Noah

I woke up feeling like my brain had been put through a blender.

Not because anything bad happened.

Because nothing bad happened.

Which somehow made it worse.

Jessa Lombardi was in my house.

In my guest room.

Because of a blizzard.

Because my mom had insisted.

Because life apparently wanted to throw me into the deep end of awkward teenage romance and see if I survived.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like bacon and coffee—Dad’s domain. Mom was humming to ...