I shot him a how-did-you-know-I-was-going-there look, but he just grinned. “I helped Pastor Bri pick out cards and candy for all the students who got scholarships,” he explained.
“Ah, that makes sense.” Bri was the youth pastor at church. “And no. Theater’s fun, but I never wanted to pursue it beyond high school. In fact, rather than try out for a lead this year, I told Mr. Meadows I just wanted to be in the ensemble.”
I guessed since Jett knew so much about me I could admit to knowing a little about him in return. “I heard you’re also going to UNCW. You got a basketball scholarship, right?”
He grinned. “Yep. I’ll be playing for the Seahawks,” he said.
I kind of liked how…togetherhe was. Compared to TJ, especially. “Nice,” I said, remembering the excitement when the university came to scout him out. “What will your major be?” I asked.
“Civil engineering,” he answered.
My face scrunched up. “So you’ll be doing what when you graduate, exactly?”
He chuckled. “Most likely I’ll be designing or maintaining infrastructure projects like roads, tunnels, airports, bridges. That type of thing.”
“Wow,” I said, and I meant it. “That’s cool.”
“What are you majoring in?” he asked.
“Business. I figure that’s broad enough I should have some good options.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and eat, and I’ll see if I can pull up some info about this.” He brought the plate over to me and slid it onto the oak table.
Warm light spilled over the floral design casing the paper plate. It wasn’t as if he’d slaved over a five-course meal or anything, but he may as well have. As horrible as it might seem, this was the food I dreamt of. The stuff normal families ate when soccer practice and theater fell on the same night. Or when Mom shuffled in after a late day in the office.
“Thank you,” I said before reaching for the square thing first. I stared at the sauces for a blink.
“That one goes in ranch.”
“Oh,” I said. “There’s pizza in this one, right?”
He smiled wide. “Right.”
“I had these at Bailey’s house forever ago.” I dipped it, took a bite, and groaned from the incredible flavor. “This is amazing,” I said before dipping it again.
“Yeah,” he said. “I love those things.”
A sense of comfort fell over me, and suddenly, I felt very much at home. Jett cracked open a laptop and pulled up an article about the origins of the kiss. Sounded like a good place to start.
He read aloud while I worked on the food—dipping, eating, and nodding along. According to one article, the act of kissing dated all the way back to 1500 B.C. There was conflicting evidence as to how many cultures actually kissed—some said ninety percent of them; another said it was closer to fifty—but one thing was widely agreed: people liked doing it.
“It says here that they used to sign documents with an X and then give it a kiss, which still exists today, hence the use of X’s and O’s when we sign a letter.”
“That’s so cool,” I said. “I wonder where the O’s came from.”
“That’s a good question.” He squinted back at the screen and continued.
I looked at him as he read aloud, imagining what it might be like to sit across from him twenty years from now, a few kids playing out in the backyard while he read me an article from the newspaper. Would he be wearing a white collared shirt, the top few buttons undone while his loosened tie hung just beneath? Or would it be more of a Sunday morning thing? Both of us lounging in our robes, mugs of coffee resting before us. Would he have a five o’clock shadow along that chiseled jaw of his?
I sighed. He just seemed so…solid. And for whatever reason, I appreciated that more than ever. I knew—by rumors of what happened at Carl Macky’s kegger—that Jett had sown a few wild oats. With him being the pastor’s son, it seemed everyone knew. But Jett had it together now. At least he seemed to.
The sight of my empty plate save the corndog stick sent a splash of embarrassment through me. I hopped up, walked into the kitchen, and found the trash bin under the sink. Worried that my hands now smelled like food, I washed up with a squirt of yummy-scented soap, something Cathy had bought for sure.
“So,” Jett said. “That revealed a lot about the history of the kiss, but not so much about the chemistry.”
I walked back over to the table and took my seat, noticing a bowl of filled with candy.
“They’re hot cinnamon,” Jett said. That explained the hints of cinnamon I’d detected on his breath. He must have just finished one himself. “They look like they might be peppermint,” he added, “but they’re not. Take one if you’d like.”
