No, Andrew and I will figure something else out. We’ll find some way for him to get the money, and once Jack has it, once I know the Butch Oven isn’t going to fail or fall apart on her, then I’ll confess everything.

“I’m all in,” I finally say back to her.

Jack leans forward and kisses me, like we’re sealing a promise.

I feel my phone buzz in my coat pocket, and I drop her hand to fish it out. “I’m not sure how I have reception right now…. Are we back in Wi-Fi range of the house?”

I rub the snow away from the cracked screen to look at the Gmail notification. It’s from a name I don’t recognize—“Samantha Clark”—but it’s not the name that stops me dead in my tracks in the snow. It’s the subject line. “Drawn2 Webcomics Interest.”

“Is everything okay?” Jack asks.

“I think so.” I fumble to open the email. Dear Miss Oliver, the email begins, and my brain is swimming. How—why? I scan the rest of the email quickly, searching for the punch line, waiting for something terrible to happen, but the bottom never falls out. I read the email a second time while Jack asks me over and over if I’m all right.