God, just when I thought my crush couldn’t get any bigger. But then, Chase being an incredible big brother is one of the things that’s always made my heart pitter-patter in the first place. His little sister, Kira, is a sophomore, and we were on the same Little League team as kids. He used to sit in the stands on the Sunday mornings he had free, holding massive homemade signs covered in terrible handwriting, and shout her name every time she came to bat.

At first, it made me sad I didn’t have my own big brother.

Then it made me realize I wanted Chase Harding cheering for me.

And that’s how it all began.

“This only child can confirm it would kinda suck,” I say, although I’ve never known anything else, and I love my mom and our cozy holidays. But I’d be lying if I said I never wished there were more than the two of us at our small round table built for four. If I said I didn’t occasionally wish we had a big ol’ dining room to make festive and fill with stupid things like poinsettia placemats. If my heart hadn’t twinged a bit on those summer nights when me, Jasmine, my mom, and Declan sat down to dinner together, feeling like a very weird but complete little family. Without even thinking, as we stop at a red light, I reach over and squeeze his hand. “You’re a good brother.”

He smiles softly. “Thanks.”

Our hands stay locked until the light turns green.

The house is packed by the time we get there, with music blasting and people spilling out onto the lawn. We have to park two blocks away, which is perfect because it has Chase offering me his jacket to walk the distance.

I really, really want to say yes.

But Jasmine’s first vision upon entering Stratford High was me flirting with Chase, and I find myself imagining how I’d feel if she walked into my house wearing someone else’s jacket, and I can’t do it. Not yet. Not until she and I talk.

“It’s still pretty warm out, but thank you,” I say, hoping my smile makes clear this is not a symbolic rejection. “But I’ll take a raincheck for when it’s chillier.”

“Deal,” he says, tossing his jacket back in the car, but he doesn’t make a move to sling an arm around my shoulders or take my hand. I have to remind myself that a little space is what I implicitly asked for.

As the house—mansion?—comes into sight, I continue cycling through my Jasmine thoughts. What if she’s every bit as cold tonight as she was outside school? What if she’s already drunk? And the worst thought—what if she’s with someone when we get inside?