Jay reaches to turn down the radio, but he doesn’t answer the question. Instead, a mischievous look crosses his face as he lifts his hand off the steering wheel. “Hey, you want to drive?” he asks.

“No!” I exclaim, and reach to put his hands back.

He laughs. “I’m going to teach you how to drive,” he says. He turns to me and adds, “Can’t have a girlfriend who doesn’t know how to drive.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him call me that, and our eyes meet. Jess predicted that he would call me his girlfriend within the week. I stretch my legs up onto the dash, feeling the fireworks in my chest. Jay glances at my bare legs, distracted.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” I tell him.

He grins, leans over, and kisses me, nearly swerving over to the next lane because the car’s so wide.

We arrive forty-five minutes later, at a shopping mall called Fashion Island.

“We’re here to go shopping?” I ask him, confused.

“I guess you can say that,” he says, eyes twinkling. “We’re shopping for a shopping mall.”

I laugh.

“I’m serious. My dad’s thinking about buying it!” he says. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“This whole thing?” I ask as I run after him. There must be three hundred shops in the open-air mall, plus movie theaters and restaurants.

“Give me your phone,” he says. This mall’s so big, he installs Find My Friends in case we get separated.

As we walk around the complex, Jay’s own phone keeps ringing. Every time, he taps Ignore. “You can answer it if you want,” I say to him. “Maybe it’s your dad calling—”

“It’s not my dad,” he says. He quickly shoves his phone into his pocket. “It’s nobody.”

We poke around the mall for the next hour, checking out bathrooms and elevators. Jay takes pictures of large cracks on the ground and counts the number of people in stores. He tells me the strategic investment team has already gone through all the papers.

“But the reason why my dad’s been so successful is he doesn’t just look on paper,” Jay says, examining the walls for water stains.

Wow, Jay really cares about his family business. I’m impressed.

As he swipes to take another picture of the exterior wall, his phone rings again.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” I guess. Only a girl would have the willpower to keep calling after the fifteenth rejection. He doesn’t say anything. I feel a twinge of jealousy and try to shrug it off. “It’s okay. You can take it.”

“I don’t want to take it,” he says.

He throws the phone at me with a grin.

“Here you take it,” he says.