Page 56 of Collect the Pieces

“You should. The girls usually do yoga while we’re in church.”

“I might.” I dig deep into my backpack again, my hand brushing against the velvet pouch, and finally find my pajamas. I fold them neatly and leave them on one of the pillows on the bed.

Jigsaw turns his head, watching me. His mouth curves in amusement. “I feel like a slob now. I was going to pull things out of my bag as needed.”

I flinch and open my mouth to apologize but he tugs on my hand, pulling me closer. “I’m not criticizing. I think it’s cute.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I want you to be comfortable here. Do whatever will make you feel at home.”

“Thanks. One last thing.” I return to my bag and pull out a case with my toothbrush and other toiletries. “If I’d known there would be amenities, I wouldn’t have bothered to pack this,” I tease, holding up the case.

I cross the room, nudge the bathroom door open, and flip the light on. The white tile gleams. Clean towels are folded over a bar by the shower and a smaller holder by the sink. A skinny white cabinet with glass doors holds more towels and what looks like toiletries, tissues, toilet paper, and anything else a guest might need.

I set my case on the edge of the sink, turn off the light and return to Jigsaw. “It’s well-stocked in there too.”

“I feel like you’re going to bereallydisappointed when we visit Downstate.” He laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I keep the bare minimum of everything in my room.”

“Well, if you’re the only one using it, that makes sense.” I shrug. “You already know what you need.”

The pounding of boots over hardwood floors and voices from the hallway intrude into our room.

“It’s not always quiet here.” Jigsaw glances at the door.

As if to prove his words, someone bangs on our door. “Let’s go, Jiggy!” someone shouts. “Fornicate later. Bonfire now!”

Laughing echoes in the hallway, then the sounds of footsteps running away.

Jigsaw rolls his eyes. “That had to be Stash. Surprised he even knows how to find his way upstairs.”

“Why?”

“He usually lives in the basement.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t ask me why. He and Sparky have had their living quarters down there for as long as I’ve been in New York.”

“Well, if he came all the way up here, then they mustreallywant you at the bonfire.” I return to the closet and drape my flannel over a hanger, my heart hammering a bit faster now that I know people are waiting for us outside. I know exactly what I want to wear. My hand brushes against my thick, black hooded sweatshirt and I tug it free. In the center, a cartoon of two burning matches lean into each other over a matchbox, with “we’re a perfect match” scrawled in whimsical font above the image.

I smile at the cheesy, romantic pun, hoping Jigsaw won’t find it too silly and slip it over my head.

I turn to face him, and his gaze immediately drops to my chest. A slow grin spreads over his face as he reads the front. He stands and closes the distance between us. “That is so fucking perfect. Did you plan that for tonight?”

I tug on the bottom of the shirt, pulling it away from my body to eye the image again. “Of course.” My nose wrinkles as I lift my gaze to his face again. “Too cheesy to wear to abonfire? Am I going to embarrass you?”

A flicker of something—disappointment, maybe—crosses his face. “No. Fuck no. It’s adorable.” He wraps me up in his arms and lifts me to kissing level. “It’s perfect. You know how much I like your occasion-specific puns.”

My lips wobble with the laughter I’m holding back.Not all my puns.He didn’t enjoy myfuckboi repellentpin all that much.

He catches the look on my face and shakes with laughter. “Yes, even your little fuckboy pin was adorable. I didn’tlovethat it was directed at me, but it still made me laugh.”

I press my palms against his cheeks, holding him still so I can press my lips to his. “I love…I love that you get me.”

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and instead of answering, he sets me gently back on my feet.

That was close.All the feelings in my chest almost came shooting out of my mouth.

“We should get down there before all the s’mores are gone,” he says, his voice rougher than before.

“I don’t want to miss those,” I agree.

He curls his hand around mine, and I follow him to the door. He opens it part way, then stops. The weight of his stare lands on me. Like maybe he knew exactly what I almost said, and he wasn’t ready to hear it.

Or worse, it’s not something he wants to say back.

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