“Like you.”
I scramble off of Jack, itching for one more drink before he cuts me off. He chases me into the kitchen and kisses me against the refrigerator until the others stumble in behind us, and then I get my last drink, plus a stash of pop tarts that he managed to hide until now. He used more dye than he normally would for the icing, and all our tongues end up glorious, childhood blue.
“I think Jack should make a speech,” Kiara says eventually, mischief in her eyes. “On the eve of Fable’s unofficial opening.”
Jack groans, but all of us chant loudly enough that he has no choice but to listen. He holds his hand up, taking a long gulp of rum.
“Thanks for being here,” he says. He meets everyone’s eyes individually, lingering on mine. I wrap my arm around his, leaning into his side. “I wasn’t sure any of you would want to be in my life, much less help me open a fucking restaurant. But we’re all here. And we’re gonna rock it. To Sal.”
“To Sal,” we all echo.
As the night slips on, we stay at the kitchen table, chatting. I love seeing Jack like this, animated yet relaxed, his fingers playing with my hair idly as we listen to our friends. Owen and Hazel share more kitchen stories. Mateo and Owen tell us how they met, and what their Vegas elopement was like. Chester has me in stitches with almost everything that comes out of his mouth.
It hits me all of a sudden, just how comfortable I am right now.
No pretending. No pretentiousness. It’s been hours, and I haven’t once thought about how I look, or if someone might take a horrible picture of me that makes its way online, or if my scattered energy has scared off anyone, or any one of the hundred other things that typically go through my mind when I’m around other people. That’s not thanks to the alcohol; I’ve been close to blackout drunk before and still remember the anxiety.
Instead, I’m safe. Cherished. I’m resting against Jack’s chest, pretending I can burrow inside him like some small woodland creature, as Kiara and Chester slip into their familiar bickering. I can’t remember feeling like this before in a social situation. Definitely not lately. Perhaps not ever.
I sneak a look at Jack. He’s having a good time. He’s glad that his friends are finally together. Glad to have reconnected with Owen, and to be in the same kitchen as Hazel once more. He notices me blinking at him from underneath my lashes and kisses my forehead. He’s glad thatI’mhaving a good time, too. I hardly know what to do with this feeling, other than wishing I could bottle it and drink it for courage the next time I have to pretend to be @itspoppywinfield.
It’s all too easy to think about staying. Buying a house where Gator can hunt lizards to his heart’s content. Running the restaurant with Jack, day in and day out. Meeting up with our friends to have nights like this.
It could be so easy.
And yet I know it’s impossible.
After the pop-up, it’ll only be another week before the restaurant reopens. Jack and I will have proved our points. Our roads will untangle. And I’ll be home.
That’s what I want.
Right?
Chapter 38
Nightcap
Jack
Poppy knocks against me on the stairs, not because she’s drunk—we finished off Sal’s stash of rum ages ago and switched to water—but because she’s trying to walk backward, climb into my arms, and kiss me all at once. Her eagerness reminds me of Gator when I break out a tin of sardines, and it makes me smile. I haven’t stopped smiling all night, in fact.
“Whoa,” I say, grabbing her so she won’t topple down to the landing. “Let’s not end up in the ER again.”
“The ER wasn’t that bad,” she says. I manage to scoop her into my arms. “You kissed me in the ER.”
“I’ll kiss you as many times as you want.”
“Mmm.” She cups my jaw, a smile curving her perfect lips, and kisses me. I push open the door to my old bedroom.
“When Ki and I went to get stuff to make the restaurant décor better, I saw this room.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Did you leave anything behind? Old cookbooks? Embarrassing fashion choices? Porn?” She starts poking at the half-filled bookcase underneath the window as if she expects to find a stash ofPlayboy.
“I took it all.” I clear my throat. “I’m sure he used this as a guest bedroom.”
“Did it look just like this, minus all your nerdy cooking stuff and your obviously massive collection of nudie magazines?”
