He’s holding this stupid placard of his just below his eyes, and the second mine meet his, they crinkle at the corners. He’s grinning. Suddenly, everything calms. The tightness in my chest relaxes. My heart stops thumping against my ribcage. My pulse no longer throbs beneath my skin. And I just stand there, in the middle of the arrivals area, allowing myself to be nudged by my fellow travelers. But I don’t care that I’m blocking the way. I don’t care that I look like I’m lost. All I know is that Tyler’s right here, that we’re in front of each other again, and that everything immediately feels like it’s back in place. It’s like it hasn’t been three hundred and fifty-nine days since he last smiled at me the way he is now.
He’s slowly lowered the placard to reveal his face fully, and his grin and his jaw and the color of his eyes and the way one eyebrow slowly arches reminds me of some of the many things I used to adore about him. Perhaps I still do love these things, because now my feet are moving again. And fast. I make my way straight over to him, gaining speed with each step, my eyes locked on him and nothing else. My beeline forces the people around me to move out of my way, and by now I’m running. The moment I reach him, I throw myself into his arms.
I think it takes him by surprise. We stumble back a step, his placard fluttering to the ground as he grasps my body, and I’m vaguely aware of some people around us gushing “Aw!” as though we’re some sort of long-distance online couple meeting for the very first time. It might look like that because in a way it’s true. It has been a long-distance relationship. Stepsibling relationship, that is. Nonetheless, I don’t pay attention to our small audience. I wrap my legs around him and bury my face into his shoulder.
“I think they’re getting the wrong idea,” Tyler murmurs by my cheek, laughing slightly as he stabilizes us. I might have heard his voice on the phone each week over the year, but it’s entirely different hearing it in person. Almost like I can feel it.
“Maybe you should put me down,” I whisper, and he does exactly that. With one final, firm squeeze, he gently sets me back on my feet. That’s when I glance up to meet his eyes, up close this time. “Hi,” I say.
“Hey,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and there’s just this sort of relaxed and positive vibe radiating from him. I find it impossible to stop grinning. “Welcome to New York.”
“New Jersey,” I correct, but my voice is a mere whisper as I stare at his face. He looks like he’s aged four years in the space of one, but I think this is mostly due to the stubble that now decorates his jaw. I try not to think about how attractive it looks, so I shift my eyes to his arms instead, which only makes the whole thing worse. His biceps are bigger than I remember, so I swallow the lump in my throat and stare at his eyebrows instead. Eyebrows can’t possibly turn me on.
Seriously, Eden, what the hell?
“New Jersey, whatever,” Tyler says. “You’re gonna love the city. Thank God you came.”
“Hold up.” I take a step back and stare at him curiously, tilting my head. I’m pretty sure he just placed emphasis on his vowels. “Is that a . . . Is that a New York accent I hear?”
He rubs at the back of his neck and shrugs. “A little. Kinda rubs off on you, you know? Doesn’t help that Snake’s from Boston. You’re lucky I’m not walking around dropping my R’s.”
“Your roommate, right?” I try to recall all of our phone calls over the year, when Tyler would fill me in on which school he visited that day or tell me about something cool that happened, like when winter rolled around and he got to witness snow in real life for the first time, but I’m too distracted by the slight change in his voice. I don’t know why I never noticed it whenever he called. “What did you say his real name was again?”
“Stephen,” Tyler says with a quick roll of his eyes. “C’mon, we should get outta here.”
He turns in the direction of the exit, but I quickly make him aware that I still have to grab my luggage, and he sheepishly directs us over to the baggage carousel instead. I’ve wasted five minutes by throwing myself at him, so thankfully it’s not so crowded by now. I spot my suitcase after only a minute, and soon we’re making our way out of Terminal C and into the parking lot, with Tyler pulling my suitcase effortlessly along behind him.
It’s extremely hot out. Like, hotter than Santa Monica and hotter than Portland. I shrug off my hoodie and stuff it into my backpack just as we near his Audi, which, surprisingly, is still in pristine condition. Honestly, I assumed it would have been decorated in graffiti by now, or at least have had a window or two kicked out.
Tyler yanks open the trunk—which is actually at the front of the car—and places my suitcase inside, right before slamming it shut again. “How’s your mom holding up?” he asks, but he’s smirking.
I roll my eyes and slide into the passenger seat, waiting for him to join me inside before I answer. “Not that great. She’s still acting like I’m moving here permanently or something.” I run my fingers along the leather of the seat and inhale. Firewood. Febreze. Bentley cologne. Oh, how I’ve missed that damn cologne. “Dean’s mad too.”