He surveys me, his expression thoughtful. “He’d want what’s best for you, just like I do. I’m not saying that’s Maya, but I don’t think it’d be the end of the world for you to fucking text her. Ask her on a date or slide into her DMs. Whatever the kids are doing these days.”
Running my hand through my hair, I shoot him a small smile. “Can’t believe I’m considering taking dating advice from someone who’s sworn off relationships.”
Jake narrows his eyes at me, his mood darkening. “If you’d had four stepmoms before you hit thirty, you’d understand why.”
“Fair enough,” I admit.
“And despite my lack of dating knowledge, I’m almost positive asking the woman out is a solid step one.”
I chuckle at the annoyance in his tone. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“I’d sure as shit hope so.” He breaks into a satisfied grin. “You are captain now, after all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
maya
I flickmy wrist in a sad attempt to flip the pancakes in the pan and immediately regret it. Instead of turning over, one pancake shimmies into a lopsided oval shape, causing the unset batter to shift awkwardly into a blob.Lovely. I’m not a bad cook by any means, but dinner is more my specialty. I tend to lean toward granola bars for breakfast, since I’m usually running late. I’ve practically earned a PhD in hitting snooze. Honestly, whyisApple’s default alarm nine minutes? What kind of sadistic math is that?
A shuffle of footsteps behind me has me peering over my shoulder.
“Morning,” Ava grumbles as she appears at the threshold of my tiny kitchen. Her Bambi-brown eyes are at half-mast as she surveys the stove. “Are those pancakes?”
With the spatula I snag from the utensil holder beside the stove, I manually turn the pancakes. They’re a little too brown to be light and fluffy, but they’ll do.I hope. “They may not look like ’em, but I promise they’ll taste like ’em.”
Mumbling unintelligibly, she drops into a barstool and drapes herself over the counter. She flew in yesterday and has been catching up on sleep since. Between midterms and a delayed connection, she was running on fumes when she landed.
“What time is dinner tonight?” she asks with a yawn.
“We haven’t even had breakfast, and you’re already thinking about dinner?” I chuckle at her predictability. “Slow down, Aves.”
She sticks out her tongue. Glad to see college hasn’t completely matured her.
“Not until seven,” I say. “Elliott’s finishing up a project.”
“He’s always working.” Her lips twist into a frown. “It’s Thanksgiving, for fuck’s sake.”
“Language,” I chide with a raised brow. Even though I swear regularly, and even if she’s an adult herself now, the caretaker in me feels obligated to police her language. “He’s bringing babka from Goldblatt’s for dessert.”
Her mood immediately lifts at the mention of her favorite treat. No one loves chocolate chip babka more than Ava, and I’ve never been above bribing her with it. Once, when she was six, I convinced her not to scream bloody murder at the dentist by promising she could have as much as she wanted that evening. She ate half a loaf. It probably counteracted the cavity-preventing work completed during the appointment, but oh well. I was sixteen and working with limited resources.
With a dreamy look in her eye, she asks, “He’s bringing his not-boyfriend, too, right?”
“Yep,” I confirm.
Though the thought of Cole is a tender spot for me, meeting him led to not only my friendship with Sophie, but Elliott’s introduction to Logan. They’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks—and Elliott refuses to define the relationship yet, hence Logan’s not-boyfriend status—but it’s obvious already that the blond hockey player is good for my brother. When he worked late last week, Logan had dinner from his favorite restaurant delivered to his office to make sure he ate.
When Elliott told me, I melted a little. Okay, a lot.
“Need any help?” Ava asks as I slide the pancakes onto a plate.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for askingafterI’ve finished cooking.”
“I can make coffee.” She grins, knowing I won’t turn down another cup. “Almond or skim milk?”
A few minutes later, we’re curled up on the couch with mugs of hot coffee in hand and weirdly shaped but surprisingly tasty pancakes on our plates. Since it’s Thanksgiving and we have no plans to leave the apartment, we stay in our pajamas and spend the day watchingGilmore Girlsfor the billionth time and catching up on life. We text and talk on the phone a few times a week, but none of that comes close to replacing sitting beside her, where I can feel her body vibrate with excitement as she talks about the friends she’s made. And it doesn’t allow me to really study the way her lower lip twitches in distaste as she complains about her atrocious English 101 professor.
Since she left for school, I’ve been filling the quiet with work and slowly making my way through my TBR list. Yes, I’ve missed her desperately, but I didn’t realize just how much until she came home. It’s only been two months since she left, but it feels like a lifetime.
