Page 16

Chapter 16

The one where Jeff learns the power of tailored clothing.

Jamie is everything.

The way he pours milk before cereal, like it’s the only logical way of living his life. The way he never bothers to do anything with his blonde hair, completely unaware of how effortlessly good it already looks. The fact that he’s used the same bar of soap for the past ten years, even though his vanity is cluttered with twenty different lotions and skincare products he never touches. The way he drives too fast but somehow takes turns painfully slow.

And God, the way he bosses me around in bed, like he owns me. I fucking love that.

He makes me feel like someone—like I used to feel back in high school, before everything in my life went sideways. Back when people saw something in me.

I’ve known for a while now that I’m obsessing over him, but this trip has cranked it up to a whole new level. Jamie’s completely consuming me, and I honestly don’t know if I should be happy or a little worried about my mental state these past few days.

"Dude, why are you always wearing these?" I ask, hooking a finger under the waistband of Jamie’s sweatpants and giving it a playful tug.

We’re here because we ran out of soda after a full day of doing absolutely nothing—Jamie’s fault, of course. But I’ve been soaking up every minute we have together, knowing he’s back to work after the weekend.

It’s freezing out tonight, the kind of cold that bites deep, no matter how many layers you pile on. The road beneath our boots is cracked and uneven, stretching endlessly into the desert like it’s trying to outrun civilization. Darkness presses in on all sides, broken only by the faint glow of the convenience store ahead—an old, standalone building with flickering fluorescent lights and a faded sign that looks like it hasn’t been touched since the '90s.

The lot’s empty except for a beat-up pickup truck parked off to the side. The neon "OPEN" sign in the window buzzes faintly, casting a soft pinkish-red glow on the frost-covered ground. Beyond the store, it’s just miles of sagebrush and distant mountains under a sky full of stars. The whole place has the vibe of a ghost story setting, but to us, it’s just another pit stop on a freezing, quiet night.

And Jamie? He’s still rocking sweatpants and boots like he owns the place, totally unfazed by the cold or the emptiness around us. The guy practically lives in sweatpants. I’m convinced he has them in every color imaginable. It’s his thing, I guess, the same way this middle-of-nowhere store is ours.

"Fuck off, they’re comfortable," Jamie mutters, giving me that annoyed-but-not-really look, the one that always makes me grin.

"Admit it," I say, grinning wider. "You know your ass looks good in them. This is a calculated move. I’m on to you."

Jamie snorts, but his cheeks tint a little pink. "Shut up."

I’m laughing now, but right before we head inside the store, I can’t help myself—I cop a quick feel, just for half a second. Enough to make him yelp my name in that perfect mock-annoyed tone and shove me away like I’m the most insufferable human alive.

I’m grinning the whole way inside, warmth buzzing under my skin despite the cold. God, I love him. Even when he’s annoyed with me. Maybe especially then.

Monday comes too soon, and Jamie has to go back to work.

I’ve decided I’m spending the day immersed in video games until he gets back. I’m already getting a head start in bed while Jamie gets dressed, my controller clutched in my hands as I half-watch him move around the room. I still have until Wednesday before I have to fly back.

Home…

The word feels strange in my mind. It’s hard to reconcile that this cozy, intimate routine we’ve fallen into isn’t going to last. This is still rare—something I can’t have all the time. We’re about to be separated again, for who knows how long.

We’ve talked about it a few times over the past couple of days, always circling back to the same points. I keep telling myself it’s going to be fine, trying to believe it with every repetition.

Jamie can’t leave Nevada. He has his reasons. He doesn’t think he could land a better job in LA after leaving the casino behind. He’s probably right. Jamie’s good at what he does, and casino management isn’t exactly a transferable skill in LA’s job market. As for me, my job is... well, it’s a job. Honestly, I don’t care much about it anymore. It’s just a monotonous daily grind back in LA, something I could take or leave. I’m not anybody over there.

But, fuck, I hate living in Nevada.

Our conversations about the future always end in laughter, reminiscing about all the bullshit we dealt with growing up here. It never gets deeper than that, and I’ve figured we’d work it out eventually. I’ve been able to brush it aside, but as my stay winds down, my stomach twists every time I think about what we’re supposed to do to end this long-distance setup.

