The smell of bacon and coffee fills Reece's tiny kitchen, mixing with the sharp scent of winter air sneaking through the cracked window above the sink.
I'm wearing his soft green flannel because my sweatshirt is somewhere in a pile near his bed. Our bed. God, when did I start thinking of it as our bed?
Two weeks. That's how long we've been doing this—this thing that doesn't have a name but feels like everything I've been afraid to want. Two weeks of coffee made exactly how I like it, of stolen kisses under that ridiculous hallway mistletoe, of falling asleep tangled up in each other and waking up like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Two weeks of not telling Jett. My stomach twists as I flip the bacon, watching the grease pop and sizzle. I've picked up my phone a dozen times to call her, typed out messages I never sent, rehearsed conversations in my head that always end with me chickening out.
"You're doing that thing again," Reece says, his voice still rough with sleep as he slides up behind me, one hand settling onmy hip like it belongs there. The other reaches around to steal a piece of bacon straight from the pan.
"What thing?" I ask, even though I know exactly what thing.
"The overthinking thing. I can practically hear the gears grinding." He presses a kiss to the spot just below my ear, and I have to remind myself not to lean into it, not to forget why I'm stressed in the first place.
"I'm not overthinking."
"Blue, you've flipped that same piece of bacon four times. It's basically jerky at this point."
I look down at the offending bacon, burnt to a crisp, and sigh. "Fine. I'm overthinking."
"About Jett?"
"When am I not thinking about Jett?" I abandon the bacon, turning in his arms so I can see his face. Morning light catches in his dark hair, still messy from sleep, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through it. "I need to tell her. We need to tell her."
"I know." His thumb traces small circles against my hip, a habit he's developed over the past two weeks that simultaneously soothes and distracts me. "We will. Just—"
"Just what? Just wait until she figures it out on her own? Until someone else tells her?" My voice pitches higher than I intend, anxiety clawing its way up my throat. "Reece, she's going to be hurt. Not that we're together, but that we kept it from her."
"She'll understand—"
"Will she?" I pull back slightly, needing space to think. "Your sister is one of the most forgiving people I know, but she's also been lied to by every important person in her life. Joey, your mom, even your dad to some extent. And now we're adding ourselves to that list."
Reece's jaw tightens, the muscle there jumping the way it does when he's trying not to say something he'll regret. "We're not lying. We're just—"
"Omitting? Hiding? Pick your euphemism; it still feels like betrayal." I run a hand through my hair, forgetting it's still in yesterday's messy bun until I hit a tangle. "I was going to call her yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. But every time I pick up the phone, I freeze."
"Then we'll tell her together." He says it like it's simple, like Jett won't spiral into rapid-fire questions and hurt feelings masked by humor. "Today, if you want. I'll call her right now—"
The sound of a car door slamming cuts him off.
We both freeze.
"Are you expecting someone?" I ask, even though I already know the answer from the way his face has gone pale.
"No."
Another car door. Footsteps on the porch. And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, a voice that makes my blood run cold.
"Reece! I know you're home. Your truck is here, and I can smell bacon from the driveway!"
Jett.
"Holy shit," I whisper, looking down at myself—his flannel, my bare legs, my hair that screamsI just rolled out of your brother's bed. "Holy shit, Reece, she can't—we're not—I'm not ready."
"Breathe," he says, his hands coming up to frame my face. "It's going to be fine."
"Fine?Fine?I look like I spent the night here!"
"You did spend the night here."
