“No, it doesn’t.” I didn’t need fancy Latin words to know I was right. Jasper was always so quick to want to solve things for me, and right then, the math simply wasn’t adding up for me.

“Are you jealous of George?” Jasper studied me more intently, parking-lot lights glinting off his eyes. “Because I can tell you that he’s a piece of slime with zero appeal to me.”

“Not helping. I don’t want you having to associate—”

Buzz. Jasper’s phone clattered around in the console. “I better check.”

“Fine.” I didn’t blame him for grabbing the excuse, but I didn’t have to like it.

“Good news!” He shook the phone like it might shower us with glitter confetti.

“It better not involve George.” I glowered.

“It doesn’t.” Jasper patted my knee. “Professor Tuttle put Arthur in contact with this retiree looking to offload their whole collection. There might even be some Frog Court cards in the lot.”

“Sounds good, but what’s the catch?” There was always a catch.

“The entire collection is unsorted. Just boxes of cards all mixed up. Arthur says if I stay late tomorrow and help sort, I can have dibs on an ultra rare if we find one.”

“I could help too.” Anything was better than Jasper playing George, even cataloging cards.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He hadn’t lost any radiance from his smile even with our earlier argument. “See? Things are looking up!”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t going to count on anything right then.

“Still mad at me?” Jasper let his head fall onto my shoulder before giving me a puppy-dog smile that had me laughing despite myself.

“I can’t seem to stay mad at you,” I admitted, putting an arm around him. “I still think you should have told me.”

“And that’s a fair point. I’ll try to do better at keeping you in the loop.” His earnest tone went a long way to making more of my upset vanish, but the deeper unease at the idea of letting him play George lingered.

“Good.” I kissed the top of his head.

“Things will work out, Milo. You’ll see.”

I wished I believed him, wished I could channel even half of his endless optimism. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had plagued me the last few days. What I could do, however, was kiss him, my mouth finding his right there in the front seat of his car. He tasted sweet, like the chocolate shake, and his mouth was soft and giving as he melted into me. Moaning quietly, I tried to bottle up this moment when he believed so surely in me, in us, in our chances.

“Race you to your room?” I asked when we reluctantly pulled apart.