Page 22 of Mashed Hearts
He laughs, the sound rumbling through the speaker and straight into my chest. “Peacock’s probably got its own reality show by now. I’m in my apartment. Roommate’s passed out on the couch with a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos on his chest like a blanket. Place smells like regret and Axe body spray. And I wish I was with you, instead.”
I snort. “Sounds about right. You check on your plants?”
“Spike’s a goner,” he says, mock-solemn. “Ainsley would be so disappointed in me. I Found him face-down in his pot. I’m holding a cactus funeral tomorrow via Zoom. You’re invited. Bring tissues.”
“Only if you play ‘Taps’ on a tiny kazoo.”
“Deal.” There’s a rustle, like he’s shifting on his bed, and I picture him in his own hoodie, hair still messy from the plane, sprawled across sheets that probably smell like laundry detergent and his scent. “So. Brooklyn. How’s the big city treating my girl?”
My girl.My stomach does a slow, delicious flip. “It’s… quiet. Too quiet. My books are judging me from the desk like they’re plotting erasing all the text. I walked in, said hi to my sad little succulent—his name’s Kevin, by the way—and he looked at me like,Where the hell have you been?”
“Kevin’s got trust issues,” Josh says. “You gotta water him with love and apologies.”
“Noted.” I trace the frayed hem of his sweatshirt, the one I used to steal in high school because it smelled like him and made me feel like I was wrapped in his arms even when he was at surf practice. “I miss you already. Which is pathetic. It’s been, what, six hours?”
“Five hours, forty-two minutes,” he corrects, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Not pathetic. I was counting the seconds until I could call you. Got weird looks from the Uber driver when I started humming John Mayer in the backseat.”
I laugh so hard I nearly knock the phone off the pillow. “You’re such a sap.”
“Only for you.” A pause, then softer: “Tell me about your day. Every detail. I wanna picture it.”
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling crack that looks like a lightning bolt. “Okay. Woke up to Mom’s Christmas playlist—full blast, no mercy. Dad was already in interrogation mode, sharpening his knives. You showed up looking like a lumberjack heartthrob, charmed Mom with bakery goods, survived Dad’s death grip. We made a plan—you in New York in two weeks, then we figure out the rest.”
“Best plan ever,” he says. “I’m already packing. Got my flannel collection ready. Gotta impress the city girl.”
“City girl’s already impressed,” I tease, but my voice catches a little. “You really meant it? All the stuff you were telling my dad, about the job, the offices, all of it?”
“Every word.” His tone shifts, serious now. “Kait, I’ve spent four years kicking myself for letting you go. I’m not doing that again. The job’s flexible—New York office is brand-new, they’re begging for people. I finish my internship, ceremony in June, and I’m yours. Wherever you are.”
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Good. Means you’re feeling it too.” Another rustle, like he’s rolling over. “Now tell me about the pedicure. Did your mom make you get the holiday red?”
“Obviously. My big toes are currently sparkling like a disco ball. She also bought me a candle that smells like a cinnamon broom exploded on it. We hit the holiday market, ate kettle corn, pretended we weren’t freezing our asses off. Then the airport—delayed, overpriced salad, baby screaming like it was auditioning forThe Exorcist.Landed, grabbed my bag, and your selfie was waiting. You looked… happy.”
“Because I was home and still had you in my pocket,” he says, simple as that. “Now it’s your turn. What’s Brooklyn Kait doing tonight?”
“Ignoring the school books, obviously. They’re glaring at me like I owe them rent. I’m in your sweatshirt, I ate a bowl of cereal, and talking to you. Living the dream.”
“Cereal and my hoodie? Marry me.”
I laugh, but my heart’s doing that fluttery thing again. “Slow down, cowboy. We’ve got two weeks of long-distance torture first.”
“Torture’s my love language,” he says. “I’m already planning my first care package. Surf wax, In-N-Out gift card, and a mixtape of all the songs we made out to in high school.”
“God, you’re cheesy.”
“Only the finest aged cheddar for you.” A yawn creeps into his voice. “What time’s your first class tomorrow?”
“Ten. Thesis seminar. I’m presenting my chapter on Beauty and the Beast retellings. Pray for me.”
“You’re gonna kill it. You always do.” Another pause, longer this time. “Kait?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really fucking glad we’re doing this.”
“Me too.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I was so scared at Friendsgiving. Thought I’d see you and it’d hurt all over again.”
