of him,” he repeated before putting his glass in the sink and going upstairs to see what he could carry down for Mom.

---

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jo

I’m definitely flushed, but it’s not for the good, oh my God, Jamie just kissed me reason. It’s not like Dad walked in on us, exactly, because we were right there out in public, but come on, what are the odds? And now we’re in the apartment above them, and I can’t quite work out which room of theirs is below the bedroom, and my face just gets hotter because I’ve thought it, even if nothing’s going to come of it.

God, I don’t even know. I have to figure Jamie’s got enough of his own feelings bubbling up, and maybe he’s confused and flustered, too, and now I’m basically useless. I let us in, and put my keys on the hook, and slip off my shoes, and give a helpless little shrug because I’m not sure what to say.

Jamie sets my backpack down and kneels to untie his shoes, which is encouraging, because that means he’s going to stay a while. When he stands up again he reaches for my face, not pushing me back but pulling me in for another kiss. I hardly need the urging, and I move up against him so he’s the one who takes a half-step back and braces himself against the wall, pulling me closer as I straddle one of his thighs, and my God, am I touch starved or it is just because it’s Jamie? His hands are on my back, pressing me closer, and I want to shuck my dress so he can have me skin to skin, but if he does that, I’m going up in a pillar of flame. I’ll become a pile of ashes, just from his hands, and Amanda will have to rent a carpet cleaner before the next renter moves in.

He’s in no rush, and it’s sweet agony. We kiss slowly, and thoroughly, barely moving, like it’s some sort of challenge. My fingers twitch, wanting to run through his hair or trace the line of his jaw, but his hands are steady pressure, keeping me in place. All I can do is melt against him and try not to moan too desperately into his mouth when his tongue makes me shiver.

Jamie finally breaks off the kiss, and the fact that he needs a moment to get his wits back makes me tingle and bury my face in his neck. His laugh is a little breathless as he kisses my hair. “I really shouldn’t stay. If I’m not back before Mom goes to bed …”

God, we really are teenagers. I’m here thinking about what the downstairs apartment can hear going on upstairs, and he’s calculating his curfew.

“But, uh.” Jamie waits until I look up at him and tilts his head. “They’re respecting game night, so you can still stay over tomorrow, right?”

I giggle and drop my head back to his shoulder again. “You don’t think they’re going to stay up and wait for me to come home?”

“They said they’re going out with Brent and Amanda,” he reasons. “Maybe they’ll just assume you got back before they did.”

Okay but it still feels like sneaking around, which, let’s face it, is totally part of the appeal. Helen’s fine with me in her house for meals and when she’d not there, but Jamie and I haven’t spent the night together yet. I’d have to guess that she waits to make sure she hears that he’s home, and sleeping with Jamie—even if it’s just sleeping—when she’s only down the hall would be worse than getting up to something tonight with my parents downstairs. At least that’s technically a separate apartment.

I’ll sleep with Jamie—or at least next to Jamie—in Helen’s house when she’s not there, but at this point … well, I can see why Allan wouldn’t have wanted to move back in, even if they had all been girlfriends.

Jamie chuckles and nuzzles my neck. “Look at me, all in a hurry to leave.”

Yeah, because I’m in such a hurry to let him. “Take my key. You could totally make it a Simpsons episode: leave there after she goes to bed and then leave here so you’re home before she gets up.”

“What, because that worked out so well for Lisa?” he laughs.

“For a few days it did!” I protest, and yeah, we’re all giggly and hyped up on various emotions.

He sighs and touches his forehead to mine. “I’m going to go home, and stay there for the night, and we’ll plan on Babycakes at nine unless I tell you otherwise, okay? At least with me, maybe with Mom and Allan. I’ll let you know.”

I nod slightly, but not enough to jar our skulls. “Okay. Is this the part where I have to move?”

Jamie smiles and kisses me again, not nearly for long enough this time. “Yes.”

I sigh but pull away, and he gives me a little half-smile as he kneels to put his shoes back on. Honestly he could’ve kept them on, considering, but I’m guessing neither of us exactly had a plan for how this was going to go. Or, well, scratch plan. Neither of us had a clear idea, either, and now he stands up to see me grinning uncontrollably.

“Hey, no,” he protests as I bury my face in my hands. “It’s a lot harder to kiss you that way.”

“And kissing is something you like doing,” I confirm, because come on, this is new, emotions are up, and I don’t want to go making assumptions.

Jamie nods slowly, but I think it’s more at my need for clarification than his answer. He cups my face in his hand and runs his thumb slowly over my cheek, considering. “When it’s just the two of us, yes,” he concludes firmly, “but in front of other people …”

I nod at that. We’ve all got our limits. Maybe they’re different for family versus friends, but they still exist. We’re alone right now, though, so I lean in to kiss him again.

“Yeah, see.” He laughs a little and hugs me. “I really should go.”

This time when I step back I raise my hands, clearing him for the exit. It’s Jamie’s turn to hesitate, biting his lip—damn, seriously—but then he shakes his head and gives me a little wave as he leaves.

My God. Okay. Tomorrow there’ll be family time, but for now I’m alone and free to think about him all I want.

---

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jamie

Allan insisted on doing the dishes, even though that mostly meant just putting them in the dishwasher. When they were kids, it was an actual chore, and Allan was all too willing to shed that one as soon as Jamie could be trusted with it. “Walk her home,” Allan told Jamie with that intense look that meant there should be more than walking. “Take your time.” He was so solemn he didn’t even wink.

