“Don’t be,” he says reassuringly. “You’ve got this. You’re smart, composed, terrifying when you want to be. Your parents won’t stand a chance.”
I meet his gaze. “You’ve never met my mother.”
“Sounds like I’m in for a show.”
The teasing gleam in his eyes softens almost instantly, replaced by something gentler. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table, the morning light drawing attention to the gold flecks in his eyes.
“Seriously, Madeline,” he says softly. “I mean it. I want to bethere for you this weekend. Whatever happens tonight, I’ve got you. You can trust me.”
My throat tightens and it surprises me. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” Jesse interrupts, his voice steady, all trace of humor gone. “I know this whole thing’s uncomfortable for you, and I know your family’s…complicated. But you can lean on me, okay? That’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to do it alone.”
The softness in his tone hits deep. There’s no pretense, it’s just Jesse, open and unguarded and real. My chest tightens, and I feel a sudden sting behind my eyes. God, I hate that he’s getting to me. I don’t even recognize this version of myself — the one who wants to lean into his voice, into his promise, and just let someone else carry the weight for once.
But that’s not me. It can’t be. Depending on someone has never ended well, and Jesse Winters is the last person I should be trusting with something fragile.
I clear my throat, forcing a smile. “You don’t need to worry about me,” I tell him, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “I can handle my parents.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to decide if he believes me. Whatever he finds there must not convince him, because for a second, he looks almost defeated. And then, just as quickly, that familiar spark returns.
“Okay,” he says suddenly, pushing his chair back and standing in one fluid motion. “If you say you can handle them, then you can also handle one tiny detour first.”
“What?” I blink, confused, as he rounds the table toward me.
“Come on.” Before I can protest, he takes my hand, his fingers curling warm and sure around mine. He tugs me up from my seat and without warning, spins me in a quick circle. “We’re going out.”
“Out?” I stumble trying to keep my balance, still clutching his hand. “Out where?”
“Somewhere that doesn’t involve stress, parents, or gala dresses,” he says, smiling. “I know you’ve got this, but I also know you’re stressed. So, I’m prescribing a distraction.”
“Oh, you’re a doctor now?”
“Practically,” he says with a wink. “Add it to the very long list of things about me that impress you,” he teases then he drops my hand and reaches for his phone. “Adventure awaits, Mads. Go get dressed.”
And against my better judgment, I do exactly what he asks.
“You’re not telling me where we’re going, are you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as Jesse opens the door to a ride-share.
“Nope,” he says easily, tugging open the door and gesturing for me to get in. “It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“I figured you would,” he says, grinning. “That’s why this is fun for me.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re standing inside a neon-lit arcade that looks like it was frozen in the early 2000s. The air smells like popcorn and machine oil. The lights blink, the floor hums. It’s ridiculous…and kind of perfect.
“Really? An arcade?” I ask, not willing to give Jesse the satisfaction of admitting that it’s actually a great idea.
“Avintagearcade,” he corrects, tossing me a rolled stack ofcoins. “And you’re welcome, Mads. Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I follow him through the maze of blinking lights and beeping machines until he stops at a row of basketball hoops glowing under a flickering red marquee. Jesse feeds coins into two of the machines like he’s been training for this moment all year. The machine dings and the clock starts as the balls are released to the game frames. Jesse grabs his ball and lines up his shot. It hits the backboard and drops into the net. He glances over his shoulder at me as he waits for the ball to return.
“Let’s go, Mads! Clock’s ticking.”
I laugh. “You’re actually competitive about this?”
“Obviously.” He sinks his second shot. “I don’t lose. And you’re making this win very easy for me.”
