Page 20 of Mashed Hearts
She disappears inside, and I float back to the car, high on pasta, ice cream, and the girl who’s giving me a second chance. The porch light flicks one last time, like her dad’s sayingdon’t push it.I salute the darkness and drive off, John Mayer on the radio, heart full.
Next stop: forever. Or at least tomorrow. Same difference.
kait
. . .
I wakeup in my childhood bedroom, the one with the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the Justin Timberlake poster I swore I’d take down in college but never did. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I’m already smiling before I even see the screen.
Morning, beautiful. Tell your dad I’m bringing my A-game to breakfast. Also, I’m wearing the good flannel. The one that makes my eyes pop. You’re welcome.
I snort, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow that still smells faintly like his cologne from last night’s goodnight kiss. My dad’s porch-light Morse code is burned into my brain—*flick-flick, get a room, but not in my house.
Classic Dad.
Eyes popping is the least of your worries. Dad’s probably sharpening the interrogation knives as we speak.
I’ve faced worse. Remember sophomore year when he caught us in the garage? I thought he was gonna make me join the Marines.
You cried.
I had allergies.
I laugh so hard I nearly fall off the bed. God, I missed this. The easy banter, the way he makes my stomach flip like I’m sixteen again, sneaking out for late-night drives. Except now we’re adults. With baggage. And frequent flyer miles.
I drag myself out of bed, throw on jeans and the softest sweater I own and head downstairs. Mom’s already in the kitchen, humming along to some instrumental Christmas album like it’s not blasphemy before 8 a.m. Dad’s at the table, newspaper spread out, coffee steaming, looking like a grumpy lumberjack who hasn’t slept.
“Morning,” I say, kissing Mom’s cheek and stealing a piece of bacon before she can swat me.
Dad grunts. “Josh coming?”
“Yup. His flight is at one, mine’s at six. We’re going to hang out a bit before we go back to school.”
Mom claps her hands. “I love a good airport scene! Will there be running? Slow-motion hugs?”
“Only if Dad chases him with a broom, but I won’t be going to the airport with him. He’ll be leaving from here and taking his rental back. My flight isn’t until later, and I also have my rental car, so, we’ll say bye from here.” I reply.
Dad’s eyes narrow over his coffee mug. “Don’t tempt me.”
The doorbell rings, and my heart does a stupid little skip. I open it to find Josh on the porch, snowflakes in his hair, holding a bakery box like a peace offering. He’s in dark jeans and that flannel—deep green, sleeves rolled up to show off forearms that should come with a warning label. His grin is pure trouble.
“Morning, Jamison family,” he says, stepping inside. “I brought donuts. The good kind. Not the gas station ones with the weird jelly.”
Mom swoops in like a caffeinated hurricane. “Josh! You’re too sweet! Come in, come in!”
Ryan barrels down the stairs in boxers and a T-shirt that saysI Flexed and the Sleeves Fell Off. “Dude! Donuts!” He snatches the box, nearly taking Josh’s arm with it.
Dad stands, arms crossed, looking like he’s about to demand Josh’s blood type and social security number. “Josh.”
“Mr. Jamison.” Josh offers his hand, steady as a rock. Dad shakes it, grip tight enough to crush granite. I wince.
We settle at the table—pancakes, bacon, donuts, coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Josh sits next to me, our knees brushing under the table like we’re still sneaking touches in study hall. Mom’s chattering about holiday plans, Ryan’s inhaling a jelly donut like it’s his job, and Dad’s staring at Josh like he’s a puzzle with missing pieces.
“So,” Dad says, cutting his pancake with surgical precision. “Future plans, Josh?”
Josh doesn’t flinch. “Graduating early. I don’t have a ceremony though, until June, sir. Worked my ass—uh, butt—off to finish in three and a half years. Got an internship lined up in California, a structural engineering firm in downtown LA. But the good news is they’ve got offices in every major city—New York, Boston, Chicago. Flexible. I’m not tied to one coast and after my internship, can apply wherever.”
Dad’s eyebrow arches. “And Kait?”