I hope Jamie will be okay with it, even temporarily. But Jamie’s not exactly the type of guy who thrives on long-distance relationships. He’s all about presence—about being there. He’s the kind of person who needs to see you, touch you, hear your laugh in person. Texts and calls don’t cut it for him, and I can’t blame him for that. He doesn’t do well with guessing games or those awkward stretches of silence that come with bad signals and time zones. Jamie craves connection—the kind you can only get face-to-face—and without it, I think he’d start to feel like I was slipping away. Like we were slipping away.

That’s what scares me most. If the distance starts to eat at him, I don’t know if I’d be able to patch it up from miles away.

Jamie steps out of the bathroom, his white dress shirt and black pants looking like they were tailored specifically for him. His red tie hangs loose around his neck, swaying slightly as he fiddles with it, his focus fixed on the mirror while he strides into the bedroom.

And just like that, my anxious thoughts scatter.

His hair is neatly brushed to the side, every strand perfectly in place, catching the light just enough to make it seem unfair. The crisp, clean lines of his shirt emphasize the strong, steady breadth of his shoulders, while the tailored pants hug his hips and legs in a way that makes it almost impossible to look anywhere else.

It’s not just that he looks good—it’s that he looks effortlessly good, like he stepped out of some magazine spread and into my world just to throw me completely off my game. I’ve seen him in everything from sweatpants to swimsuits, but this? This is something else entirely.

For a second, I forget how to breathe. How does someone manage to be this beautiful?

"Do you need pizza money, and should I leave the doctor's number for you?" Jamie jokes, his voice light as he glances my way.

I blink, still dumbfounded by how good he looks. "Wow. Holy shit, you look… adorable."

Jamie freezes mid-step as he continues to get ready for work, his brow furrowing in mock offense, though a laugh is already bubbling up. "Adorable? Are you kidding me?"

I grin, pausing my game and leaning back on my elbows. "Yeah. Adorable. Like, stupidly adorable."

"Excuse you," Jamie retorts, smirking now. "I’m handsome as fuck, thank you very much."

"Sure, sure," I say, smirking as I motion for him to come closer.

Jamie shakes his head, but there’s a playful smile tugging at his lips as he approaches the bed. "You’re stupid sometimes, you know that?"

I reach out, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him close, pressing my cheek against his hip. "You look amazing, Jamie. That’s what I meant. Adorable was just the first word that popped into my head, okay? Don’t overthink it."

Jamie chuckles, soft and a little embarrassed, the sound vibrating through him. As I look up, I watch him deftly tie his tie without even glancing down, the motion so smooth it feels unfair. I don’t know how he does it. If it were me, I’d probably give up and invest in a clip-on. Who has time to figure out a real tie? He makes it look effortless.

Unable to resist, I lean forward and playfully lick against Jamie’s crotch, just to get his attention. I feel his hand in my hair almost immediately, fingers threading through the strands as he gently pushes my head back.

"Whoa, no… These pants are expensive, dude."

I laugh, the sound rich and full as I playfully tug on his waist. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, Jeff, I’m serious." His voice is firm, steady—but the smile tugging at his lips gives him away.

His hands stay in my hair, fingers moving gently, massaging my scalp like I’m some kind of spoiled puppy. And honestly? I’m not mad about it. Not even a little. If he wanted, I’d bark for him. Hell, I’d beg. I’d buy him a whole wardrobe of new pants if it meant he’d keep touching me like this.

But right now I just close my eyes and melt under his hands, every bit of tension slipping away.

I glance up at him, a mischievous grin spreading across my face as I slowly start unzipping his expensive pants. Jamie’s eyes widen, and before I can get far, his hands wrap around mine, stopping me in my tracks.

"Jeff, I have to go to work," he says, his tone somewhere between exasperated and amused.

I sneer, just to keep him on his toes. "Why?"

Jamie shakes his head, laughing softly. "Because I have bills to pay, genius."

"Call in sick," I shoot back, undeterred.

"My job doesn’t work like that," he teases, patting my head like I’m a bratty kid. "And I can’t be late, either."

I raise an eyebrow. "Aren’t you the boss? Who the hell gets paid more to care if you’re late?"

This time, Jamie laughs louder, the kind of laugh that lights up his face and makes my chest ache in the best way. "Jeff, that’s not how any of this works."

I lean back on my elbows, smirking. "Is ‘casino manager’ just code for something else? Like… are you secretly a high-class escort?"

Jamie lets out a startled laugh, smacking my shoulder lightly before leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of my head. "No, you idiot. I have a boss. And he works in the same building."

