Page 27 of Just One More Thing

His smile deepens just a fraction. Small enough most people wouldn’t catch it.

I do.

“Okay. Let me grab mine.” He steps up to order, and the bell dings again.

I have no idea if Miss Hattie taps it for the next customer or to alert the town that Round Two: Jake and Emory is officially underway.

I head toward the edge of The Green before I can think too hard about any of this. A few minutes later Jake falls into step beside me with his own tray, Hank trotting proudly between us. A wrinkled little chaperone.

We walk.

Just walk.

No past. No explanations. Just shell crunching under our feet and Hank’s tags giving a soft little jingle every few steps. It’s so ordinary it almost scares me. For one second, I could be seventeen again.

“How’s your granny doing?” Jake asks.

“She’s furious,” I say. “Which is her love language.”

He laughs, that low barely there laugh of his that always sounds like he means it even when it’s small.

“Frank’s trying to help,” I add, “but Frank is also trying to eat everything he touches.”

“Frank would eat a candle if it was sugar-coated.”

“Correct.”

Jake glances at my tray. “You went slaw.”

“I did.” I lift the hot dog a little. “I like to live dangerously.”

He looks out toward the water a little too fast to be casual.

I take a bite before I can overthink the fact that I’m out here walking beside Jake Wheeler as if this is something I just do now. Again.

The first bite is exactly what I remember. Soft bun. Salty snap. Sweet slaw. A lotta messy. Completely worth it.

When I look over, Jake’s watching me with that look that says he’s trying not to smile and not doing a very convincing job of it.

“What?” I ask, mouth half full, because clearly dignity is optional today.

“Nothing.” He pauses. “Just… you always ate the slaw first.”

I freeze mid-chew.

Because I did.

I always did.

When we were kids, I used to dismantle the whole thing like a science project, eat the slaw with my fingers, then put it back together like nothing happened.

I had completely forgotten that.

Jake had not.

“I did not,” I say, very maturely, because denial is my second core competency.

His mouth pulls to one side. “You did.”