“Jack—” I try again.

“And I know, I know….” She releases another clod against the trailer. “Andrew has his own cross to bear. I know being the anointed golden boy hasn’t freed him from our dad’s tyrannical expectations, but at least he hasn’t been the object of my dad’s mockery his entire life.”

“Jack—”

“God, you’re right!” She throws up one arm as another tear sneaks past her defenses. “It means a lot to my mom, and I should just be happy he’s here, but—”

“Jack! Stop interrupting! You don’t know what I’m going to say!”

Jack allows this next snowball to drop from her fingers and fall to her feet. “Okay. What are you going to say?”

For the first time since this interaction started, she’s fully facing me, her body turned in my direction. “I’m sorry,” I say, mesmerized by the sight of those freckles in the early-morning cold. I kissed her last night. And for a minute, under the mistletoe, I think she kissed me back. “About your dad. I’m sorry about your dad. You don’t deserve to be treated that way.”

A puff of white breath escapes her lips. “Are you sure? Because I’ve got twenty-seven years of data to support that this is exactly how the fuck-up child of the prodigious Prescotts deserves to be treated.” She starts reaching for more snow.

“Well, the Airstream doesn’t deserve to be treated this way, so at least stop abusing it! You love this trailer!”

“What?” Jack barks out a humorless laugh as she swings back toward me. “You think I love living in an Airstream?”

“Don’t you?”

“No! I hate this damn thing!” She throws another snowball. “I’m six feet tall! It’s like being a trout in a sardine tin!”

I’m painfully aware of the fact that we’re discussing her trailer and not the fact that we kissed last night. Which is fine. I’m fine with this. We can go ahead and pretend that never happened, too.

“You have definitely led me to believe you love your Airstream.”

“You know what I would love?” Jack says bitterly. “A house in the suburbs with a big yard for Paul Hollywood. A huge kitchen with actual counter space. Room and roots and no wheels.”

“Then why do you live in an Airstream?”

Jack throws her arms wildly into the air. “Because I’m stubborn, Elle! Because this expensive hunk of metal has become a symbol of my freedom from the Prescott name”—she kicks her leg like she wants to kick the trailer, but she’s a good fifteen feet away—“and because I refuse to admit that I want the normcore life my parents would choose for me. Because I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m still basing all my life decisions around pleasing and/or pissing off my parents.”