And just like that, his careful expression slides off his face. His eyes blaze with hope and desire and joy, but I barely take it in because he’s reaching for me. His hands at my waist, pulling me toward him, his mouth on mine.
I taste him—us—the beer we both drank, the salt of my tears.
His thumb traces over my cheek. “Don’t cry,” he says, a whisper against my lips, but I can’t help it. More tears fall, and he wipes them away, watching me tenderly.
“I’ll give you the poems back,” I say, and he laughs, surprised.
“What? Why? They’re yours.”
“You can use them,” I say. “For your collection.”
He shakes his head, kissing me softly. “I’ll write more.” He smiles, gentle and sure. “I have all the inspiration I’ll ever need right here.”
And now I push up onto my toes, sliding my mouth against his. Because he’s absurd. Who says stuff like that? This man. Poetry professor and bagpiper and the stranger at the pub who saw me, who allowed me to be completely myself, who pushed for the truth and received it so well.
My hands climb into his hair, and he makes a sound against my mouth, a huff of breath. Something like…a laugh?
I pull back, confused, but his eyes are glued to a spot over my shoulder. I twist around, trying to find what he’s—Oh.
My father and Maggie are watching us through the window. Maggie’s grinning from ear to ear, and my father’s gaping, surprise written across his face.
I turn back to Jacob, and he lets out another laugh, sheepish and adorable at the same time. “I guess we have some stuff to explain to them,” he says.
“Yeah.” I reach back toward him, kissing him quickly. “I guess we do.”
32
We tell them everything. Well,almosteverything.
They don’t need to know all the details, all the things we’ve gotten up to. They get the censored version and the bottom line: We have feelings for each other and we’re going to keep seeing each other. We’re going to try to make this work.
Maggie tears up again, hugging Jacob tightly, then hugging me too.
My father’s still in shock, I think. He’s looking between me and Jacob like we’re an equation he can’t solve.
Jacob gets up to get another round of drinks and order us some food, and my father watches me, confused.
“So, you’re…together?”
Maggie lets out a sound of mock exasperation. “What isn’t clicking for you, Ajit? Yes, they’re together.” She shoots me a conspiratorial look, aCan you believe your father?sort of look, and it makes me laugh.
“I thought you both didn’t…I thought you didn’t like each other,” he says.
“We didn’t, then we did,” I say. “Or, maybe it was more like, we did, then we didn’t, and then we did, but I think we actually liked each other the whole way through.”
“I sure did, at least,” Jacob says. He sets the drinks down on the table and slides into the chair next to mine.
My dad’s brows are furrowed. “Does this mean he’s joining us for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes,” Jacob says, his answer firm and immediate. He pauses. “Is that something we’re doing? Thanksgiving?”
I laugh, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Yeah. Dad and Maggie are going to come to L.A. for Thanksgiving. You want to come too?”
“If I’m invited…”
“You are,” I say with a smile.
“Okay.” He smiles back, wide and uninhibited. He pulls out his phone, swiping over to his calendar. “I’ll find someone to cover my classes for me.”