I heave a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the bed as I watch him finish getting ready. His tie, his jacket, those ridiculously well-fitted dress pants— goddamn . Every piece falls into place like he was made for it, the whole look polished and unfairly perfect. And the worst part? I can’t have it.

A pang settles in my chest as I realize this—him, us, this moment—all of it will just be a memory in a few days when we go back to long distance. The thought stings more than I’d like to admit. But for now, I’m going to soak up every second I can, imprint every detail into my mind. Even if it means letting Jamie go to work in an outfit I’d rather tear off him right here and now.

As Jamie’s hips start to leave my line of sight, I grab them and pull him back toward me, unbuttoning his pants. I kiss the soft skin above the waistband of his underwear, letting my tongue glide against him. He smells so good… Like, ridiculously good. I need to figure out what that soap is.

I feel him tremble, just slightly, but he doesn’t stop me. Smiling, I look up at him and go lower, teasing my tongue along the front of his underwear while I grab two handfuls of his ass, pulling his heat closer to my mouth. He moans, bucking into me, already getting hard through the thin fabric.

I don’t want to make him late, but damn if I’m not tempted to pull him into bed.

"Mmmm," I hum against him, my hands roaming slowly over his backside. "I’m so sorry you have to leave…"

Jamie threads his fingers through my hair, gripping tightly, and I bite back a grin. He’s so easy to read—the way his body reacts, the telltale wet spot on his underwear practically begging for my tongue. Messing with Jamie like this is the best .

But just as he's savoring the moment, I pull back, leaning back on my hands to let him go.

"...What are you doing? Hurry up," Jamie says, his voice soft but serious.

Wait. Is he for real?

"Hurry up, dude," he repeats, his tone lighter this time, a small smile tugging at his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair. "I’m not running late for nothing."

Before I can even think of a response, he’s reaching out, grabbing the front of my shirt, and pulling me back toward him. There’s no mistaking the fire in his eyes now, and my heart pounds hard enough to drown out everything else.

I can’t help but grin as I grab his hips, pulling him closer, rougher than before. My fingers dig into his skin just enough to make him shiver, his breath hitching in the quiet of the room.

Without another second to lose, I tug the rest of his pants and underwear down in one swift motion and take him into my mouth. The heat of him sends a jolt through me, my pulse racing as his grip tightens in my hair, anchoring me like he doesn’t want me to stop—like he couldn’t even if he tried.

When my tongue drags over the spots I know drive him wild, the slow, unrestrained groan he lets out almost makes me unravel. It’s raw, unguarded, and it fuels something deep in me, pushing me to give him exactly what he needs.

This has become one of my favorite things—not that I’d ever admit it. The way Jamie moves, the way he jerks and throbs under my touch, the taste of him on my tongue, the sounds he makes… it’s intoxicating. It’s like I’ve unlocked a side of him that no one else gets to see, and in these moments, I feel like I have complete control over him. A rare reversal, considering he’s usually the one calling the shots in the bedroom.

When I hear him whisper my name, I go faster, taking him in deeper. His hands stay tangled in my hair, pulling lightly, guiding me. When he starts to move too fast, I pull back to catch my breath, dragging my tongue against him, licking all the way down. Jamie falls to his knees, hitting the edge of the bed, and pushes me onto my back across the mattress.

I grin, watching as he strips off his pants and tosses them onto a nearby chair. Grabbing his tie, I pull him down to kiss me, my hands sliding over his body. Jamie kisses me once more near my jaw before straddling my face, pressing himself to my lips. I take him back into my mouth, gripping his bare thighs as he trembles, moving faster.

When his rhythm falters, I slide my hands lower, teasing between his legs. To my surprise, his hand grabs mine, guiding me without hesitation, forcing a finger straight into him.

"Fuck! Don’t stop…" Jamie’s voice is ragged as he falls back onto both hands, bracing himself against the mattress. As always, I follow his directions without question, my movements steady, deliberate. His breath hitches, his thighs trembling hard as I push him closer to the edge.

"Right there," he groans, the words like a mantra, repeated over and over, raw and pleading. "Don’t stop. There."

When he finally comes, it’s with a sharp, uncontrollable force, his body shuddering hard as I hold him steady. His muscles tense, then release all at once, his breaths coming fast and uneven as I keep him anchored through it.

I always swallow. It’s vulgar, I think, and maybe a little embarrassing to admit, but… I like it. This part of us is unfiltered, instinctive, and I don’t let myself overthink it. Being with Jamie is still new, still surprising in so many ways, but I focus on what feels right—what feels like us.

