Page 28 of Mashed Hearts
The curb’s chaos—horns, luggage, security yelling—but we linger until the last possible second. She steps back, mittens swallowing her wave, and I board with her scarf tucked in my pocket like a talisman.
Long distance sucks. But we’ve got plans, miles, and a future that’s finally ours.
kait
. . .
I’m pacingmy childhood bedroom like a caged tiger, counting down the minutes until Josh pulls up. Finals week is a distant memory, my thesis is submitted, and all I can think about is seeing him—my surfer boy in Vermont snow, ready to tackle Christmas with me, my family, and our chaotic Friendsgiving crew. My room looks like a department store exploded: scarves, boots, and enough sweaters to outfit a small army. I’m in jeans, a thermal that hugs my curves just right, and a knitted sweatshirt.
My phone buzzes.
Outside. Brought reinforcements. Don’t leave me hanging with your dad’s death stare.
I grin, grab my coat—a puffy monstrosity that makes me look like the Michelin Man—but keeps me warm, and bolt downstairs. Mom’s in the kitchen, humming “Jingle Bell Rock” while wrapping presents. Ryan’s sprawled on the couch, playingCall of Dutyand yelling at the TV. Dad’s in his recliner, newspaper open, but I catch the glint in his eye—he’s beenwaiting for this moment since Josh’s breakfast ambush the last time I was home.
“Josh is here!” I call, yanking on my boots.
Mom pops her head out, flour on her cheek. “Tell him to come in! It’s freezing!”
I’m already at the door, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it’s been doing since Friendsgiving. I swing it open, and there he is—leaning against his rental SUV, snowflakes catching in his dark hair, wearing a shearling jacket and a green flannel that makes his eyes pop like emeralds. He’s holding a bouquet of roses—deep red, wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine—and his grin is pure trouble.
“Kait,” he says, striding up the walkway like he owns the place. “Ready to run away with me?”
“Born ready, I’ve missed you.” I launch myself at him, and he catches me one-armed, the other clutching the flowers. Our kiss is quick but electric, his lips cold from the air, warm where they meet mine. I taste peppermint and possibility.
Mom’s voice floats from the doorway. “Josh! Get in here before you freeze!”
He pulls back, winking. “Duty calls.” He follows me inside, kicking snow off his boots. The living room smells like pine from the Christmas tree and cinnamon from Mom’s cookies. Ryan pauses his game, eyeing Josh like he’s sizing up a worthy opponent.
“Sup, bro,” Ryan says, fist-bumping him. “You bring the surfboard?”
“Left it in LA,” Josh says, grinning. “Didn’t think it would pass as a snowboard.”
Dad’s still in his recliner, newspaper lowered, one eyebrow arched like he’s a judge at the Supreme Court of Grumpy Dads. Josh doesn’t flinch. He steps forward, offering the secondbouquet he’s been hiding behind his back—sunflowers, bright and bold, Mom’s favorite.
“Mrs. Jamison,” he says, all charm, “these are for you. Thanks for raising the best girl I know.”
Mom practically melts, clutching the flowers to her chest. “Oh, Josh! You’re too sweet! Look at these! Kaitlyn, isn’t he just darling?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning. “He’s alright.”
Dad clears his throat from kitchen entryway, and the room stills like we’re in a Western showdown. Josh turns, meeting his gaze head-on. “Mr. Jamison. Good to see you again, sir.”
Dad shirt strains over his lumberjack shoulders. He eyes Josh, then the sunflowers, then me. His lips twitch—almost a smile. “You’re picking her up for this dinner thing?”
“Yes, sir. Burger Bonanza, then The Rusty Nail. Whole crew’s meeting up. I’ll have her home by… reasonable o’clock.”
Dad grunts, but it’s softer than his usualI’ll bury you in the backyardgrunt. He glances at the flowers in Mom’s hands, then at me clinging to Josh’s arm like a koala. “You treat her right.”
“Always,” Josh says, and there’s no smirk now, just steel.
Dad nods, a single, sharp dip of his chin. “Good. Don’t make me regret allowing you back in this house.”
Mom swoops in, hugging Josh so hard the flowers nearly lose petals. “You kids have fun!”
Ryan snorts from the couch. “Yeah, and don’t let Josh get eaten by a moose.”
“Moose are chill,” Josh says, grabbing my suitcase. “It’s the dads you gotta watch.”
