Chapter 16
Aiden
Landing in Portland, I grab my rental car and drive straight to Jay’s apartment. It’s been months since I last saw him, and I can’t wait to wrap him in a hug. I’ve missed him more than I want to admit.
I’m a nervous wreck when I knock on his door. I have to breathe deep and steady my hands because one impulsive kiss could disintegrate the keep-him-in-the-friend-zone stance I keep reminding myself I have to stick with.
Jay’s face lights up when he opens the door.
“Hey, you made it.”
“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around him and hugging him tightly.
I inhale the familiar, clean scent of his hair for just a moment, then reluctantly let him go. Seeing him without the dark bruises is such a relief. I watched them fade during our video calls, but seeing him up close, looking whole on the surface, loosens something inside me.
He’s still healing, I know that, but there’s something steadier about him now. Ronda noticed it too. I hear it in her voice when she talks about him on our weekly calls.
“Come on in,” he says, stepping back.
“Nice place,” I tell him, looking around the open-concept living room and kitchen.
It’s clean and tidy, but it lacks character, more like corporate housing than a home.
He shrugs. “I don’t plan to stay here long. After living in a house, apartment life feels like a step backward. I didn’t miss thin walls and noisy neighbors.”
“No doubt. My building in New York is a 1920s brick; it’s practically soundproof. I could never go back to cheap, thin-walled construction.”
He grins. “So, what are you here to show me?” he asks, trying to sound casual but clearly keyed up.
He hates surprises. The wait must be killing him.
“How would you feel about taking another trip to Astoria with me tomorrow?”
His face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “Sure, why are we going back there?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see when we get there,” I say, chuckling.
I’m dying to tell him about the property and about moving to Oregon, but I want to see the look on his face when we get there.
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He sounds half-annoyed, half-pleased.
I used to do this to him all the time when we were kids; stretching out the anticipation is almost its own reward. I hope to use that in other ways in the future.
“Nope.”
“God, you can be so frustrating,” he says, rolling his eyes as he steers me into the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.”
He hands me a glass and shows me to the spare bedroom to drop my bag, then points out the bathroom. Back in the living room, we settle at opposite ends of the couch.
“My mom mentioned you told her you were coming. We postponed her birthday party after the mess with Ray. We were thinking, since you’re here, maybe we could do it this weekend, and she wondered if we could celebrate your graduation, too.”
Ronda brought it up the last time we talked, but I shrugged it off. She insisted, and I didn’t want to argue with her.
“That sounds great. What’d your boss say about your return date?”
“He’s fine with it. I’m glad I get another week off so I can spend some time with you while you’re here, if you have time.
I mean I don’t know what your plans are, since you haven’t told me what you’re doing here.
Hint, hint.” He tries the look that usually gets him nowhere with me, flashing a crooked smile.
“I plan to spend time with you, but I’m still not telling you what I’m hiding. You’ll just have to be patient. You know, your strong suit.” I wink back, teasing him.
“Fine, I’ll wait.” He pouts dramatically. “What time do you want to leave?”
“We’ve got an appointment at eleven, so we should hit the road by nine.”
He perks up at the word appointment but stops pressing. “We’d better get to bed, then.” It’s almost midnight, and my body is on East Coast time; I’m ready to drop.
Heading down the hall, he lets me use the bathroom first. When I come out, Jay’s waiting on the other side of the door, offering me a sweet, shy smile and murmuring goodnight before slipping into the bathroom.
I lie in the dark and remind myself of the rules: he needs time; I need patience, and for now, no matter how loud the wanting gets, I’m his friend first.
The drive to Astoria is quick and easy. As we pull up to the building, Jay squints at the “For Sale” sign still hanging outside, with a look of confusion. Although we’re under contract, the seller is still marketing the property in case our deal falls through.
“What’s here?” he asks.
I gesture for Jay to get out of the car, and we stand on the walkway. I step right in front of him so I can get a clear look at his face as I tell him why we’re here.
“Okay, I’ll finally put you out of your misery. I’m buying this building.” I point and wait for his response.
He blinks a few times. “You’re buying this building? But you live in New York.”
“Not for long.” I can’t help but grin. “Once the deal closes, I’m moving here.”
“Are you serious?” His voice rockets. “You’re moving to Oregon?”
“That’s the plan.” His jaw drops, then he throws his arms around me in a hug so enthusiastic it almost knocks the wind out of me.
I hug him back, holding him tight.
The property is the practical part, but the real reason I’m doing this is him.
Everything since Florida has been steering toward this one stubborn goal: to be close enough that making a life together might be possible.
It’s messy and terrifying, and I want him so badly it aches, but I tuck that back in the vault for now.
He breaks away, grinning the most enormous, cheesiest grin I’ve ever seen. “This is amazing. I can’t believe you’re moving here.”
“I didn’t want to say anything until it was a done deal. We’re meeting my realtor and the inspector today. I thought you’d want to be part of it, you know, best friend privileges and all.”
“Thanks for including me,” he says, his eyes bright. “Having you nearby will be so much fun. We can explore everything: the coast, hiking trails, and every brewery from here to California.”
Watching him light up does something to me. All I want is to make him happy and give him everything he’s been denied: safety and the simple pleasures that make him smile.
My realtor and the inspector arrive, and the day turns into a never-ending walk-through and checklist discussion. I involve Jay in every conversation I can, asking him what he thinks about the layout, the storefront flow, and the mechanicals I don’t understand tucked into the basement.
He surprises me with his practical questions and his software engineer mindset: logical, detail-oriented, and curious.
He’s immediately interested in the building controls and the HVAC schematics in a way I never would be, and I appreciate it.
Having him here turns out to be unexpectedly helpful.
I hadn’t planned on him being part of the process, but now I can’t imagine doing this without him.
