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JESSE
“It’s happening,”I say, slapping down the newspaper on the counter in the Heartstopper.
Marci leans her palms on the counter, popping one of those delicious fucking hips as she studies it. She covers her mouth with one hand, but she can’t hide the joy that shines past her fingers, the smile, the tears.
“Oh my God, Jesse. Oh my God.”
“It’s happening,” I repeat, triumph in my tone. “Come here, Angel.”
“Baby!” She squeals it out, and Hannah makes a gagging noise from the stool nearby.
We ignore my sister as Marci rounds the counter and runs to me. She throws her arms around my waist and squeezes me hard.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
She says it over and over again.
I hold her tight. It’s not right to laugh or lift her, because the fact is, she should never have lost her father. But the news thatSheriff Oakes is making good on her promises is uplifting. The case against that asshole ex-sheriff is being built as we speak.
“Congratulations, Marci,” Hannah says, and jumps up to hug her too. She squeezes her then sits down again, watching us with a broad smile.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask, cupping Marci’s cheeks in my palms, my thumbs wiping away tears. “They’re going to contact you to testify.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to see justice served,” she replies.
“And I’ll be with you,” I murmur, brushing her hair back from her face.
I kiss her beside the ear, gently, and enjoy the way she leans into me, clutching my shirt.
“Jesse.”
She tilts her head back, her breath chasing across my lips.
I tug down on that soft bottom lip, hungering for her.
“Guys, seriously,” Hannah says. “It’s been six months. When is the honeymoon phase going to end, because this is out of hand. You two are practically eye-sexing each other in public.”
“Eye-sexing?” Marci and I ask in unison.
Hannah sticks out her tongue at us and then takes a bite of her burger.
“Whatever. I need more jalapenos.”
“Still preparing for the pepper-eating contest?” I ask.
“Hell yeah, I am,” she says. “I’ve got to have a stomach of steel if I want to win. You think it’s the burning tongue that gets ya? Wait until it’s on the way out. The other end.”
Marci grimaces and returns to her spot behind the counter.
“Grant, you got the jar?”
“Again?”
“Again.”
The cranky chef slaps down a jar of pickled peppers in the kitchen window. Marci takes it, hands it to me, and I pop the lid off, then place it in front of my sister.
Hannah removes a pepper by the stem and lifts it.
