As soon as Ben is here, in my room, I don’t want him to be anywhere else. I want more gifts. More minutes.

“The universe is expanding,” I say. “Maybe I am, too. Maybe there’s more space in me than I thought.”

He kisses me like we’re in the final scene of a movie and the music is swelling and there’s a sunrise behind us. It’s a pretty good kiss.

Ben pulls away, looks around. “You failed to mention that this room is a wormhole.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You tricked me, you minx.” Ben is grinning, and it takes me a second, but then I see where he is going with this. Never fall for an MIT boy. “A minute in here is actually a whole night out there. Spacetime, man. Total mindfuck.” He shuts the window, pulls off his scarf. “Well played, you. You’ve got me for the whole night.”

I bite my lip, thinking. Micah would do something like this for Nah.

Ben leans close, his lips brushing my ear. “For science, Mae.”

My eyes fly to his, and he’s grinning, my person, and I almost say it, those three words, but I can’t, I can’t, so I just kiss them to him. He tastes like coffee and cinnamon.

“I feel like I’m living my entire life in the quantum realm now,” I say.

Nothing makes sense. Reality isn’t playing by the rules anymore. I have no idea what is going to happen next, no way to prepare. My parents are dead, my sister’s on drugs, and I’m in the arms of a boy I’m already afraid of losing.

“We found each other there,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

I nod. Colliding by the Charles. An experiment for science. His heart in the palm of my hand.

“No matter how much we discover,” he says, “how many laws of physics we hold to be tried and true—none of this will ever make actual sense. Even if you discovered the origin of the universe, would it explain you? Or your parents, and what happened to them? Or this?”

He leans close, brushing the tip of his nose against mine.

“I … I don’t know.”

“Good answer.”

Ben is melting, snow everywhere, and I help him pull off hat and gloves and coat, and as he kicks off his boots, my hands won’t stop: sweatshirt and shirt and pants.

“Hey.” He stops me. “I know I just made this grand gesture and found a nifty loophole to stay, but I heard you—when you said you don’t have space. I can go. You can think about it.”

I rest my hands on his bare chest, which is warm and soft. “I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t want to. And I think I’ve had enough space for one day.” I shrug. “Besides, it’s technically only a minute.”