Page 19 of Mashed Hearts
Ryan snorts. “Cat’s still living better than me.”
We don’t stay long—just enough for cocoa, cookies, and Ryan to challenge me to a push-up contest I politely decline. Kait’s dad shakes my hand at the door, his grip tight enough to crack walnuts. “Take care of her.”
“Always, sir.”
Kait rolls her eyes but kisses his cheek. “Love you, Dad.”
My parents’ house is a thirty-minute drive, a sprawling farmhouse with a porch swing and a dog that barks at its own shadow. My brothers—Luke and Ethan—are wrestling in the front yard when we pull up, snow flying like they’re auditioning for a WWE special. The second they spot Kait, it’s pure chaos.
“Kait!” Luke yells, sprinting over. Ethan’s right behind him, and I barely get the car in park before they’re yanking her door open and pulling her into a double hug that lifts her off the ground.
“Holy crap, you’re back!” Ethan says, spinning her like she’s a kid again. “Josh texted said you guys coming together, but I thought he was delusional!”
“Put her down, you animals,” I laugh, climbing out. Kait’s giggling, hair full of snow, and my chest feels like it’s going to burst in happiness at the sight of her once again with my family.
My mom appears on the porch, apron on, eyes misty. “Kaitlyn Jamison, get in here!” She envelopes Kait in a hug as if no time has gone by since they’ve seen one another. My dad’s behind her, grinning wide, and claps me on the shoulder.
“Good to have you both home, son.”
Inside, it’s a whirlwind. My brothers demand every detail of Friendsgiving, my mom’s already planning a “welcome back” dinner, and my dad’s asking Kait about college like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever heard. There’s no side-eye, no interrogation—just warmth and the kind of easy acceptance that makes me want to hug my entire family. Even the dog, who’s currently trying to steal Kait’s scarf.
Luke corners me in the kitchen while Kait’s helping my mom with coffee. “You screw this up again, I’m stealing her.”
“Get in line,” I say, but I’m grinning. Because yeah, I’m not screwing this up.
We leave as the sun dips low, sky streaked pink and orange. Dinner’s at a cozy Italian place in town—red checkered tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, the kind of place we used to sneak into with fake IDs for a teenage romantic dinner. We order pasta carbonara and split a bottle of chianti, knees brushing under the table. Kait twirls her noodles like a pro, sauce on her chin, and I’m so gone for her it’s embarrassing.
“You’ve got a little…” I lean over, kiss the sauce off her chin. She laughs, swatting me with her napkin.
“Smooth, Daniels.”
“Always.”
After dinner, we hit the ice cream shop despite the sub-zero temps. Kait gets mint chip in a waffle cone; I go for chocolate fudge brownie. We eat on a bench outside, breath fogging, cones dripping faster than we can lick.
“This is insane,” she says, shivering but grinning. “We’re adults. We have credit card debt. Why are we eating ice cream in a blizzard?”
“Because we’re idiots in love,” I say, stealing a bite of her cone. “And because it’s tradition.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. “Feels like we’re kids again.”
“But better,” I say. “We know better now.”
Her parents’ porch light is on when I pull up, the same golden glow that used to signal curfew when we were teens. I walk her to the door, hands in my pockets to keep from mauling her in front of her dad’s probable sniper scope. The snow’s stopped, stars sharp overhead.
“Tonight was perfect,” she says, turning to face me.
“You’re perfect.” I cup her face, kiss her slow and deep, pouring every promise I didn’t make four years ago into it. She melts against me, hands fisting my coat, and I’m half a second from suggesting we run away to Fiji when?—
Flick-flick.
The porch light goes off, then on, then off again. Kait pulls back, laughing. “Dad’s still got it.”
I groan. “I’m thirty seconds from a heart attack. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning, we’ll do breakfast before I have to head to the airport?”
She kisses me once more, quick and sweet. “Please do. Text me when you get home.”
“Already typing,” I say, thumb hovering over my phone.
