Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Jay
By the time we roll into town, the sun’s low and the air smells like wood-smoke and wet grass, exactly the small-town comfort I used to take for granted.
The streets are familiar, every bend etched into memory, yet there’s a strange distance to it now.
Like looking through glass at a version of my life I used to belong to but don’t quite fit inside anymore.
Driving here gives me a nostalgia that hits harder when you’ve been away too long, and I know my family will make sure I endure every second of that guilt this weekend.
Only this time, I’ve got Liv by my side.
And that alone will soften the blow of my absence—because they’re going to love her.
I know it. They’ll take one look at her smile, hear that quiet charm in her voice, and forget they were ever mad at me for missing birthdays or Thanksgiving dinner. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.
Right now, she’s exercising her lungs with an impassioned performance of Olivia Rodrigo, feet on the dash, window cracked open just enough to let in the chill from the early evening air.
“Don’t act like you don’t know the words,” she says between lines, pointing dramatically at me.
“I do know them,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, “I’m just not sure you’re ready to be outsung. I want you to have your moment.”
She bursts out laughing, the sound spilling through the car before taking up residence in my chest.
We hit the edge of town, just as her serenading comes to an end.
This place looks like it’s been frozen in time, with the hardware store still on the corner, bakery still claiming to have the best cinnamon rolls in Oregon.
Even the billboard at the edge of town still welcomes us to “Aurora Valley—Where Community Grows,” the same faded slogan that’s due for an upgrade.
Liv presses her palms to the window, eyes wide as we pass the diner, the string of lights over Main Street, the field where my high school used to hold the Fourth of July fair.
“This is so…” she trails off, searching for the word.
“Small?” I offer.
“Charming,” she says instead, though her grin gives her away.
We turn onto my parents’ street, and my stomach tightens a little. Every house here has some piece of my childhood woven into it—backyard football games, scraped knees, borrowed bikes, first kisses at the lake a little farther out.
My parents’ place sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, still painted that warm golden color my mom insists looks like sunshine. There’s already an overflow of cars in the driveway, and the porch light glows like a welcome sign.
Liv goes quiet beside me. Her fingers, which had been tapping to the beat of the music minutes ago, curl into her lap.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
She nods too quickly. “Yeah. Just… first impressions are a thing, you know?”
“You’ll be fine,” I say, cutting the engine. “My family’s loud, not scary.”
“That’s exactly what people say before introducing you to terrifyingly perfect siblings and parents who are silently judging you.”
“Trust me, nobody in that house does anything silently. And they won’t be judging.”
That gets a soft laugh out of her, and she exhales, unbuckling her seatbelt but making no move to get out yet.
The nervous energy rolling off her is subtle, but I can feel it.
The way her eyes dart to the front porch, where shadows move behind the glass.
The way she smooths her hands over her jeans, picking at a nonexistent thread there.
I reach across and squeeze her knee. “Hey. You’ve got this.”
She looks at me, her mouth pulling into the smallest, crooked smile. “What if they don’t like me?”
“Then I’ll remind them they already like me less,” I say, grinning, and her laughter spills out again.
When we step out, the night air carries the faint trace of pine and moss from the lakes.
From inside, I can hear my sister Isabel’s voice rising over the sound of clattering dishes.
Someone—probably her husband, Luis—yells something unintelligible in Portuguese, and laughter follows.
My mouth automatically tips up at the side, knowing the chaos we’re about to enter, but the girl next to me still isn’t as sure.
Liv hesitates on the path, the porch light painting her hair in amber.
I pause beside her, sliding my hands into hers, tracing my thumb back and forth over her skin. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No,” she admits quietly. Then she turns, and suddenly I’m drowning in those beautiful ocean eyes of hers as she says, “But… I think I want to be.”
The fact that my heart skipped a beat at that, at her, at the fact she’s here with me. “Good answer.”
The front door swings open before I can even knock. Isabel fills the doorway, hair scraped back into a bun, a tea towel slung over one shoulder, her surprise blooming into a grin that I’ve missed more than I’ll say out loud.
“Look who finally remembered where he came from,” she says, pulling me into a hug so tight she might as well be my new chiropractor.