"...Shit. I’m gonna be so late," Jamie mutters, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

"It’s your own damn fault. You literally asked for it," I tease, still turned on as hell. Honestly, I’m pissed Jamie even has a job. Fuck jobs. Fuck the economy. Fuck anything that takes him out of this bedroom—

Jamie throws me a mock-annoyed look, a grin tugging at his lips as he dashes into the bathroom to fix himself up.

"Jeff, shut up. You totally started this," he calls out.

"Yeah, and I finished it, too," I shoot back, smirking.

Jamie stifles a laugh as he emerges, patting himself down like he’s on autopilot, making sure he’s got everything. "Yeah, and now I’m late."

"Come on, that took, like, ten minutes. I bet you’ve never been late in your life," I say, leaning back on the bed with a smug grin.

Jamie pauses, staring at me. I know I’m right. He’s never late. Not once. Not ever. Straight A’s, perfect attendance, impeccable everything—it’s so him.

"You’ll have to wait until I get home," Jamie says, smoothly changing the subject as he straightens his tie.

"Oh, I will," I promise, grinning as he leans down to kiss me goodbye.

"See you tonight," he says, heading for the door.

"Later, Jamie."

Once he’s gone, I take a shower, the chill of the water finally cooling me off. Clean and relaxed, I settle back into bed with my game, but my mind keeps drifting. After a while, I decide to call Lucy. I haven’t talked to her in a while, and it’s about time. She thinks I’m taking time off in LA to clear my head—which is only a half-truth. I didn’t want her coming to Nevada... I needed to handle this on my own.

"Dude, you’re alive!" Lucy answers almost immediately. I put her on speaker and unpause my game.

"I am."

"I was starting to worry, to be honest."

"I’m fine," I say, then pause. "Actually… I’m kind of great. It’s a little scary."

"...Are you high?"

I laugh. "No… not on drugs, anyway."

"I never want to see you high again, Jeff. That was so weird. Do you remember that?"

I groan, smiling as she starts cracking up. Yeah, I remember.

Back in college, I’d tried smoking once with my friends. Hated it. While everyone else got giggly and fun, I ended up stuck in my own head, overthinking stuff I didn’t want to deal with.

"Oh my God, I think you stared at your hands for, like, an hour while the rest of us played cards," Lucy says, her laughter bubbling through the phone. "You didn’t say a single word all night."

"Fuck you, Lucy. And no, I’m not high."

"Where even are you?"

"I went to Nevada."

Silence. Then a small, disbelieving squeak: "...For real?" She knows what’s coming.

"...Yeah."

"And…?" she huffs, already annoyed. "Jeff, you suck at gossip."

"I’m staying with Jamie. We made up."

"Uh-huh, okay... And?" She’s practically vibrating with impatience.

I roll my eyes, tone dripping with exasperation. "Damn, Lucy, what else do you want?"

"Did you do it?"

"...Do what?"

"Jeff! Did. You. Do. It?"

"...Yeah. There’s been a lot of doing it, actually—"

I pause, waiting as Lucy dissolves into laughter, absolutely losing it. Why is she like this? She always has to turn everything into a big deal.

"Holy shit, Jeff! You have no idea how proud I am of you—"

"I might be coming here to visit more often," I interrupt, shrugging like it’s no big deal. "I think this is finally... a thing."

The words feel hollow the second they’re out of my mouth. ' A thing.' That’s what I just fucking called it?

It’s not just a thing.

I should’ve told Lucy the truth—that I’m in love with Jamie. That I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him for days, weeks, months at a time. That I have a boyfriend now. But instead, it came out like… that. Jamie wouldn’t like it if he heard. He’d be pissed. Or worse, sad. I can already picture that look of disappointment he gets, like I’ve let him down. My stomach twists.

"Well, I’ll miss you..." Lucy says, her voice softer now. Then, after a beat: "Wait, you’re not moving, right? Jamie’s not moving?"

"Nah, that’s not happening right now," I reply, shaking off my thoughts as I refocus on my game.

"How long are you staying?"

"I’ve only got a few more days. Jamie already had to go back to work," I say distractedly, then something hits me. "Hey..."

"Yeah?"

"...Do you talk to Jamie? Like, on the phone?"

The silence on the other end says everything I need to know.

"Fuck off, Lucy. Are you serious?" I pause the game, pick up the phone, and bring it to my ear.

"What?! Is that bad?!" she fires back, all defensive.

