Last Valentine’s Day
Love can’t always be perfect. Love is just love.
—The Wedding Planner
Last Valentine’s Day
JAMIE
TODAY 10:58 PM
I’m starvingggg!!! I know a cool diner downtown. I’m off soon.
late night pie on me?
Don’t make me eat alone
This is not how Jordan anticipated ending his Valentine’s Day:
At a cozy, semi-crowded diner downtown. Sitting in a booth upholstered in electric-blue vinyl. Hand-cut paper hearts strung from the ceiling. The Cure’s “Friday I’m in Love” humming quietly over the speakers. Wearing a burgundy, slim-fit Paul Smith suit while eating key lime pie.
With Jamie Peters across from him.
A feast is spread out in front of Jamie. He wasn’t joking about being hungry. There’s something from almost every section of See You Spoon’s menu. A veggie omelet and chicken fingers and sweet potato fries and two waffles and a Texas burger. Oh, and a slice of house-made apple pie.
Jordan would be intensely worried about Jamie’s stomach if he didn’t know him. If he hadn’t seen Jamie put away more during summer sleepovers at Denz’s house.
Not that Jordan even knows if this is the same Jamie from then. They don’t hang out like that anymore.
Another thing Jordan didn’t expect tonight: receiving a random text from Jamie in the middle of Mayor Tiffany Reynold’s annual Valentine’s Day gala. An invitation. To meet for pie.
Just the two of them.
He’s still trying to figure out what that warm feeling in his gut was when he read Jamie’s message.
Probably that second glass of champagne he downed earlier.
24 Carter Gold events are a lot. Being Kami’s assistant is a lot.
Being Kami’s assistant while she’s in the middle of a competition to become the next CEO of her dad’s company and competing against her brother is a lot.
The open bars and free booze help.
Jordan looks up from his half-eaten slice.
Jamie’s barreling through a syrup-soaked waffle.
Pink from the diner’s multiple neon signs spills through his wrecked brown hair, along his dark, unshaven jaw.
TWIST-N-SALT splashes in white letters across his black T-shirt, the cotton stretched by his broad shoulders and toned chest.
He looks good.
Somewhere between an adrenaline high from a long shift and sleepy-soft like he’d get at 2 AM after too many rounds of Mario Kart.
Heat pools in Jordan’s belly again. He shoves a forkful of pie in his mouth. Clearly, he’s still half tipsy.
“Good?” Jamie asks after swallowing.
“Not bad,” Jordan says with a shrug.
“Not bad?” Jamie’s face twists. “This is the best pie in Atlanta. In the entire Southeast.”
Jordan takes another bite. “Don’t let Auntie Leena hear you say that.”
Red floods Jamie’s cheeks. “You’re right. Second best.”
“An acceptable runner-up.”
Jamie raises a forkful of pie. “Cheers to great desserts.”
Jordan shakes his head before clinking their forks. He smiles helplessly. Jamie is wearing this stupid, self-satisfied grin, and Jordan can’t tell if it’s because he admitted the pie is great or because Jamie’s just happy Jordan’s here.
Since he graduated from UCLA and returned to Atlanta, his friendship with Jamie hasn’t quite been what it was when they were teens.
They see each other on occasion. Mostly during the Carter family holiday gatherings.
It’s rare for Jamie to miss one. But there’s no more summertime sleepovers in Denz’s old bedroom, obviously.
Because they’re adults. And, like, well …
But Jordan’s been to the apartment Jamie shares with Denz. A few times. Only when Denz needs him for something, like rearranging his bedroom.
Never to hang out and play video games with Jamie.
Sheepishly, Jamie says, “Sorry for interrupting your Valentine’s plans.”
Jordan snorts. “You didn’t.”
When Jamie texted him, Jordan was wrapping up at the mayor’s gala. As entertaining as watching Denz squirm while their family interrogated him about his (secretly fake) relationship with Braylon was, this is better. In spite of the diner’s questionable music choices.
John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland” kicks in as Jamie chokes out, “Wait, you had plans? With someone?”
“No,” Jordan blurts, grimacing. “I mean, you didn’t interrupt anything. With anyone. Just work. Which I was done with.”
“Oh, right. The mayor’s thing.”
Jordan nods.
A purple-haired, elderly waitress stops by to refill Jordan’s glass of water. She leaves a pile of napkins for Jamie too.
“Thanks, Marge,” he says.
Jordan forces himself not to laugh. This diner is almost too cliché to be real. The exact kind of place Jamie would be in love with.
“So,” Jamie drags out, “no Valentine for the night?”
This time, Jordan does laugh.
Today is just another day for him. Another work day.
It’s not as if he really celebrated Valentine’s before he started at 24 Carter Gold either.
The last time he did anything remotely romantic on February 14 was buying Yazzie a massive stuffed bear senior year of high school.
Because the guys on the basketball team insisted.
Because his mom demanded.
Jordan doesn’t need a holiday filled with overpriced flowers and the worst selection of candy ever to tell someone how he feels about them. Who even likes those chalky BE MINE hearts? Monsters, that’s who.
“No Valentine,” he confirms. “No interest.”
Jamie blows out a breath. “Bullshit. Everyone wants a Valentine.”
“Only you and the imaginary friends that live in your head.”
“And Denz,” Jamie says, eyes crinkled with amusement.
“And Denz,” Jordan agrees. He forks at what’s left of his pie. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” Jordan rolls his eyes. “The love guru without a date on this wholly overrated holiday?”
“It’s not overrated. And I never called myself a guru.” Jamie smirks. “I’m a love expert, remember?”
Unfortunately, Jordan does remember. His mouth remembers.Vividly.
Jamie frowns. “My date ditched me.”
