I took a step backward, creating enough distance between Simon and me to catch my breath. It wasn’t enough. I needed air. Space. Answers. “I’m gonna go for a walk.” I hurried to the front door and reached for my coat hanging on the antique coatrack in the corner. Simon was right behind me, but I didn’t stop, not until I was down the porch steps and halfway across the lawn.

“Lane, wait!” he called out after me.

I turned around, my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets.

“Don’t run away,” he said.

“Why are you doing this?”

He looked guilty but not necessarily ashamed. “Mistletoe?”

I huffed in frustration. “Not just the kiss. The words. What you said at dinner. I know I brought you here to convince my family we were in love, but I guess I didn’t expect you to be quite so convincing. You’re messing with my head, Simon.”

The way he stood illuminated by the porch light behind him, I couldn’t see anything but his outline. Not his eyes or the set of his mouth. He was a shadow. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to mess with you. I’m definitely not trying to hurt you.”

A sharp wind rustled the leaves around our feet and tossed my hair into my face. I pushed it out of the way and pulled my scarf higher. Simon had left the house without a coat. “You should go back inside.”

“Lane.”

“I need a minute, all right? Tell them . . . tell them I’m talking to Randi.”

He nodded, then backed up toward the house. “Okay.”

I didn’t call Randi. I was too keyed up to talk to anyone. Instead, I walked laps around my parents’ neighborhood, wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into. Three things were very clear. First, I’d never felt that level of intensity when kissing Jamie. Second, I was pretty sure whatever I’d felt, Simon had felt it too. And third, I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it.

John found me camped out at the playground at the end of my parents’ block. He walked across the little mini field where I’d played soccer as a kid and joined me on the swing set. He was silent for a minute, his too-long legs spread out in front of him. “I feel like this is my fault.”

“What?”

“You. Out here. Hiding from everyone.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Mom thinks you’re hiding. Simon told her you were talking to Randi, but that was close to an hour ago.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Lane, I’m sorry about the mistletoe. I probably pushed it too far.”