Page 51 of The Way Home

“Still.”

“You’re odd.”

“I know.”

She melted into his arms for a beat. He missed her, he missed this place, and he missed feeling like he didn’t need to perform. Or act. Or pretend that he knew what the fuck was going on.

Maybe it was unfair, but he felt a certain pressure around Caleb. He wanted to act cool and sure of himself and not show how fucking lost he was on the inside. He didn’t have that urge with Ellie. She had always been his safe space. He never felt his weird, twitchy anxiety around her. Probably because they’d known each other since they were kids.

After one final squeeze, he let her go and wandered into the living room.

“I made you banana French toast,” she called from the kitchen as she twisted her straight, jet-black hair into a bun and leaned over the stovetop. “Just have to plate it.”

“My queen,” Jamie yelled. He bopped around the space, cataloging everything that had been there when he lived with Ellie, and slowly taking in everything that was different. He smiled at the Big Ben coasters that they’d picked up at the corner shop when they’d first moved to London before realizing how tacky they were. And the blanket his mum had knitted for them to bring to ‘the big city,’ draped over the sofa that they’d picked up at the thrift store. The floating shelves that Jamie had installed so poorly that Ellie only trusted them to hold paperback books. So much was the same.

How had so much changed, as well?

As he floated around the room, poking things with his finger to make sure they were real, he wondered what it felt like when he’d moved out. Had he been sad? Had Ellie been happy for him?

He paused in front of the gallery wall and smiled at a framed photograph of him standing in front of one of the exhibits in theBritish Library. The first exhibit he’d ever been asked to help curate: Egyptian mummies. His whole family had come out from Bucks to see it.

He still felt proud of that one, even if he’d curated over a dozen exhibits since then.

His smile faltered as he noticed the photo beside it. A selfie of him and Ellie laughing in front of the Eiffel Tower, taken a few months before the breakup. Back when Jamie was determined to fix whatever was broken inside himself and make it work with Ellie.

He’d emptied his savings on a romantic weekend away in Paris, only to come back one hundredthousandpercent sure something wasn’t right. Apparently, French men made Jamie’s gayness hard to ignore.

Ellie had ended it that winter.

“Love that picture,” she said now, coming up behind him with a plate full of French toast. “I look hot.”

Jamie chuckled. “You do look beautiful, yes.”

“I took it down for a while. Will was a bit touchy about you at first.”

“Will?”

Ellie nodded to the picture beside the selfie. She was seated at a little wooden restaurant table, wearing more makeup than she normally did, across from a guy about their age. A handsome guy with a cut jaw and big, broad shoulders.

They made a pretty couple.

In the photograph, they had bowls of ramen in front of them and, while Ellie was smiling at the camera, Will was staring at her.

A weird mixture of emotions flooded Jamie’s chest as he stared at the photo.

“I also look hot in that one,” she said.

“Yeah.” Jamie scratched the back of his neck. It was true. She did.

They settled onto the couch with their French toast, and Jamie tucked his away at record speed. Ellie was the best cook ever.

“So, how long have you been with Will?”

Ellie bounced her head from side to side, doing mental math. “A year? And a half? He’s great. You like him.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, he reads a ton. You guys nerd out all the time. You’re friends.”