“She said she always liked treating you to something after you worked so hard. And as I was at all of your games, I know youearnedthat lasagna every fucking time.”
“Thanks,” I said, warmth flooding my chest at the pride in his eyes. Jesse had never missed a game, making his dad take him to all the out-of-town ones until he’d learned to drive. Watching him on the sidelines today, cheering for Maddie with every kick, made me think of a time almost too wonderful and simple to believe it had ever existed.
“All kidding aside,” Jesse said, furrowing his brow. “I hope we didn’t pressure you. I mean, I know we did.” He rested his elbows on the inside of my open window and laughed.
“I couldn’t say no to your mom—or Maddie.”
“Or…” Jesse said, raising a brow.
“Oh, you were easy,” I said, waving my hand.
“I could just go home and heat up one of the casseroles from my fan club.” His lips, now inches away from mine as he came even closer, twitched at the corners.
“I’m sure they’re piling up. Maybe you should.” I lifted a shoulder.
He dropped his chin to his chest, his throaty chuckle running right through me.
“I wanted to be here tonight,” I said, my heart thudding in my ears as I prepped myself for my wimpy confession. “For everyone. Including you, so save the casserole for another night.”
“I wanted you here too,” Jesse said, his eyes holding mine as he opened my car door and extended his hand. “So, come inside.”
I stood, my palm tingling as usual when it grazed his. It brought me back to that first jolt when our skin touched on the day we met, when both of us had reached for the same pencil and fallen into a four-year trance.
Core memories were good that way, staying part of your makeup despite the merciful lack of awareness.
Until something made you remember, and then you couldn’t stop.
I dropped his hand to close the window and grab the pie, grateful for the opportunity to turn away from him and catch my breath.
“After you,” Jesse said, his gravelly whisper stealing back the little air I was able to pull into my lungs.
Since we’d reconnected—or had been forced into each other’s path—it had been easier to talk myself out of these odd moments in a text message. When one of us would bring up something simple from the past, like the pizzeria we used to sneak to by school, or how my mother would tell him to stay out of my sight during big games so I wouldn’t be distracted, we could laugh without whatever this was simmering between us like it did when we were face-to-face.
When we talked in person, the feelings always got in the way. Whether it was remnants of how we used to be or something more current, it messed with my head all the same.
I’d never admit it to him, but he was right to cut me off completely when we broke up. I wouldn’t have been able to handle any kind of connection with him and move on.
All these years later, that was still a problem.
Jesse pressed his hand to the small of my back as he reached in front of me to push open the screen door. My entire body lit up at his proximity.
“Thank you,” I muttered and stepped through the door, taking two big strides away from Jesse to shake off whatever had come over us both in the past few minutes and today.
“Emily!”
Mrs. Evans rushed up to me as if she hadn’t seen me a little over three hours ago and scooped me up into another hug.
“Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Evans. I was just telling Jesse how much I missed game-day lasagna.”
I glanced back at Jesse and the tiny smile ghosting his lips.
“I’ve missed game-day lasagna too. And now, with a soccer player in the family again, we can have it all the time.”
The familiar deep rumble of Mr. Evans’s laugh echoed down the staircase. His eyes, dark and kind like his son’s, met mine. Other than the full beard, Jesse’s father was an older version of his son, and time had been extremely good to both of his parents. His father seemed the same stocky kind of strong.
“Nice to see you again, sweetheart,” Mr. Evans said, bringing me in for a gentle hug.
“Thank you. Nice to see you too.” I cleared my throat when I noticed my voice squeak.
