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“And you,” I say, turning on Jamie.

“What?” He lifts his palms.

“She likes your mustache,” I say, shooting an evil, gleeful glance at my sister. “And probably your butt or something. Bye.”

Slamming the door shut, I turn the lock. They can go around the back and get inside. That’ll give me and Coen time to deal with the bigger problem—my father locking himself in the office. I leave for a few days, and everything turns to shit, I guess. I tread upstairs to my room and find Coen dropping our bags by the bed. He turns, dropping his wallet and keys on the bedside table.

“What’s the matter with them?”

I shrug as I step out of my shoes. “I think they like each other.”

His brows rise. “Really?”

“Kinda seems like it. At least, she likes him.”

He laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Maybe a little rebound wouldn’t hurt Jamie. Your sister seems like she’d give him something to keep him occupied anyway.”

“He just can’t take her away,” I say.

He cocks his head. “She doesn’t have to stay here forever.”

He’s right. I check myself.

“I know,” I say. “I just can’t take too much change at one time.”

He holds out his hands, and I go to him. He grips me by the hips and rests his chin on my stomach, looking up at me. I love it when he does that.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“Taking a chance on me,” he says. “I won’t let you down.”

Gently, I touch his temple, brushing back a strand of hair. “I know.”

This time, there’s no voice in my head that sounds too much like my dad’s warning me away. Bending down, I kiss him, and this time, I don’t pull back right away. There’s no dull ache in the background, like the whirring of a fan. Inhaling, I taste him, feel him in my lungs, beneath my hands. He’s right to say we’re taking a chance.

There are never any guarantees. My heart is fragile, and I’m jumping with it in my hands anyway. In his hands, really.

I’m not scared.

From downstairs, the back door slams. Voices and footsteps fill the house in a rush. Gently, he pulls back and gets to his feet.

“Let’s go figure this shit out,” he says.

I pause, and he cups my chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Thanks for not being scared of all this,” I say, gesturing around. “All the baggage.”

“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” he says, kissing my forehead. “And I’m not scared of it. Whatever it is, I want to figure it out.”

My throat tightens, and I can’t say anything else. He takes my hand, and we go downstairs. Right away, the sound of Jamie and Serena explodes in the kitchen. We turn the corner, and there they are, leaning on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. I’m not sure what this conversation is about, but it seems like Serena is winning. Jamie has his arms folded, scowl fixed.

“Can we stop?” Coen says.

His voice is louder and firmer than I’m used to. I freeze, and so does everyone else.

“Jamie, not everything is about you,” he says.