But my body reacts anyway, awareness sparking where there shouldn’t be sparks, in a diner I used to skip class to sneak into.
He glances down at me, a question in his eyes.You okay?
I nod, because if I try to explain what this place feels like wrapped around his presence, I won’t get the words out.
The bell jingles overhead as we walk in.
Heat, chatter, the smell of bacon grease and fried chicken, and coffee that’s been sitting on a warmer since dawn spill over us. Christmas garlands hang crookedly above the counter, eachone clearly chosen by a different person with a different sense of “festivity.” A plastic Santa grins from a shelf of mugs.
It’s loud and bright, the kind of sensory overload that should be overwhelming but somehow isn’t. Everything about the place is so incredibly familiar that I have to blink hard, like my eyes might be lying to me.
Heaven help me, I could cry.
Then…
“Faith Ross? Is thatactuallyyou? Oh, my goodness, the rumors aretrue!”
I turn toward the voice, and suddenly I’m seventeen again.
Jet barrels out from behind the counter, a white towel slung over her shoulder, her dark curls escaping a messy bun that’s half bobby pins, half pure determination.
Jet hasn’t changed… except, of course, she has. She looks stronger now. Sharper. Maybe a little more tired around the eyes, like life’s been asking more of her than it used to.
But she’s still unmistakably Jet.
My Jet.
My best friend. The girl who once threatened to fight a rodeo clown because he made fun of my shoes.
Her grin takes up half her face. “I don’t even know what to say. It reallyisyou!”
Before I can react, she tackles me into a hug, a full-body, squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you hug.
I freeze for half a second. It’s been so long since someone hugged me without conditions, and then I melt.
“Look at you!” she says, pulling back to grip my face between her palms. “You’re alive! You have skin! And hair! And…” she squints at my jacket, “some kind of emotional breakdown aura, but we’ll get to that.”
“Hi,” I say helplessly. “Surprise?”
Jet flicks her towel at me. “Girl, you disappear foryearsand pop up on my lunch shift? That’s not a surprise… that’s a plot twist. A dramatic one.”
Before I can answer, someone behind the pastry case calls out:
“Morning, Dallas!”
I had forgotten Dallas was behind me.
I don’t need to turn to know he’s watching this. Watching Jet tackle me, watching me hug her, watching me come home to a part of myself he probably remembers better than I do.
Jet finally notices him and points dramatically. “Oh, look. The cowboy she used to doodle hearts around in her notebooks.”
I cough violently. Dallas goes red. Jet looks delighted.
“Jet,” I hiss.
“What? I speak only the truth.”
Dallas clears his throat. “Good to see you too, Jet.”
