She smiles at me, then at Warren who's lingering near the back door. "Finish the food, the drinks. Just make sure the fire’s out before you come in."
And just like that, it’s quiet. The house, the yard, the whole night is suddenly smaller.
Warren sets his empty glass on the counter, then nods toward the glow flickering outside. "Want to? I'm not ready to turn in, yet."
"Sure," I manage. "I can finally enjoy it now that everyone is gone and I don't have to hear anymore jokes about being the baby and how cold Chicago will be compared to Palm Beach."
I follow him outside, where the party remnants of empty plates, discarded napkins, and half-empty glasses greet us. The string lights sway in the breeze, castingshadows that dance across Warren's face as he settles into one of the wood chairs around the pit. I take the one beside him, tucking my legs beneath me.
He grabs the iron poker and stirs the embers until sparks rise like fireflies.
“I’m really happy for you, Janie. What you’re doing is impressive.”
I swat his arm lightly. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I mean it.” His mouth tilts. “I’m not trying to be condescending. I think you're a really cool girl.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, you know?”
“Of course I know.” His eyes glint in the firelight. “But I still have to mess with you. It’s in the job description.”
I groan. “You’re never going to let the frog thing go, are you?”
His laugh is deeper now, a sound that seems to vibrate in my chest. “You spent a whole summer convinced they’d talk if you kissed one.”
“I was nine! And you’re still a jerk.”
“At least you had goals.” He nudges the log with the poker. “I spent senior year in your basement pretending to study while I played video games.”
“Yale would disagree.”
“Your mom got me there. She was determined I’d turn out alright despite my shitty family.” He glances at me, softer now. “You’ve got that same drive. Northwestern’s lucky.”
Something in his tone pulls my gaze up. The teasing’s gone, replaced by something steadier, something that sits between us and hums.
He’s always been the dependable one, Blake’s right hand, the extra Harrelson at every barbecue. But the way he’s looking at me now doesn’t feel brotherly. It’s quieter. Heavier. Like he’s reallyseeingme.
In the flicker of light, I notice the hard edge of his jaw, the way the heat catches in his eyes.
In the flicker of light, I notice his perfect silhouette, the way the heat catches in his eyes.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, hugging my knees. “I’m excited. Scared, but excited. I want to prove I can do this.”
He shakes his head, barely smiling. “You’ve got nothing to prove, Janie.”
His eyes hold mine across the fire, and suddenly the space between us is charged. The familiar has become unfamiliar. The silence stretches, broken only by the pop and hiss of burning wood.
My heart beats against my ribs as his gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The breath catches in my throat, and I wonder if he can hear it over the crackling fire.
TWO
Warren
She shivers, a slight tremor I almost don't catch in the firelight.
"Cold?" I ask, grateful for the easy escape from whatever just passed between us.
"A little." Janie tucks her hair behind her ear, not quite meeting my eyes.