Page 59 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
I blushed with a smile that mirrored his, looking down at my heels before easily stepping down and closing the space between us. The moment our bodies met, his arms wrapping around my small frame and mine resting around his neck, we both sighed, and peace settled in just as the rest of the bar came back into focus again.
I suddenly heard the loud rawr of laughter from the group of guys he’d walked in with, and the commotion of glasses and ice behind the bar. I heard Jenna clear her throat behind us and listened as the pop song playing grew louder and louder. Still, Jamie just held me, and I squeezed him back.
“Oh hey Jamie, nice to see you, too,” Jenna finally chided. Jamie loosened his grip and I slid out of his arms, reaching for my beer but not taking my seat just yet.
“Hi Jenna,” Jamie replied, smiling at her briefly before turning his gaze back to me. “So, celebrating tonight?”
He flicked my grad cap and I groaned, embarrassed. “Yes. I got a piece of paper that says I’m great at pulling all nighters and regurgitating textbook notes.”
Jamie chuckled. “Congrats.”
“And she got into grad school,” Jenna added. “In Pittsburgh.”
“Pittsburgh?” Jamie repeated, eyebrows shooting up before he tilted his head. “What’s my surfer girl going to do in a city like that?”
My cheeks warmed and I picked at the label on my beer again, tilting it to my lips instead of answering.
“And you?” Jenna asked. Kristen was still just staring at us, asking me questions with her eyes that I only answered with a shrug. “What are you doing back in Florida?”
“I’m celebrating, too, actually. Passed my CPA exam and accepted a job offer from my dad.”
“Really?” I asked with a wide smile, pride I wasn’t sure I was allowed to feel surging through me. “Wow, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
Jamie wouldn’t stop staring at me. God, how I loved the way he looked at me — focused, and unapologetically so. Jenna went to ask another question but he cut her off.
“Want to get out of here?”
My heart thumped hard against my ribs and I fought back a smile. “You know I hate clichés.”
He shrugged. “I also know you’ll make an exception for me.”
“Oh? Do you now?”
Jamie tucked his hands back in his pockets, his stance confident. “I do.”
Chewing my lip, I kept his eyes a moment longer before turning to Jenna. She threw her hands up before grabbing her beer. “Oh for God’s sake, go. Go before he gets me pregnant with that fucking look of his.”
I covered my laugh with my hand, mouthing a sorry to Kristen before grabbing my purse off the bar. Her eyes were wide, but she smiled and tipped her beer to Jenna’s. “We’ll be fine. Go.”
And so, I turned back to Whiskey, feeling him close enough to taste after three years of being dry, and I smiled.
“Lead the way.”
I LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT that moment.
I loved the way Jamie’s one hand rested easily on the steering wheel while the other held the gear shift. I loved the way the warm breeze whipped in through the windows of his new Jeep. I loved the view of my feet on his dashboard as the same roads we’d driven at seventeen stretched out before us. And most of all, I loved the easy conversation, and the easy silence — because we fit so well into each.
Years had passed, there were still words left unsaid, but all that mattered right then and there was that we were together. I felt it, I knew he did, too. It was a night meant for us, and I had no intentions of wasting it.
Jamie let me choose the playlist as we caught up, him filling me in on his dad’s firm surviving the recession while I painted the picture of how I’d ended up an English major. Peter Jennison’s Longing for Home album played softly in the background of our conversation, and I couldn’t help but note the difference in tone from the last time Jamie and I had been in the same place. We were both grown now, both free from what had been wearing on us the last night we’d spent together. It was like the universe shoved us together at exactly the perfect moment, and I was thoroughly enjoying the alignment of the stars.
“I can’t believe you traded in ScarJo,” I commented, running my hands along the edge of my seat. His new Jeep was literally brand new, decked out even more than his first, and it was dark and edgy. The interior was leather and sleek, the dashboard advanced, and the paint job was matte black. Even his rims were a dark charcoal gray, and I loved the way he looked in the driver seat — relaxed, confident, sexy as hell.
