"Bullshit. You've been weird since the storm. Distracted." She narrows her eyes. "Does it have anything to do with a certain food truck owner I heard about?"
I set my phone face-down on the table. "Harper has a big mouth."
Emma laughs. "Actually, it was Dean who told me."
"Dean?" I scowl.
"He saw you helping dig out her truck the morning she left. Said you looked—and I quote—'like a puppy watching its owner leave for work.'"
"I'm going to kill him."
"No you aren’t. But that's not the point." She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. Her expression softens from teasing to genuinely concerned. "Seriously, Jake. Are you okay?"
I look at my sister. She's five years younger than me, but sometimes she seems like the older one. She's got her life figured out: this coffee shop she built from nothing, her tight circle of friends, her easy confidence. She's rooted in a way I've never quite managed to be.
Maybe that's why I decide to be honest.
I take a deep breath. "No. I'm not."
Her eyebrows rise. "Okay. Talk to me."
"I can't get this girl out of my head." The words come out in a rush, like they've been waiting for permission. "I can't stop texting her. I can't stop thinking about her. I can't—" I break off, frustrated. "It's been five days, Emma. Five days. That's nothing. That's not enough time to feel like this."
"Feel like what?"
"Like—" I struggle to find the words. "Like I miss her. Constantly. Even when we're in the middle of a conversation, I miss her. I miss the way she smells like cinnamon and vanilla. I miss the way she argues with me about everything. I miss the way she laughs at her own jokes before she even finishes telling them."
Emma is watching me with an expression I can't read.
"I think about her first thing when I wake up," I continue. "I think about her last thing before I fall asleep. I think about her in between, when I should be working, when I should be focusing on literally anything else. I think about her future and I want to be part of it. I think about her past and I want to go back in time and fight everyone who ever made her feel small."
I pause, realizing how much I've said. Emma's mouth is twitching.
"I know how this sounds," I say defensively. "I know it's crazy. I barely know her. We had a few days together during a blizzard. That's not—it shouldn't be enough to—"
Emma slaps her hand on the table, startling me into silence.
"Oh my God." She's laughing now, her whole face lit up with delight. "I never thought I'd see the day. My big brother actually fell in love."
"No I didn't."
"Jake—"
"I didn't," I insist. "It's just that she makes me feel things I haven't felt in years. Maybe ever. When I'm talking to her, I feel like myself. The version of myself I actually want to be. She challenges me. She doesn't let me get away with my usual deflection bullshit. She sees through me and she stays anyway. She makes me laugh. She makes me think. She makes me want to be better."
I take a breath.
"And when she's not there, everything feels dimmer. Like someone turned down the color saturation on the whole world. I keep looking at my phone, waiting for her next message, and when it comes, my whole chest gets tight. I feel like a teenager. It's ridiculous. I'm thirty years old. I should not feel like this."
Emma shakes her head slowly, a smile spreading across her face.
"That's love, Jake, you dumbass."
I stare at her. The word hangs in the air between us, too big, too real.
"That's what love feels like," she continues. "All of it. The missing. The wanting. The feeling like yourself and wanting to be better at the same time. The dimmer switch thing." She shrugs. "That's it. That's the whole deal."
"It's too fast," I manage. "You can't fall in love with someone in five days."
