Chapter 2: The Morning After
The coffee in Jenny’s travel mug had gone cold during the walk to Maya’s. She clutched it anyway, a ceramic lifeline, as she rode the elevator up. The cheerful, neutral walls of the hallway felt like a rebuke to the chaos humming under her skin. She could still feel it, the phantom pressure of Nate’s thumb on her lip.It was a brand.
Maya’s door was already ajar, music filtering out—some upbeat indie folk that usually meant she was in a good mood. Jenny pushed it open.
“Delivery for one perpetually single English teacher,” Jenny called, forcing a brightness into her voice that rang false in her own ears.
Maya poked her head out from the kitchen, a smear of flour on her cheek.“You’re a lifesaver. I’m attempting cinnamon swirls. It’s a disaster.” Her smile faltered as she took in Jenny’s face.“Whoa.You look like you’ve seen a ghost.Or fought one. Come in, the edible ones are on the counter.”
The kitchen was a warm catastrophe. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dancing dust motes and the golden brown of imperfect pastries on a rack. The air was thick with the scent of sugar, butter, and the underlying sharpness of burnt coffee from a pot left too long on the burner. Nate was there, leaning against the counter by the sink, a glass of water in his hand.Of course he was.
He didn’t smile. Just looked at her, his gaze tracking her from the doorway to the stool she pulled out at the island.His presence was a physical shock, a live wire tossed into the cozy room. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his chest, his arms crossed now, making the muscles in his forearms stand out. The morning light carved his shadow, long and sharp, across the linoleum floor, pointing right at her.“Hey,” he said, his voice neutral.
“Hey,” she managed, looking away, busying herself with her mug. Her robe from last night felt like a costume she’d forgotten to take off. She was in jeans and a sweater now, but she felt exposed.Maya, blissfully clattering a bowl into the sink, missed nothing. “Alright, what’s the vibe?Did someone die? Did you finally murder that client who wanted the logo in Papyrus?”
Jenny attempted a laugh.“No murder. Just a late night.Simon kept me out past my bedtime.”
The name hung in the air. Nate’s knuckles whitened around his glass.He took a slow drink, his eyes never leaving her.
“Simon,” Maya said, rolling the name around.“The architect.He have a last name? A social security number?I’m running a background check.”
“It was one date, Maya. He was perfectly nice.”
“Nice,” Nate echoed, the word a soft, dismissive puff of air.He set his glass down with precise care.“That’s what you want? Nice?”
Jenny’s head snapped up. “What I want is none of your business.”
“Isn’t it?” The question wasn’t loud, but it sucked the oxygen from the room. Maya stopped wiping the counter, her eyes widening slightly, her gaze darting between them.
“Okay,” Maya said, drawing the word out.She tossed her dish towel onto the counter. “Nate, go… I don’t know, lift something heavy.Jenny, you’re on dish duty. Talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jenny insisted, but her voice wavered. She could feel Nate’s stare, a hot brand on the side of her face. He didn’t move.“Bull,” Maya said simply. She leaned her hips against the stove, crossing her arms in a mirror of her brother.“You’ve been jumpy for weeks. He’s been a brooding little thundercloud. And you,” she said, pointing a flour-dusted finger at Jenny, “showed up here looking like you haven’t slept, which, knowing you, you haven’t.So.Spill. Did he do something?”
“He just…” Jenny’s defenses crumbled under the twin forces of Maya’s perception and Nate’s silent, immovable presence.“He came over last night.After my date. He had your key.”
Maya’s eyebrows shot up.She glanced at Nate, who had gone very still. “Did he now.”
“He told me not to see Simon again.” The words came out in a rush, charged with the confusion of the memory. “He was… it was intense.”
A slow, knowing smile spread across Maya’s face. It wasn’t a happy smile; it was the smile of a puzzle solver seeing the last piece click into place.“Oh,” she said softly. She looked at her brother.“You finally said something.”
Nate’s jaw worked. He uncrossed his arms, pushing off from the counter. “I didn’t say enough.”
“Clearly,” Maya said.She turned back to Jenny, her expression softening but turning serious.“Jenny. Look at me.He’s had a thing for you since, like, his voice dropped. Probably before.We all knew.Except you.”
The world tilted. The morning light seemed too bright, the scent of cinnamon suddenly cloying.“What?No. That’s… he’s your little brother. He’s Nate.”
“He’s a twenty-two-year-old man who’s been in love with my best friend for years,” Maya said, her voice gentle but unequivocal. “He’s just been too scared of wrecking our little trio to do anything about it.Until now, apparently.” She shot Nate a look that was both exasperated and fond. “Though his technique needs work.‘Don’t see him again’?Really? Smooth.”
Nate ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “It wasn’t about being smooth.”
“No,” Maya agreed.“It was about being honest. In the worst possible way.” She focused on Jenny again. “The question isn’t about what he did, or how he feels.The question is, what do you feel? Now that you know.”
Jenny’s mind was a reel of spliced-together images: Nate laughing at one of her stupid jokes, his head thrown back. Nate spotting her at the gym, his hand a steadying pressure on her back.Nate as a gangly teenager tagging along to movies. Nate last night, his eyes dark and certain, his touch shattering every assumption she’d ever built around him.She looked at him now.Really looked. The easygoing mask was gone, stripped away by his own actions, leaving something raw and painfully open in his expression. It wasn’t just possessiveness she saw there.It was vulnerability. A silent, years-long hope she’d been oblivious to.“I don’t know,” she whispered, the truth of it terrifying.
Maya nodded, as if that was the only acceptable answer. “Well,” she said, pushing away from the stove and grabbing a burnt cinnamon swirl.“You’d better figure it out. Because brooding thundercloud over there isn’t going to wait forever. And frankly, ‘nice’ architects named Simon are a dime a dozen.” She bit into the pastry, made a face, and threw it in the trash.“Ugh.Inedible.Just like this conversation. I’m going to shower.You two… figure your shit out.But not in my kitchen. I have grading to avoid.”
She swept out, leaving a silence so profound Jenny could hear the faint drip of the faucet and the frantic beat of her own heart.Nate hadn’t moved. The distance between them felt like a physical gulf, charged and dangerous.
“She’s wrong,” Nate said, his voice low.“I’ll wait.I’ve been waiting. But I won’t watch you pretend with someone else.Not anymore.”
Jenny found her voice, small but clear. “You don’t get to decide who I see.”
“I know.” He took a single step forward, then stopped, as if fighting the impulse to close the whole distance. “But I get to tell you how I feel. However I can.” He paused, the memory of last night thick between them.“Friday night. You’re free.”
He said it not as a command this time, but as a statement of fact, and a question.Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the front door open and close, softer than last time, but just as final.
Jenny sat alone in the sun-drenched kitchen, surrounded by the ruins of breakfast and the echoing truth of Maya’s words. The phantom sensation on her lip had returned, a persistent, maddening whisper.She picked up her cold coffee mug, then set it down. She wasn’t thinking about Simon at all. She was thinking about a thumb tracing her lip, a shadow falling across a floor, and the terrifying, thrilling prospect of a line she had never considered crossing, now laid bare at her feet. The next move, for the first time, felt like hers to make.