“They did?”
Jordan shoves pie in his mouth to disguise the surprise in his voice. He didn’t know Jamie was seeing anyone. Not that he ever asked.
“Sadly,” Jamie says, pouting. “He got back with his ex. The love of his life. Some hot, wannabe-British dude. They dated in college.”
Jordan’s eyes narrow.
“And it’s so hard,” Jamie continues, his voice breaking with laughter, “because we’re roommates. Can you imagine? Sharing an apartment with the man you thought you were gonna spend the rest of your life with? Who’s now dating a One Direction reject?”
“Okay, okay.” Jordan sighs.
“He was supposed to tell his family about me!” Jamie cries. “In fact, he told his cousin. We saw him at a coffee shop and—”
“Lied about being boyfriends?” Jordan offers with a wry smirk.
He still can’t believe Jamie and Denz thought they could fool anyone into believing they were in a relationship.
That they thought they could fool him. Holding hands and using pet names in front of Jordan.
As if he doesn’t know their tells. As if he’d ever believe Jamie would want to date Denz instead of …
Well, actually, he tries not to think about how he’d finish that sentence.
Jordan’s just happy Jamie backed out and Braylon came to Denz’s rescue.
“We were rehearsing a play,” Jamie insists. “A one-act show.”
“Well, the acting was tragic,” Jordan says.
“You didn’t even see the whole thing!”
“One star,” Jordan goes on. “Two thumbs down. Would not recommend.”
Jamie nudges his foot under the table. “Admit it. You believed us.”
“Believed what? That you would ever fall for Denz?”
Jordan barks out a laugh.
“So, you’re saying Denz would fall for me?” Jamie’s eyes sparkle. “That I’m irresistible? A charmer? A love ex—”
“You’re none of those things, Jamie.”
“Oh, my young apprentice. I’m all of those things and more.”
There’s no arrogance in Jamie’s tone. No real swagger. He doesn’t say it like Denz would. Instead, there’s humor and sarcasm and a healthy amount of self-deprecation in Jamie’s voice. Just the way Jordan imagines a border collie would say it, if dogs talked.
“Well.” Jordan twirls his fork. “Sorry you’re stuck with me tonight.”
“I’m not stuck with you.”
Jordan’s stomach does that thing again.
“I’m sure there were better options,” he says.
Jamie’s foot pushes against his and stops. He waits for Jordan to look at him before he says, “Jordan Carter, I’d happily be your Valentine next year.”
Jordan blinks. “Y-you would?”
“Of course!” Jamie rips into his burger. His foot stays pressed to Jordan’s. He swallows, then says, “It’s only fair. Since I offered to be Denz’s fake date. You deserve the Jamie Peters special too.”
If the key lime pie wasn’t so damn good, Jordan would toss the rest at Jamie. Smudge it all over his ridiculous grin. He settles for kicking Jamie’s ankle.
Unbothered, Jamie says, “For the record, I’m a pretty bad fake date.”
“I’m shocked,” Jordan deadpans.
“I’ve been told I’m not very good at holding hands.”
Jordan’s eyes stray to Jamie’s hands. He remembers them on his face and neck in the dark. Long fingers, soft palms.
Jamie’s voice cuts through the memory: “Wait. C’mere.”
“Um, why?”
Jamie huffs. “Just do it, Jordan.”
Weirdly, Jordan does. He inclines over the table. Jamie reaches out. His fingers skim Jordan’s temple. The warm pad of a thumb brushes across Jordan’s left eyebrow, over the scar there.
Something shiny falls past Jordan’s eyes.
Glitter.
He swallows a groan. Fucking Denz and his annoying need to be extravagant with every little detail.
Jordan thought he got all of it out of his hair and off his clothes before climbing into the back seat of the luxury car he had ordered to drive him here. Clearly, he was wrong. He’ll probably be finding glitter in places it shouldn’t be for months.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
Jamie grins crookedly. His fingers are still on Jordan’s temple. A light, constant pressure. Jordan almost leans into it.
Marge passes their table on her way to the kitchen. They probably look silly. Awkwardly half standing and stretched over the table.
Mild embarrassment throws Jordan back down onto his side of the booth. His skin slowly cools. His stomach sizzles.
“I’m gonna kill Denz,” he mumbles.
Eventually, Jamie sits. The left side of his mouth is still quirked. “Then who will I hang out with?”
“Me,” Jordan volunteers, unthinking.
Something sweet melts over Jamie’s face. “Really?”
“But we’re not watching those ridiculous rom-coms you love.”
“What will we do then?”
“Go out.” Jordan swipes open his phone. “NBA game. One of Kami’s clients gave me courtside seats.”
“For the Atlanta Condors?”
“Hawks,” Jordan corrects, laughing.
“Just me and you? No Denz?”
Jordan waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be too busy with the CEO competition and his fake boyfriend.” He scans Jamie’s face. Reads the hesitance around his mouth. “Unless you don’t want to?”
“No, no,” Jamie says. “I do. It’ll be like old times. Minus me kicking your ass on Mario Kart.”
Or the kissing practice, Jordan’s brain suddenly—unwantedly—thinks.
He straightens his shoulders. “That never happened, Jamie.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
They smile at each other. Their feet are wedged together again under the table. Jordan’s not sure how that happened. Whose foot moved where first. But neither of them shifts away.
Jamie takes the check when Marge swings by. “I got it. Tips are fucking amazing on holidays. Especially this one.”
Jordan doesn’t argue with him. Or try to split the bill.
Instead, he forks up the last bite from his plate.
“Thanks for the pie,” he says.
“Thanks for not ditching me for a hot British guy,” Jamie says with a teasing smile that seems to last an eternity.