Page 78 of Last First Kiss

“Yeah, of course,” Jordan says, unsure of where this is headed.

“I don’t want Mikah to look up and not see anyone he knows in the bleachers.”

Jordan does his best not to wince. He knows that feeling. His mom made as many of his basketball games as possible. Tevin did too. But there was the occasional away game where Jordan would nail a three-pointer with ease, the crowd erupting, and not a single familiar person would be grinning proudly back at him.

He’d hate for Mikah to know that feeling.

“So, I was hoping—” Kami pauses. “Could you go? In my place?”

Jordan’s eyes bounce around his office. The menu opened on his monitor. Texts from Amy with ideas she’d love incorporated waiting on his phone. Sam’s proposed reception playlist staring back at Jordan from his iPad. All the things he hasn’t completed.

Then there’s Kami. Doe-eyed, gnawing on her lower lip like she wasn’t sure if she could come to him. Like this is a big ask, even for her.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love to.”

“Are you sure? You’re so focused on the wedding and—”

“Kami.”

“It’d only be until I can get out of here—”

“Kami,” Jordan repeats.

“I promise, anything you need next week to get caught up, I’ll—”

“Kamila Erin Carter!”

She stares at Jordan, shocked. “Did you just full-name me?”

Jordan grins widely. “I did.” He waits until she sits back in the chair, still surprised, but a little less wound up. “I’m going. I’ll be the loudest one there. Mikah will be sick of hearing me.”

Finally, Kami smiles. “Thank you.”

“No worries. Where’s the game at?”

“Piedmont Park.”

Jordan starts gathering his stuff. The park is perfect. His phone has great reception out there. He can watch Mikah’s game while also answering emails, finish up a few of his tasks. If he needs to—which he does—he’ll work on the menu over the weekend.

At least Javi won’t be around to bother him.

This is fine. He’s on top of everything. Nothing to stress over.

Jordan’s stressed.

“Unnerved” is probably the appropriate word.

When he arrives at the Active Oval—the park’s massive recreation space where two soccer fields are housed—Jordan’s not expecting to know anyone in the largely full bleachers. It’s a mixed bag of parents trading glances between phones and the game, bored siblings, and random spectators. A pack of sunglasses-wearing strangers who have no interest in Jordan’s appearance.

But on one of the lower bleachersisa face Jordan recognizes.

His heart stops just as his feet do. Five feet away from Jamie Peters.

He’s angled to face the field. The high sun softens his profile. Those chaotic brown waves. The long slope of his nose. His pink mouth is curved into a grin as he shouts something toward the long stretch of green grass the game’s being played on.

Jordan considers backing away. Retreating like a mouse after the kitchen light flips on. But, as if sensing Jordan’s wide-eyed stare, Jamie’s head turns.

His lips split into a bigger grin.