Page 55 of Last First Kiss

Since classes ended in early May at UPenn, there’s been a bimonthly appointment added to Jordan’s calendar:brunch date with Nic.

He happily leaves the office—and his mom’s matchmaking attempts—behind to brave the thirty-minute drive from downtown to a cute neighborhood near the suburb of Druid Hills. Jordan already knows the trek back is going to be hell. Friday traffic in Atlanta starts at approximately 11:30AMon Thursday. But it’s worth it.

This is his spot.

Theirspot now.

While Jordan appreciates the Last Pour’s “we’re trying to look unpretentious even though we really are” vibes, the come-as-you-are Southern charm of a place like This Side of Sunny appeals to him more.

The heady scent of melted butter on a steaming bowl of grits. Fern-green walls that contrast with golden pancake towers. Forks scraping plates clean, not a crumb left behind. Cool glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice against your palm. Warm cinnamon from the French toast sticking to the back of your throat hours after leaving.

It’s all he needs.

That, and the absolutely unhinged stories from his younger cousin’s freshman year of college.

“Then she just sat down in the middle of our dorm room floor,” Nic is saying over her buttermilk short stack, “surroundedby a forty-piece Chicken McNuggets, wearing a Wonder Woman Halloween costume, like nothing happened.”

Jordan snorts.

“Wait.” A forkful of frittata pauses halfway to his mouth. “Halloween costume? I thought you said this happened last month?”

“It did!”

“So why was she—”

“Did you miss when I mentioned the shots of homemade apple pie moonshine ourotherroommate snuck in?”

“Well, no, but—”

Nic holds up a finger. “That’s not even the best part.”

Jordan flexes a curious eyebrow.

“She woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning to writeMerlinfanfic before her Intro to Sociology exam,” Nic says, elated. “She aced her finalandhad almost two hundred kudos on AO3 by lunch!”

She cackles.

Jordan shakes his head, chewing. “I guess that means you won’t be transferring closer to home next semester like your mom wants?”

“Hell no. I fucking love it there.”

The restaurant’s big windows splash late-morning summer glow across Nic’s warm brown skin. Jordan can easily pick out Auntie Leena’s features in Nic: strong eyebrows, feathery eyelashes, thin nose. But she has Uncle Kenny’s cheekbones and artful jaw. Her thick hair is in two long braids. She’s wearing aVOTE, YOU COWARDST-shirt and a pair of rose-colored cropped chinos.

“I’m glad you’re back for the summer,” Jordan says.

She rolls her eyes. “Only because I make you look way cooler than you really are.”

“Harsh, but true.”

They smirk at each other.

Jordan wasn’t always this close to her. There’s a seven-year age difference between them. Growing up, he had Denz. Nic preferred keeping to her small group of friends. She was band T-shirts andemo vibes while he liked competitive sports and being an overachiever.

But after UCLA, Jordan came home to a brokenhearted, career-driven Denz. Suddenly, Nicgotthe loneliness that came with being away from family for so long that Jordan could never explain to Denz. Then, when she left for UPenn, Jordan was the only person who understood her. No other Carter had left Georgia for college until him. He recognized the edge in her voice that first semester. The simultaneity of being homesick and wanting nothing more than to prove you’re okay. To carve out your own path outside the enormity of being a Carter.

“Speaking of elevating your cool factor,” Nic says after a sip of orange juice, “I need your help.”

“Youneedmyhelp?”