I can’t believe this. Lucy’s supposed to be my best friend—we tell each other everything. Or at least, we’re supposed to. She’s my version of Jamie in LA. Grounded, level-headed, minus the constant urge to make out. How could she keep this from me?

"Lucy, you didn’t tell me?!"

"Did Jamie tell you?"

"No! I put two and two together, Lucy. I can’t believe this—"

"He’s my wingman."

That throws me. "...What?"

"Yeah, it’s kind of a long story, Jeff."

"Wow. So now you’re the one who sucks at gossip, huh?"

"Okay, okay, fine," she relents, and I can hear the sound of something clattering in the background. Probably her kitchen.

"So, you know Nichole..."

"Yeah, I know Nichole..."

Nichole. Lucy’s one-that-got-away. Older, graduated before us, got a job on the East Coast. It was wild they lasted as long as they did. I know Lucy always considered Nichole a rebound after that whole cheating episode. Back when we still hated each other.

After Nichole moved, Lucy and I started talking more, stopped arguing. Eventually, we clicked. She helped me move past all the shit I’d held onto. I’d never hated my ex for cheating with Lucy, but I directed all my anger at her anyway. It was unfair. She didn’t even know about me back then.

Lucy had nothing to do with the breakup, and she got cheated on just the same.

I never really knew Nichole personally, but I’ve got her to thank for helping me and Lucy become friends.

"Lucy, is Nichole back?"

"Well, no. I mean... she was, for a while. When Jamie was here. Look, I didn’t want to bring any of this up back then because... Dude, you were going through some serious shit."

I briefly remember the worst day of my life.

"So don’t get pissed at me," Lucy says, her tone apologetic. "But Nichole was here... When I went over to your place to help. We just ended up talking a lot, Jamie and me. I gave him my number back at your parents’ house."

"You’ve been talking to him since then?"

"Well, yeah... How could I not try to be friends with your top-secret ‘other best friend’?"

"Shut up," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"Anyway," she continues, her voice muffled like she’s eating something. I press the phone closer to my ear.

"He was really upset that day after you let him stay at your place. Like, really upset. He kept texting me, and I felt bad that he was alone, so... I went over there. He told me how he felt about you. Shit, he just went on and on... That boy has serious feelings, Jeff. Also, he talks a lot. He rambles."

Yeah. Like I didn’t already know that.

Why the hell doesn’t Jamie ever talk to me about his feelings? It’s always like pulling teeth to get any clue about what he’s thinking. I know I’m the outspoken one, but I never get the same in return, and it drives me crazy. A pang of jealousy hits when I realize how effortlessly Lucy seems to bring out the side of Jamie I’ve been dying to see.

"He said he felt bad... that he kept confusing you. That it was his fault for encouraging something to happen and not just letting it go. He kept crying over something he said, about you being heartless or something. Jeff, he was so fucking cute, it broke my heart. All crying over you in your bed—"

"Stop."

She does. Thank God.

"Nichole just kind of came up in all that... and that I knew she was visiting. I couldn’t not think about her... So, Jamie helped me. We all hung out a few times—me, Jamie, and Nichole."

Lucy laughs for a second. "Jamie is awesome at destroying awkward pauses, I’ll give him that."

So Jamie did end up going out and exploring LA. I’m glad.

"And... well... we’re trying long distance, just seeing how it goes."

I grin. "Lucy... That’s fucking awesome, dude. I’m happy for you."

And I really am. I know she never truly got over Nichole. She stopped bringing her up a few months after she moved, but I always knew.

"Yeah, thanks... Just so you know, when I brought Jamie over to my place when you were there, that was for him. He didn’t want you to leave thinking he hated you. I was trying to help."

"I get that now, dude, it’s fine. I was never mad at you about that."

Lucy pauses. "Hey Jeff, are we both in relationships at the same time?"

I laugh. "Yeah."

"Are we both in super gay relationships at the same time?!"

"Okay, stop. Fuck off with that." She’s still laughing. "I’m done, Lucy... Let’s talk about something else."

We end up talking on the phone for most of the day while I play my game. I’ve missed her. The rest of the conversation is pretty surface-level, but we had a moment earlier, and I feel closer to her because of it.

After we hang up, I decide to work out a little in the living room. If I’m going to get back on track and stop getting leaner, I have to start now. I don’t like what I see in the mirror right now. Honestly, I almost don’t recognize myself.

As I push through my reps, the thought sneaks up on me—I’m going to have to talk about Jamie. More often. To people who don’t know about us. About us being together now. Not calling it "a thing."

