Page 22 of Home in Nevada

And yet, despite my irritation, I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. Dammit. I’m pathetic. It’s stupid how glad I am to see him.

Lucky. That’s the word that keeps circling in my head. I felt lucky—lucky to run into him accidentally. Lucky that he didn’t want to murder me on the spot. Lucky that Mom invited him to dinner, and that he actually wanted to come.

More than anything, I felt lucky to know Jamie at all. To have grown up with him at my side. To have him here, now, like some piece of my life that I thought I’d lost was suddenly whole again.

To my surprise, Jamie leans in and hugs me. For a moment, I freeze, caught completely off guard. Then, cautiously, I wrap my arms around him, the motion stiff but deliberate.

And there it is again—his scent. That same bar soap he’s probably been using since we were kids. It’s clean, simple, and so unmistakablyhim. It pulls me straight back to the summers we spent biking around town, crashing on his couch, and talking about everything and nothing.

I let myself hold on a second longer, breathing him in, like it’s a thread tethering me to a time I can’t seem to let go of.

But when I glance over his shoulder, my chest tightens. Dad’s sitting in his recliner, glaring at us.

My chest tightens, and I pull away quickly, my face burning. Jamie looks at me like he doesn’t notice—or maybe he does, and he’s just choosing not to say anything.

Feeling flustered, I mumble something about helping in the kitchen and dart away, eager to escape the tension twisting itself into knots in my chest.

The neighbors arrive right on schedule, around six, and I manage to avoid spending too much time with Jamie. Not that it’s hard—he’s the star of the evening, effortlessly commanding attention at the table. Everyone seems drawn to him, laughing at his stories and asking him questions.

Me? I barely get a word in.

As dinner winds down, the chaos gets to me. My mind’s a blur, and I need a minute to breathe. “I’ll be right back,” I mumble, pushing away from the table.

I retreat to my old bedroom and shut the door behind me. It’s exactly the same as I left it—fresh sheets on the bed, a few childhood posters still clinging to the walls. My mom’s care is everywhere, making the space feel like a time capsule. I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the familiarity settle over me like a heavy blanket.

For a moment, it feels surreal, like I never really left.

The sound of the door cracking open jolts me out of my thoughts.

“Yo.”

Jamie’s head pops into the room, his grin a little too confident for someone who just barged in uninvited.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course you can come in, Jamie. What kind of stupid question is that?” I snap, sitting up slightly. My tone comes out sharper than I intend, more surprise than annoyance.

If Jamie notices, he doesn’t care. His grin widens, and he steps inside, closing the door with a softclick.My heart skips a beat when I hear the lock turn.

Why the hell did he lock the door?

Jamie walks over and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. I stay sprawled out, nudging his back with my knee.

“Hey, why’d you lock the door?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

Jamie glances at me, puzzled, then follows my gaze to the lock. “Oh… I don’t know.” He grins again, his eyes flicking over me like he’s sizing me up.

God, I hate that grin. It makes it almost impossible not to kiss him.

Jamie shifts, leaning back, staring at me. His eyes are warm, curious, like he’s waiting for me to break the silence.

“We’re probably heading out soon,” I say, desperate to fill the quiet. “Just so you know.”

His expression falters, and he looks down at the comforter, tracing invisible patterns with his fingers. “I barely got to talk to you.”

“I know,” I admit softly. His words hit harder than they should, dragging me back to our last goodbye—how hard it was, how much I didn’t want to let him go.

“When do I get to see you again? Christmas?” he asks, his voice quiet.

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