Page 64 of Last First Kiss

“Tell him.”

Amy groans, mortified. “Before all this happened, I’d beenplanning for weeks to propose to Sam! I couldn’t figure out how. And this asshole”—she points her fork in Jamie’s face—“was in on Sam’s plans. He gave me theworstsuggestions just so I’d delay asking.”

“He begged me,” Jamie says defensively.

“What kind of suggestions?” Jordan inquires.

“Skydive proposal. Karaoke proposal. Do it at an Ed Sheeran concert,” Jamie lists on his fingers. “Ooh, organize a flash mob.”

“I hate flash mobs!” Amy whines.

Jordan cracks up. Even Yara’s chortling. And right there next to him, Jamie’s face is lit up neon like a Times Square billboard at night—probably another terrible proposal idea Jamie suggested.

He cuts into the next sample. Heavy notes of vanilla and something floral tickle Jordan’s nose. He can’t pin down the scent.

“This will fit your garden-themed wedding perfectly,” Yara says. “It’s our sweet lav—”

“No!”

Jordan smacks the fork out of Jamie’s hand. It clatters on the table. Cake lands on Jordan’s sleeve. All eyes are on him, wide and confused. He doesn’t care.

“It’s lavender,” Jordan says, throat tight. “Jamie can’t have that. He’s allergic.”

Amy face-palms. “Oh, shit. I forgot. When Yara asked about food allergies, I thought of me and Sam. Not—Jamie, I’m so sorry!”

Voice small, Jamie says, “It’s okay.”

“I almostkilledyou!”

“Ames, calm down. You didn’t almost kill me.”

He grabs a napkin to brush cake from Jordan’s shirt.

Without looking, Jordan can feel Jamie’s eyes on him.

“It’s fine,” Jamie says after balling up the napkin. “No harm done.”

Amy shakes her head. “Thank you, Jordan. That could’ve been bad.”

Jordan nods once. He finally studies Jamie.

Daylight frames his face in soft hues. Slivers of seaweed green ring his brown irises. There’s something indecipherable buried in his eyes. Jordan wants to know what he’s thinking. But he’s scared the answer might be something he’s not ready to hear.

Jordan blinks, and shifts back to Yara. “We should move on to the last one.”

Yara hands Jamie a new fork. “The last flavor is our summer staple. Citrus. A bright combination of lemon, orange, and grapefruit.”

“It’s so good,” Amy moans.

“Fuck, it is,” Jamie agrees.

Amy twists to him. “How do I decide?”

He shrugs. “All of them?”

Jordan rolls his eyes. “I thought you were here to help her.”

“I am,” Jamie argues. “Eight tiers, each one a different flavor. Problem solved.”