The inspection uncovered some unforeseen problems. The infrastructure costs are always the highest, and the building’s heating system might jeopardize the whole deal. I figured there’d be bumps in the road, but I’m good at solving problems, so I’ll figure it out.
By late afternoon, Jay and I are exhausted.
Before we left Portland, I told him to pack a bag just in case.
A hotel room together feels awkward and small, but I can’t help myself.
It’s selfish and perhaps a bit reckless, but after today—seeing him lean in and genuinely care about something that matters to me—I want more of this.
We’re staying in the same hotel as before; the room looks nearly identical, with scenic, life-sized photos of Astoria decorating the walls. I let him go into the bathroom first so I can pull myself together.
Every time we’re alone, it becomes harder to keep my feelings in check. I haven’t slept with anyone since him, and those memories replay in a loop. If I let myself dwell on it, I know I’ll do something stupid, like kiss the shit out of him, so I force my mind to focus elsewhere.
Jay emerges in a thin T-shirt and sleep pants, barefoot, and I have to look away. Bare feet are a weak spot for me. Grabbing my toiletry bag and pajamas, I slip into the bathroom. I usually sleep naked, but not tonight. I’ll be tangled in clothes under the covers.
When I crawl into bed, Jay is scrolling on his phone in the opposite bed, his face lit by the glow of the screen.
We say goodnight and turn off the lights.
The room feels too small for everything I’m thinking.
I’m exhausted, but sleep won’t come—my mind is full of business plans and a future I keep trying not to map too loudly.
Reminding myself over and over to be patient: Jay needs this time, and I’ll give it to him.
I’m heading back to New York tomorrow morning with a strong sense of momentum. The inspection went as well as it could, and I made the decision to buy the coffee shop, so there are more details to work out. That’s the practical side; the rest of the week has been the perfect distraction.
Spending time with Jay is always at the top of my list. We wandered through Astoria, visited a few great restaurants and breweries, and he laughed like the old Jay is quietly making a comeback.
The years with Ray robbed him of his lightness and goofiness, and seeing that return has been an enormous joy.
He jokes around, teases me, and makes me laugh until my sides hurt.
If the building ever collapses into a pile of unexpected repairs, those moments alone would make it all worth it.
All of it makes me hopeful. I’m getting closer to calling this place home, and even closer to being near Jay. Tomorrow, I head home to tackle the overwhelming paperwork and work on the logistics, but I’m not leaving empty-handed. I’m bringing back a week that felt like tremendous progress.
The party for Ronda is in full swing, filled with her friends, too many homemade desserts, and the awkward little subplot of me getting congratulated on my accomplishments by folks I’ve just met. Jay and Ronda are doing everything they can to make me feel included.
Heather is cool and measured with me. I get it—she’s fiercely protective and tries to steer things the way she thinks is best. Sometimes that comes off as bossy, but I know it comes from love and a lawyer’s instinct to control what she can.
She appears beside me with a beer. “So, Jay tells me you’re moving to Oregon.”
“Yeah. Hopefully, in the next few months. I’m buying a property in Astoria.”
“Could we have a word outside?” she asks, nodding toward the patio off the kitchen.
“Sure.”
I grab another beer on the way out, needing the edge dulled a little before whatever I’m walking into.
Outside, she gets straight to it.
“I think it’s great you and Jay have reconnected, but I’m worried about your intentions,” she says, blunt and clipped. “My brother’s been through a lot. I don’t think a new relationship is what’s best for him right now.”
I pause briefly before responding. “I get that you’re protecting him, and I respect that,” I say, keeping my voice steady. I step closer to meet her eyes. “But Jay’s an adult, and he can make his own choices. I care about him. I’ve cared about him my whole life.
“And just so we’re clear: I want to be with him. But I promise I won’t rush it. I’ll be his friend until he’s ready. I know how important it is that he focuses on himself right now.”
She studies me, then her posture softens a fraction.
“Understood,” she says, and there’s an odd note of approval in her voice, like she didn’t expect me to hold my ground.
Before either of us can say more, Jay appears on the patio.
“Hey, there you two are. What’s going on out here?”
“Aiden and I were just catching up,” Heather says, suddenly conversational, her earlier edge wiped away.
“That’s great. Can I grab him for a minute?” he asks.
Jay doesn’t wait for Heather’s reply; he steers me back inside like we’ve got somewhere to be.
“Sorry about my sister. She was probably grilling you about something that’s none of her business.”
I don’t think Jay overheard what we said, and if he did, he’s acting like he didn’t. Part of me wouldn’t mind him knowing exactly what I want. I’ve wanted to tell him forever. But it’s still too soon.
“I can handle Heather. She can bark all she wants; she’s never scared me. And she knows you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
“I know.”
Ronda’s birthday celebration winds down, so we go back to his apartment with Thai takeout and settle in for a movie marathon of fun, goofy stuff we grew up watching. I have an early flight tomorrow, so I’m trying to spend as much time with him as possible.
We settle on opposite ends of the couch, plates full of steaming food, and I keep stealing glances at him. Every little thing catches my attention: the way he smirks when he’s amused, how his eyes brighten when he laughs, the messy flop of hair that always falls across his forehead.
When a scene we’ve argued over a hundred times comes on, he looks at me with a glint in his eye and a slight quirk to his mouth. No words, just that look that means we’re thinking the same thing.
I feel like a broken record, repeating the same thoughts over and over. I’m tired of pretending it’s casual; I want to be with him, touch him, kiss him, and sleep beside him. But I know he’s vulnerable in ways that don’t show on the outside.
So, I focus on the small stuff: shared popcorn, silly jokes, and the way he falls asleep a few times and jerks awake with a grin.
Still, I hold on to a stubborn hope that sooner rather than later the waiting will end.