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I nodded, blushing hard. We’d kissed.

“Yeah.” Then I hesitated. “Down the ladder?”

“How else?”

“I feel bad. I can probably sneak you out the front door in, like, thirty.”

“It’s fine,” he said, heading for the window.

Before he reached it, though, I asked, “Did your dad say anything else about the lawsuit? Do we know who’s doing this?”

He turned back to me. “I have no idea. He won’t tell me.”

“Is it public record?”

“It will be when they file the official complaint.”

“When will that be?” I stepped closer to him.

“I’m not sure.”

“What your dad said … about your nerves…”

“He’s right—I need to figure that out.”

“No, I was going to say that he’s wrong. You’re allowed to be nervous. Nerves can coexist with accomplishment. They don’t have to be absent to get things done, to be good at things.”

Ryan’s eyes softened, and he brushed a hand along my cheek. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m right.”

He smiled, and then I noticed him taking in my room. The paintings on the walls. The sculpture I’d made out of wire hangers in the corner. As if he was so focused on me before that he hadn’t seen anything else until now. “Your room is so—”

“Cluttered,” I interrupted.

“You,” he finished.

“Juvenile?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Jasmine, I never said that about your house. I don’t know what my dad was talking about. I never used those words.” He pointed around the room. “This is you.” The way he said it seemed like a good thing. Like he liked my room. Which meant he liked me. “What’s this one going to be?” He nodded to the still-empty canvas in the corner.

“My inspiration project,” I said.

“That’s going to be easy for you.”

He said it with so much confidence, but the truth was, I was struggling. Having a hard time picturing exactly which section of my yard I wanted to add, which lights and decorations represented Christmas the best, made me the happiest. Nothing seemed quite right.

I heard my mom’s voice down the hall, chiding Harris. “Put your shirt on!”

I bit my lip. We’d already had a close call with parents tonight—we didn’t need another one.

“I’m going,” he whispered.

My eyes flitted to the open window. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

He nodded, and I walked him to the ladder.

He stepped over the sill and lowered himself a few rungs. I gripped the top of the ladder as if that was the only thing keeping it from teetering backward.