along as everyone argues about a serial killer stalker show they all binged last year. But Maya keeps sneaking glances at me, and I keep losing the thread.
“He has your last name.” Felipe pats my shoulder cheerfully.
“Hmm?”
“The murderer.”
I nod distractedly. “Great.”
“Hey, guys!” I look up just as Mom leans over my shoulder. “I’m so glad you all could make it.”
“Thanks for having me,” says Maya.
“Are you kidding? I was hoping Jamie would bring you as his plus-one.”
My plus-one. Mom had to go there—of course she did—and now my cheeks are practically blazing.
But Maya doesn’t correct her.
She’s just staring at me with this searching half smile.
Mom turns to me. “What do you say we give people twenty minutes or so to settle in? Then I’ll do my welcome speech, and we can move into your toast and the challah.”
Maya scoots closer as soon as Mom leaves. “Are you nervous?”
“Kind of.”
“Okay. Come with me.” She grabs her tote bag and tugs me up—and the next thing I know, she’s leading me out of the ballroom. I follow dazedly, reeling from the fact that she’s holding my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Come on.” We head down the stairs toward the entrance, but instead of leaving the building, Maya takes a sharp left, opening a door off the main lobby. “I saw this on my way in. It’s a coatroom.”
“Where are all the coats?”
“Jamie, it’s July.” She laughs.
And then she shuts the door behind us and locks it.
Holy. Shit. Is she . . . about to kiss me? Are we about to kiss?
But—okay. The toast is in twenty minutes. Less than twenty minutes. Should I set a phone alarm or something?
Maya settles onto the floor, tugging me down beside her. “I brought you something.”
I just look at her, stupefied.
“My mom told me this story about getting stage fright at her wedding. My dad calmed her down by smashing a piece of cake in her face. But,” she adds quickly, “I don’t want to ruin your face.”
“You can ruin it.”
She laughs. “No! You look so . . . nice. Really.”
I look at her. “So do you.”
I swear, every molecule of air in this room feels electric.
“So, I’m not going to smash it in your face,” she says after a moment. She opens her tote bag, revealing a plastic take-out bag from Intermezzo. “But I did bring cake.”
“I love cake,” I say.
Love. Wow. That word just keeps tumbling out today, doesn’t it?
Maya presses her lips together. For a moment, we’re both silent.
“Should we . . . talk about earlier?” I ask.
Maya’s brow knits.
“We don’t have to,” I add quickly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m—”
“Please don’t apologize.” She takes a deep breath. “You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said.”
“I haven’t either.”
“Jamie. I—really like you.” Maya stares at her knees. “So much. I’ve been going crazy all day. I don’t even know how to say this out loud.”
I scoot closer. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks.” She smiles nervously. “This is just really new for me. You’re my best friend. I’m not supposed to want to kiss my best friend.”
“You want to kiss me?”
She smiles slightly. “Um. No. Maybe. Yes.”
But the clouded look in her eyes stops me short. I meet her gaze. “You okay?”
She hesitates. “Yeah.”
“You look worried.”
“Yeah. I’m just . . . trying to figure out how this works. My parents . . .”
I nod slowly, trying to follow. Her parents?
“It’s mostly my mom. She’s kind of . . . I don’t know. We’re really close, though. I’m going to talk to her about this. Tonight.” She nods resolutely. “I really think she’ll understand.”
My head’s spinning. Maya thinks her mom will understand . . . understand what? That Maya wearing lace makes it hard for me to think straight? That I can’t stop staring at her lips? How I’m so desperate to kiss her, it actually hurts?
“Anyway.” Maya leans forward. “We better eat some of this cake. We have to be back up in, what, seven minutes?”
I smile. “And you’re sure this will fix my stage fright, even without the cake smash?”
“I’ll smash it where no one can see,” she says, her eyes suddenly widening. “Oh my God, I don’t mean—I just mean, like, under your sleeve or something.”
“Under my sleeve?”
Maya takes my hand and rests it palm-up on hers. Then she pushes up my jacket sleeve and the shirtsleeve underneath. “Here we go.” She runs her finger through icing, and traces a tiny chocolate heart onto my wrist. She looks up