The idea twists in my gut, making me falter mid-lift. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about him. I do. But saying it out loud, to other people, feels… big. Permanent. Real.

It makes me nervous.

But Jamie’s worth it. I remind myself of that. I’ll deal with all the awkward bullshit if it means being with Jamie—not just messing around, but really being with him. Being his boyfriend. A supportive boyfriend. I’d do anything for him.

Does Jamie still have doubts that I’ll go through with this long-term? With us ? It feels like he might. And thinking about how I just explained our relationship to Lucy, still skirting around the truth, I realize I’m fooling myself if I think this is going to be easy. Coming out of the closet is going to be hard.

This whole process hasn’t been easy. Why the hell would I think coming out publicly would be?

Jamie’s probably thought about that already.

Is that why he keeps joking that I should bail…?

I’m going to prove him wrong.

I finish all my reps, pushing through more than usual, and decide to text Jamie.

Jeff : I hope you didn't forget.

Jamie doesn’t text me back until I’m already sprawled out on the couch, half-watching a game on TV in the living room. I glance at my phone when it buzzes.

Jamie : Forget what?

I laugh, shaking my head as I type out a reply. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second before I settle on something simple.

Jeff : You forgot.

Jamie : What did I forget?

Jeff: That I'm here waiting for you.

Jeff : And when you get home, I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget what a “job” even is. ????

Jamie doesn’t respond for a while, leaving me to half-watch the game on TV, though I can’t focus on it for long. My mind keeps drifting, replaying the way he looked this morning when he left, all polished and put together. I can't get him out of my head.

Eventually, after what feels like ages, my phone buzzes from its spot on the bed. My heart jumps a little—stupid, really—but I reach for it without hesitation.

Finally. Jamie.

Jamie : Dude........

Jamie : I can't believe you sent me that.

Jamie : I was in the middle of a meeting and had to keep a straight face.

Oh, shit. A grin spreads across my face before I can stop it. I can’t help but feel a little humorously proud of myself.

I type back quickly, barely able to contain my amusement.

Jeff : Try getting a dick pick in the middle of class, Jamie.

Jamie : We're even then.

I can practically picture him rolling his eyes, that exasperated look he gets when I’ve clearly crossed a line

Jamie : Btw I didn't forget, you idiot.

Jamie : You're not exactly forgettable.

Jamie : Also you can't handle all this ?? so… stop with all the big talk.

Jeff : Get your ass over here already.

Jamie : I'm coming, damn... See you soon.

I sigh, roll up my sleeves, and start tidying up. Dishes get washed, blankets folded, random clutter shoved into drawers or any space I can find. It’s not exactly thorough, but by the time I’m done, the place actually looks decent. Maybe even cozy, like the kind of place you’d want to come home to.

Then I get an idea—one I almost immediately regret having. I dim the lights, rummage through the drawers for every candle I can find, and light them. The warm glow fills the room, soft and kind of... intimate.

It’s a lot. Way more than I usually go for.

I blow them all out. Then light them again. I start pacing the room, muttering under my breath, second-guessing every decision I’ve made in the last ten minutes.

Now I'm freaking out.

The whole thing feels so damn cheesy, like something out of a rom-com I’d pretend to hate but secretly get way too into. I’m not this guy—the romantic one. I never thought I had it in me. It always felt pointless before, like no one would notice or care if I tried. So why am I trying now?

But with Jamie... everything’s different. I want to care. I want him to care. And now I’m stuck here overthinking every single candle flame, worrying that when he walks in, he’ll laugh, crack a joke, maybe even call me out for trying too hard. The thought stings, but I know he would mean it in his Jamie way—playful, teasing. Still, it makes me feel exposed in a way I’m not used to.

When the front door finally opens, I freeze, my heart pounding like I’ve just been caught red-handed in the middle of something ridiculous. The candles are relit, the room bathed in a warm, flickering glow, and there I am standing in the kitchen, fumbling with an old Christmas candle I dug out from the back of a cabinet.

But Jamie doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. Instead, his beautiful, tired face softens, and then lights up with the biggest, most genuine smile I’ve ever seen. In that instant, all the nervous energy I’d been holding onto drains out of me, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

It’s worth it. Every cheesy, awkward second. It’s not about the candles or the tidying or any of the effort I’m overthinking—it’s about him. About us. And for once in my life, I don’t feel ridiculous for wanting to try.