Before he knelt to tie his shoes, Jamie moved Jo’s backpack over so she wouldn’t pick it up. It wasn’t super heavy today, since she’d walked up after dropping any papers and things off at her apartment, but he still wanted to carry it for her. She didn’t like leaving without it, but she was willing to let him take it, at least on a trial basis, like she was testing to see if he was just humoring her or if he respected her needs and wanted to help. Hey, she saw his tender spots, and he saw hers.

Jo sighed indulgently, but she let him shoulder the backpack as she told Allan goodnight. He offered a handshake, not a hug, and at this point Jamie couldn’t figure out where that fell between friendliness and respect. Jo shook it, and then slipped her hand into Jamie’s as they went out the door. He wanted to say something, maybe to ask what she thought of Allan, but there was a certain tilt to her head that made him hold his tongue.

July in Marquette meant that it was barely even dusk at 8 p.m. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour and a half, and then it would be back before 6:30. Winters were dark, but summers were wonderful, and he could certainly appreciate walking along with Jo in silence, her hand in his, her bag on his back because she trusted him to carry the things that made her feel safe. All she had to do was tilt her head and he knew she wanted to get down to the water directly, taking the steepest slope and working against gravity so they wouldn’t get there too quickly. It just emphasized the difference in the length of their strides, and he grinned at the way their hands jostled, but neither of them let go. Jo just caught his eye, laughing, and tugged him across the road.

They were almost all the way back to her apartment when Jo sighed happily. “Yeah, see, as fun as Ricky and Allan are, I like that I don’t have to fill all the silences with you.”

He stopped walking and used her hand and her momentum to pull her in, catching her face with his free hand so he could kiss her. Maybe it was more of a collision, but his lips landed on hers. She didn’t tense or pull back—God, was that really what he was expecting?—but he’d probably shocked her, because it was a moment before Jo’s hand went to the back of his head and she returned the kiss. He let go of her hand to pull her closer, shifting his weight so they could meld together, and he couldn’t tell if he was thinking too much or just the right amount, but at least this time he hadn’t let all those thoughts freeze him before he’d even started. He was kissing Jo, really kissing her, and it was another confusing new step, but it was Jo, and he could make a fool of himself in front of her and it would be okay, but maybe they should go inside first. He pulled back enough to catch her smile, but then her eyes flickered to the side and she started. “Dad?”

Wait, what?

There was a car by the garden apartment, which was the Airbnb, so there was nearly always a car there. The man standing by it gave a little wave before coming to join them. “Your mom was going to call you tomorrow, but I figured hey, why not make it as awkward as possible.” He shrugged and held out a hand to Jamie. “Kent Lewis.”

“Oh my God, Dad,” Jo groaned, but she hadn’t pulled out of Jamie’s arms and she dropped her red face to his chest.

Jamie cleared his throat and shook. “Jamie Whittaker.” At least Kent had started off by saying it was awkward, but seriously? He couldn’t have realized this was their first kiss, which meant this man figured Jamie had been kissing his daughter for a while now.

Kent grinned. He was more backlit by the sunset than anything, so at least the light didn’t flash across his glasses and hide his eyes. “I assumed. Kiddo?”

Jo sighed, but she gave Jamie a squeeze to let him know she was pulling back and he should let her go before she hugged her dad. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, and he was thinner, but it looked like a solid hug all the same. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, clearly resigned.

Her dad laughed and kissed her hair. “Amanda had a last-minute cancellation. We weren’t sure what time we’d get up, but we’re here through Monday. And we know tomorrow’s game night,” Kent added, holding both hands up as he turned to Jamie, “so we’ve already got plans for dinner with Amanda and Brent, but really, uh.” He turned a fond and apologetic smile on Jo. “Your mom just needs to see you.”

Jamie reached for Jo before he could think of whether it was okay, comforting her when her dad was right there, but of course Jo leaned into him and Kent even smiled and shrugged as if to say Yeah, like that.

“Kent, what …?” A woman came out of the garden apartment and looked around.

He winced and, Jamie thought, winked at them. “Caught now. Over here, honey.” He raised a hand to wave to Mary-Beth, but Jo tilted her head to suggest the three of them go meet her and she could shake Jamie’s hand and give her daughter a hug.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Mary-Beth explained, rocking Jo a little in her arms. “We didn’t want to crash date night.”

Jamie caught how Kent suddenly looked away and pretended to whistle innocently and yeah, fine, Jo’s dad seemed okay. He was absolutely not cool, but he embraced his quirkiness, and it wasn’t exactly an everyday sort of situation for him, either. They’d arrived, knowing where Jo’s apartment was but not meaning to cross paths with her tonight, and then he’d come out to get another load of luggage and seen Jo and Jamie across the way …

“Tomorrow,” Mary-Beth declared, both hands on Jo’s shoulders. “We don’t have to do breakfast if that’s too early, but something tomorrow.”

Jo looked over at Jamie, almost smirking. “Would your Mom and Allan do breakfast? His brother just showed up tonight, too.”

Kent’s eyebrows did some acrobatics as he worked through what they might have been up to when Allan walked in on them, but Mary-Beth just shrugged. “Text us, honey. And it’s so nice to meet you,” she added to Jamie, offering him a wide smile. “But we’re not crashing, so.” She made little shooing gestures.

“See you tomorrow,” Kent told them as Jo took Jamie’s hand and pulled him toward her apartment.

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Chapter Thirty-Three