We stopped next to Jude’s car. “Yup,” he said, his breath making a white cloud in front of his face. He looked a lot less confident now. It was what I had wanted, but somehow it didn’t feel like a victory. I tugged my hat lower so it covered more of my ears. Jude was wearing the bomber jacket with the patches again, which was way too thin to be warm enough, along with his wonky green gloves. The whole ensemble, like everything about him right now, was both cute and annoying.

“Anyway, we now know you have the power to make middle-aged white women swoon, so use it responsibly.”

Jude tilted his head to the side and looked at me curiously. “What about…,” he started, taking a step toward me.

My heartbeat kicked up the tempo. Avert. Distract. That was what I should do. Because as much as I’d thought about Jude over the break, and as much as I’d nearly lost it over touching him a few minutes ago, I wasn’t ready for anything real. What if I ruined it? Then he’d feel abandoned. Again. What if he ruined it? Then I’d feel rejected. Again. Could we handle that right now?

“What about what?” I instantly wished I could snatch the words right out of the frigid air, where they hung between us.

Jude’s eyes were doing that roaming thing again. Forehead, cheeks, mouth. Then he abruptly stepped back. “Just… um, do you want to go to Fly Zone?”

It took me a moment to regroup. “The… trampoline place? Where you work?”

“Yeah, I start in an hour, but we can jump before my shift starts.” The tips of his ears went red, and I didn’t think it was from the cold.

“I…”

“It looks silly, but it’s pretty therapeutic. Gets all your excess energy out, trust me.” He rubbed his gloved hands together and bounced on the balls of his feet, not looking directly at me.

For some reason, jumping off whatever excess energy I was currently experiencing seemed like a good idea. A wise idea. The only idea. “Meet you there,” I called over my shoulder as I speed-walked to my car.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FLY ZONE WAS MORE CROWDED than I thought it would be on a Monday at five o’clock. Parents sat at plastic tables by the concessions stand with laptops and tired eyes, sipping coffee out of paper cups. How they were able to tune out the random shrieks of joy emanating from the trampolines only a few feet away, I didn’t know.