“I know it’s kind of weird,” I insert, feeling more humiliated by the second, “to draw you a picture of what the Butch Oven looked like before, but I thought it was a good reminder of what you did. You know, how hard you worked to turn it into what it is. Where you started, and where you are now. I framed it so you can hang it on the walls of the Butch Oven. Or not. Whatever.”

“I will absolutely hang it on the wall. Did you… did you draw the building from the memory of when I showed it to you last Christmas?”

I nod. “I have a very good memory for artistic details.” Honest, even when it’s hard. “And I remember basically everything about that day.”

There’s a small sliver of hope in the corner of Jack’s mouth. It’s always the fucking hope that gets me. It makes me feel like a weird pile of goo, held together by a purple puffy jacket.

“Andrew says you’re working on something new?”

I nod uneasily, aware that we’re still standing on the side of a bridge, in the accumulating snow, as cars crawl past.

“Am I in it?”

I open my mouth to tell her that—

“Honesty game,” Jack demands before I even have the chance to respond.

I roll my eyes. “I was about to say—yes, Jack. You’re in it.” It’s the hope that makes me feel as reckless and wild as she was our first day together. “I don’t think I could stop drawing you if I tried. You… you’re the best parts of every character I create.”

She exhales. Her breath is white like the snow.

“I sold the Airstream,” she blurts. Then she looks down at her feet. Or my feet. Or maybe she’s looking at both of our feet, toes pointed toward each other in the snow. “And I made a ton of money from the sale, because it turns out Airstreams are ridiculously expensive, which I didn’t know, because it also turns out that Patty’s brother sold it to me at a huge discount out of pity.”

“Not quite the embodiment of financial independence you thought?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I was able to use the money I made selling it to give myself a nice safety net until the Butch Oven starts making money. And now I’m living in the spare bedroom at my mom’s new condo. She’s…” Jack inhales a rattled breath. “She’s helping me get on my feet, at least for a little bit.”

“Jack, that’s. Wow.” Selling the shiny symbol of her freedom, letting her mom help her… “That’s just wow.”

“Yeah.” She looks up from our feet, and her face is half attempted apathy, half unadulterated hope. “You wore the blue scarf tonight.”

My fingers graze the well-loved yarn around my throat. “I did.”