Greeting Tom

You’re halfway through walking Jordan to the door,hoping to get him out before Tom has to meet him, when the key turns in the lock.

“Hey, babe—” Tom’s voice comes first, light and familiar — and then he steps inside, holding a grocery bag and grinning. Until he sees Jordan.

Everything stops.

Jordan, six foot seven and broad as the doorway, glances between the two of you with an easy smile. “Oh — sorry, man. You must be her cousin, right?”

Tom blinks. “Her… cousin?”

You freeze, eyes darting between them. “Uh—”

You turn to glare at him, mortified — and that’s when you remember what you’re wearing: an oversized Northwestern T-shirt that hits mid-thigh, hair in a messy knot, smeared makeup. You look like you just rolled out of bed, which only makes this whole scene worse.

Jordan nods confidently, mistaking your silence for confirmation. “She said family was visiting. Makes sense now. You two have the same eyes.”

Tom’s eyebrows shoot up. “We—do we?”

“Totally,” Jordan says, extending a massive hand. “I’m Jordan. We were just fooling around a little after our date — she’s got a beautiful soul.” He winks at Tom.

Tom shakes his hand on pure instinct. “Right. Yeah. I’m… the cousin.”

You cough. “The cousin. Yep. From… back home.”

Jordan beams. “Man, that’s cool. I can tell y’all are close. Family’s important.”

Tom glances at you — a flicker of amusement just starting to show in his eyes — and plays along. “Yeah, we try to stay close.”

You can feel heat rising in your cheeks. “Anyway, Jordan was just leaving.”

Jordan nods. “Yeah, yeah. Great meeting you, man. Keep an eye on your cousin here — she’s out here working hard.”

Tom deadpans, “Oh, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

When the door finally closes, you collapse against it, face in your hands. “Oh my God. He thinks you’re my cousin.”

Tom loses it. He starts laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “You introduced me as your cousin!”

“I didn’t!” you protest. “He just—he just assumed!”

Tom’s still laughing, wiping his eyes. “Guess we’ve moved from undercover journalism to family reunions.”

You groan. “Please stop. I want to die.”

He grins. “You’re the one bringing strange men home, cousin.”

“Oh my God,” he wheezes. “He thinks I’m your cousin. And you’re dressed like a college girl who just got laid... you didn't right?” has asks a little nervously.

You groan, covering your face. “NO! I didn’t plan this!”

“You sure? Because that was Oscar-worthy improvisation.”

You throw a pillow at him. “I was trying to be polite!”

That sets you both off again until the laughter fades into something quieter, something tender.

Tom exhales. “He seems like a good guy, though.”

You nod. “He is. Kind, open. He’s really trying to make something out of his life.”

Tom’s smile softens. “You’ve got a way of finding the good in people.”

You look at him — really look — and realize there’s more than teasing behind his words. There’s pride, and a little worry, too.

“Thanks,” you say. “I just… want to tell the story right.”

He reaches for your hand. “Then keep doing that. Just remember who’s cheering you on from the sidelines.”

You squeeze his hand. “Always.”

He gives a lopsided grin. “Good. Because if you introduce any more six-foot-seven guys to your cousin, people are gonna start talking.”

You’re still laughing as you and Tom get ready for bed. The air smells faintly of mint toothpaste and takeout leftovers, and you’re both too giddy to let the night go.

“Your cousin, huh?” Tom says as he climbs into bed, still chuckling. “I understand you might have to kiss or hold hands or whatever to make it a convincing date, but bringing him here to fool around in there?”

You throw a pillow at him. “Oh my god, stop! We were literally just kissing.”

“Oh sure,” he teases, catching the pillow and hugging it. “That’s what they call it now — ‘just kissing.’”

You can’t help but laugh, burying your face in the blanket. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m serious,” Tom says, his grin giving him away. “Guy looked like he’d just walked out of a superhero movie, and you’re there in your over-sized t-shirt, butt hanging out and hair all wild — what was I supposed to think?”

“Probably that your wife was doing her job,” you shoot back, swatting his leg.

He holds up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say you weren’t. Just saying — you’re very committed to realism.”

You groan, but you’re smiling too. “Remind me to kill Mike for giving me this assignment.”

Tom chuckles. “Nah, you love it. Admit it — kissing a big strong black guy must’ve been exciting as hell. I bet you’re already planning your next ‘undercover’ adventure.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the truth of it. The chaos, the laughter, even the awkwardness — it’s starting to feel like you’re living a story worth telling.

He reaches over, squeezes your hand. “You did good today,” he says kissing the corner of your mouth softly. “Even if I’m still not sure what to call you when your ‘friends’ stop by.”

You grin, eyes closing. “Next time, just stick with ‘cousin.’”

He laughs again, and the sound fills the room — warm, easy, alive.