Then she spots Liv over my shoulder, and her expression shifts into open delight.
“E quem é esta?” And who’s this? Isabel’s voice lifts, curiosity blooming into something teasing.
“This is Liv,” I say, stepping aside so she can see her properly. “Liv, my oldest sister, Isabel.”
One of Isabel’s eyebrows rises slowly, silently asking me who is she to you, then, brother? But I don’t want to make things more overwhelming for Liv yet. It’s enough that she’s meeting the most protective of my siblings first. “You brought someone home? Without warning?”
“Technically,” I say, scratching the back of my neck, “Mom knew.”
“Of course she did.” Isabel crosses her arms, and for a moment, she looks me up and down like she’s about to start interrogating me in Portuguese, but her attention snaps to Liv instead.
“Are you his girlfriend?” Isabel asks bluntly.
“Isabel,” I hiss. “N?o a interrogues,” don’t interrogate her.
Isabel ignores me completely. “What? It’s a simple question; you’ve never brought a girl home before.”
Liv takes it in stride. She doesn’t fidget, doesn’t look to me for rescue. She just meets Isabel’s eyes, her shoulders set. “I’m his friend,” Liv says, her tone light but her eyes steady. “For now, at least. I guess we’ll see if I survive the family dinner.”
Isabel grins, immediately approving. “You’ve got jokes.
Good—you’ll need them in here.” Meanwhile, there’s a prickle forming at the base of my spine at the word “friend.” I know I thought it was easier not to label her or make her decide right now, but there’s a part of my brain that hates that, too.
Isabel turns to go inside, and Liv steps forward, until I catch her wrist and pull her gently back against me.
My mouth finds the curve of her ear, close enough that only she can hear.
“Be careful, gatinha,” I murmur, voice low enough to stir the hair at her neck.
“You’d better be ready to see just how friendly I’m feeling later when you’re choking on my cock. ”
Liv inhales quickly, the sound going straight south.
Then she spins so we’re face-to-face, those eyes filled with desire and mischief.
Her gaze lingers on my mouth, a teasing glint surfacing.
“I should warn you, I’m not great at pretending I don’t want you.
So, really, you should be careful, or I might forget you want me on my best behavior. ”
I snuff out her words with a huffing laugh, splaying my hand on her lower back, pulling her hips into mine so she can feel what she’s doing to me.
“I never said I wanted you to behave, Olivia,” I say, bending to pull her earlobe between my teeth.
Her body arches into me further, and my head spins.
I’m drunk on her. “Maybe I like it better when you don’t. ”
The gleam in her eye intensifies, a smile so bright spreading across her perfect lips, that I can’t resist lowering to press a chaste kiss to them. “You’re getting yourself worked up, baby. Do I need to take you to your car and—”
“For the love of god, don’t finish that sentence,” I interrupt because if she says what I think she was going to, then I might not be able to control myself. I’m suddenly kicking myself for tempting the temptress.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Jay.” She bops my nose and presses a kiss to my cheek while I will my body to calm the fuck down. She’s right, I brought this on myself, and I should know better.
Then a loud noise echoes from inside the house, taking both of our attention. “Guess that’s our cue,” she says, looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah.” I press my mouth to her temple before stepping back, letting the chilly air slip between us again, cooling my heated skin. Thankfully, I manage to get myself under control again before we head inside.
The noise swells as soon as we cross the threshold.
Warm kitchen air drifts toward us, scents of roasted garlic, and something sweet caramelizing in the oven.
The scent wraps around me before the door even closes, thick with memory.
My boots sink into the old rug in the entryway, the same one my mother refuses to throw out, no matter how many years it’s been frayed along the edges.
Somewhere deeper in the house, a baby starts to cry, only to be drowned out by laughter that rolls from the kitchen like music.
Liv follows, eyes wide, shoulders brushing mine. Our hands link again, and she squeezes once, grounding herself.
Christmas garlands hang along the banister, and fairy lights reflect off framed photos that line the hallway—me in a football jersey, before I realized I’m not a player but a photographer, my sisters at their weddings, my nieces and nephews with icing on their faces at a party.