Page 46 of Just One More Thing

I lean in too.

“Whoops.”

We jump apart like we’ve been caught committing a crime.

An older woman stands half inside the kitchen, eyes wide, one hand still on the swinging door. “I didn’t see anything. Sorry to interrupt.”

She vanishes.

Then the fire alarm shrieks.

“Damn it,” Jake mutters, grabbing a towel and waving it at the ceiling. Hank barks once, deeply offended by the noise and possibly by the lack of professionalism.

The pan hisses behind us. Something seafood, butter, and garlic is definitely giving up. Jake kills the burner and moves the pan off the heat. He flips on the fan, opens the back door, and steps aside while cool night air rushes through the kitchen.

Neither of us says anything.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck. He’s being so careful all of a sudden. Careful with the stove. Careful with the air between us.

Careful with me.

“Well,” he says, not looking at me, “that’s my cue to ruin dinner.”

I laugh, a little breathless. “I think it was trying to go out in a blaze of glory.”

That gets a smile out of him. He finally looks at me with the undeniable awareness that something just happened, and neither of us gets to pretend otherwise.

“I should probably head home,” I say.

His gaze stays on mine before he nods. “Yeah.” Then, quieter, “It’s late.”

He walks me to the back door.

At the threshold, I stop.

So does he.

The night outside is cool and quiet, but I can still feel the heat of the kitchen at my back. The smell of garlic. The shrill echo of the alarm. The place on my wrist where his thumb touched me like it meant something.

“Good night, Mo,” he says. His voice is a little less steady than it was a minute ago.

“Night, Jake.” I step out onto the deck, then glance back before I can help myself. He’s still standing there in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, watching me go.

My whole body feels unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with being startled. It’s not that he almost kissed me.

It’s that I leaned in.

CHAPTER 14

JAKE

Isit at the end of the dock with my feet hanging over the edge, beer in hand, Otis Redding playing low on my phone beside me.

The bay is smooth as glass tonight. Hardly a ripple on it. Out past the pilings, the channel marker blinks steady in the dark, one pulse at a time, proof that something out there is still moving even when everything here feels stuck.

I tip the bottle back and let Otis do what he can.

Maybe the beer helps. Maybe the song does. Maybe neither of them’s got a shot.