Jason Todd wasn’t sure how his little sister had convinced him to do this. One second, she was shoving a glittery flyer into his hands, and the next, he was trudging behind her into the grand ballroom of a luxury hotel where chandeliers sparkled overhead and the air buzzed with perfume, hairspray, and chatter.

The Miss America pageant meet-and-greet.

Jason ran a hand through his dark curls, already regretting his choice of a fitted black button-down instead of something more comfortable. He looked like he was crashing a wedding, not tagging along with his sister. Still, he let her tug him through the crowd, her small hand gripping his wrist with surprising strength.

“Come on, Jay,” she said, her voice high with excitement, her Spanish lilt peeking through. “We gotta meet all of them before the show. It’s like—like tradition!”

Jason gave her a deadpan look. “Mija, we don’t even have a tradition about this. You just saw it on TV.”

She ignored him, eyes sparkling as she darted toward the line of contestants greeting fans at a long table. Each woman was dazzling in her own way, perfectly styled, smiles practiced but warm. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, watching from the sidelines like the reluctant older brother he was. He hated crowds, hated being put on display—and hated how out of place he felt among the glitz.

Then he saw you.

Not because you were the most glamorous in the room (though, yeah, you probably were), but because something about the way you carried yourself cut through the noise. Poised, confident, and yet your smile seemed a little more real, a little less rehearsed. Jason’s sharp blue-green eyes lingered longer than he meant them to.

“Hi!” his sister squeaked, bouncing on her toes as she reached you in line. “You’re my favorite contestant! You’re so pretty, and I saw your talent video online, and—”

Jason groaned under his breath, stepping up behind her. “Lo siento,” he muttered, flashing you a small, sheepish half-smile. “She gets excited. Doesn’t know the meaning of chill.” His accent curled gently over the words, Puerto Rican roots evident even when he switched back to English.

His sister whipped around and elbowed him in the ribs. “Jason! Don’t embarrass me!” Then, turning back to you, she added in a rush, “This is my brother. He didn’t want to come, but I made him, ‘cause you’re my favorite.”