“Ever seen Rain Man?”

“Mmm-hmm.” And that’s the most intelligent thing I’ve said all morning.

“It’s kind of like that with my sister. She’s, like, off the charts brilliant, but she’s super-particular about order and rules. My mom homeschools her. Abby likes it, but she gets a little stir-crazy. That’s why she calls me all the time. It’s never urgent—just stuff like what happened on General Hospital or which neighbor she saw taking out the trash in their bathrobe. But if I don’t answer right away, she freaks. Half the time I’m just calming her down, reassuring her I’ll be home later. It gets intense. My mom had to get permission from the school so I could keep my phone on during class. Thing is, she’d probably be better off in a place with full-time care, where they could work with her one-on-one. But we don’t want to do that to her. She’s ours, you know?”

I think about Bug, how I dumped him off with Mrs. Ferris this morning, how he hugged me and waved and pushed up his glasses without a word of protest. I can’t picture him not being Bug, not being okay, not being home with us.

“How do you … I mean, do you guys take her out on weekends or whatever? Do other stuff? Or does she have to stay at home?”

“We go out sometimes. She does okay—depends on the situation. Hockey games are too much for her—she doesn’t like the goal buzzer. But she’s hung out with me at Amir’s a few times. She does better when it’s just a few people. Oh, and she doesn’t like Will. Too much talking freaks her out.”

I laugh. “I don’t blame her. Sounds like you guys are close, though. That’s cool.”

“Abby’s seriously my best friend.” Josh smiles. “I tell her pretty much everything. We talk about hockey and school and … well, whatever. Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what were you gonna say?”

Josh’s face reddens, the tips of his ears as bright as the flames. He stands to stoke the fire with a loose hunk of metal, his back to me. “Okay, so I told her about you, right? How you helped the team, how we’ve been skating a few times, even about the cupcakes. And now she won’t leave it alone. ‘How’s Hudson, where’s Hudson, are you skating today, what does she look like, where does she live, how many cupcakes can she bake in one hour, what’s her favorite color, when can I meet her—’”

“Blake Street. My record is two forty in an hour, but they weren’t very good. Purple.” I take a deep, silent breath as the fire sparks. “And I’d be honored to meet her.”

Josh drops the makeshift fire poker and crosses the space between us in two steps, hands gripping my arms. I look up to meet his eyes, serious and determined and the rarest, most intense colors I’ve ever seen. It’s like I’m on the lake again, the rest of the world fuzzing out around the edges, the beauty of his eyes the only thing left. I lean closer, our gaze unbroken, fire crackling and warming the air around us. He swallows and then he’s there, right before me. My heart slams into my ribs and my neck goes hot and I close my eyes just as our lips brush and my breath catches and …

And Josh pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands sliding down my arms. “Sh—I’m so sorry, Hudson. I didn’t mean … you and Will … I was so … not … thinking.” He rubs his head, his eyes everywhere but on my face.

“Josh, it’s okay, I’m not—”

“Can we just … can we pretend that didn’t happen?” He crosses to the other side of the fire and slumps in an old office chair, the swivel kind with wheels and an adjustable back, and presses his fists into his thighs.

Across the room, the fire is strong between us as he stares at the dusty, broken floor, and my heart rages against his words. After weeks of mixed signals and crossed wires, he finally kissed me—tried to, anyway. And now he wants to pretend it didn’t happen?

The wind pelts the walls with a blast of wet ice and his foot bounces on the ground, chair twisting back and forth.

I stand and cross the room. “Will isn’t … can we—”

“No. I better …” He’s out of the chair before I get to him. “I’m gonna get some air. I’ll be back. I promise.”

He doesn’t go too far—the shape of him blackens the bright spot of the doorway where we first came in. He pulls the hat from his back pocket and yanks it over his head, looking out across the great white bleakness, and I curl up on the desk and watch the flames, trying to figure out how to rewind and instant replay the last few minutes. This time, when our lips brush, I’ll lean into him and pull him close. This time, I won’t let him talk. I won’t let him apologize. I won’t let him go.

As Josh dips in and out of the doorway, I unzip my bag and dig out my thermos and the smashed granola bar, occupying myself by making cold chocolate oatmeal in my mouth. I pace the perimeter of the room, tracing lines in the dust on all the desks. I peel swaths of paint from the walls, olive green, probably laced with lead. Toss rocks and metal chips into the standing half of a cracked porcelain sink behind the HOT ACIDS sign. Flip through decaying manuals on treating burns and chemical wounds. Throw paper time cards into the fire, one at a time, yellow flames sizzling like Trick’s grill as all the old work hours turn into ash.

“It finally stopped snowing.”

I drop the remaining cards and turn around.

“Should we chance it?” Josh asks, rubbing the chill from his hands. He looks at me a moment, and it’s like I can read his thoughts as they flash behind his eyes. No. Let’s stay. We’ll stay up all night talking about the funniest movies and the best place to get hot wings and what happens at the end of the world, and in the morning, everything will be sparkly and bright, and no one will ever know about this place but us, our forever winter secret.

“Josh, can we—”

“Yeah. I mean no, you’re right.” He scoops some snow into the trash can, fire hissing into wet dust. “I just thought … nah, we should head out while we can. Car’s buried, though. We’ll have to walk.”

Josh stomps down a path outside. He looks back at me and smiles, cheeks red from the cold, eyes sparkling like the unblemished whiteness behind him as I reluctantly follow. Together, we make our way through snow-covered streets as the good neighbors of Watonka emerge from their homes to help one another clear footpaths and dig cars from the drifts.

Everyone waves and smiles and asks if we’re okay, and yeah, maybe we’re fine, just like Josh tells them, but I can’t shake that moment in the Fillmore building, Josh’s lips brushing mine by the fire. The weight of it sits between us like a magnetic force, drawing us close, then pushing us apart. Is he imagining what it would be like to kiss me again? Or does he wish he could take it all back? Is he really, truly sorry?

I stop in the middle of the white street and step in front of him, his jaw set, eyes far away. My voice is rough and my mouth dry, but this much, I know: Josh Blackthorn saved my life. And then he tried to kiss me. No matter what happens next, I’m not letting this turn into another two weeks of silence, the entire history of us summed up in a series of near misses and almosts just because neither of us had the snowballs to say anything.

“Feel like stopping at Hurley’s for hot chocolate?” I ask. “Hang out with me for a while?”

“Hmm.” He finally meets my gaze, his shy, playful smile slowly returning. “With or without marshmallows?”

“With. Duh.”

“You got yourself a deal, Avery.”

We settle in at the front counter and Nat brings us two mugs of hot chocolate with double marshmallows. One sip, and that’s it—I can’t hold it in another second. “Josh, me and Will … we’re not together. We hung out for a little while, but it’s over. Over over.”

Josh stares into his mug, dunking the marshmallows one at a time with his spoon. “That’s cool, Hud. You didn’t have to—”