Chapter 1 Janie #2
The crowd laughs, glasses clinking. I laugh too, but it catches halfway up my throat. Like a sister. That’s who I’ve always been to him: safe, protected, untouchable. Blake’s kid sister. Perpetual tagalong.
When he steps past me to set his glass down, the brush of his sleeve catches my bare arm—warm, faintly citrus and cedar. For a split second, the noise fades, and I forget how to breathe.
For once, I wish I could break that image, just shatter it and see what’s underneath.
But that’s ridiculous. He’s nine years older, my brother’s best friend. The champagne’s just making me sentimental.
“To Janie!” The chorus swells, warm and familiar and somehow too tight.
"Thanks, everyone." My smile holds, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
I slip through the French doors, escaping the cacophony of well-wishes and advice. The old wooden porch creaks beneath my heels as I make my way to the railing. My glass dangles between my fingers, cool against my skin, while the night air wraps around me like a familiar blanket.
From here, the street is quiet, lined with palms swaying in the breeze. Beyond the rooftops, the faint roar of the ocean carries on the wind, steady as a heartbeat. It’s close enough to smell the salt, close enough that it's a part of me, even if I can’t see the waves from here.
How many nights have I stood on this porch, pretending the whole island was within reach? Hundreds, maybe thousands. But this could be the last time I’ll stand here before I officially move out and start my own life away from here.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with humid air tinged with salt and jasmine. It calms me the way the ocean always has, even when my thoughts whip around like hurricane winds.
The door slides open behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Blake.
"Found the escape artist." His footsteps thud across the porch. "Mom’s looking for you. Something about Mrs. Delaney wanting your new address."
"I’m heading back to the backyard. Just wanted some quiet for a minute."
He leans against the railing beside me, his shoulder bumping mine. "Don’t cry on the porch. Chicago’ll eat you alive if they smell weakness."
"I’m not crying." I flick his arm. "Don't you worry about me in Chicago. I'm going to be just fine."
"I know you will." He ruffles my hair, messing up my carefully styled waves. "But I'll always be your big brother and will always worry."
I duck away, swatting at his hand. "Would you stop? I'm twenty-two, not twelve."
"Blake!" Cile's voice calls from inside. "Tyler's climbing the bookshelf again! We need to get these kids in bed."
"Coming!" He straightens, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Duty calls. The boy's part monkey, I swear." He starts toward the door, then turns back. "Hey. I love you. You're a rockstar."
A small lump forms in my throat. "I love you, too."
He nods once, then disappears inside, leaving me alone with the sounds of the ocean and my thoughts.
Car doors slam out front, voices calling their goodbyes. One by one, the laughter and footsteps fade as neighbors head down the walk. I slip back inside, weaving through the foyer just in time to see the last cluster of friends waving from the door.
In the kitchen, Mom stacks stray dessert plates with a sigh. "That’s it for me. I don’t have the stamina for these parties anymore."
Dad kisses her temple. "We’re turning in. Firepit’s still going if you two want to sit a while."
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, casting shadows 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 really seeing me.
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.