You’d known Jesse St. James your entire life—not by choice, but by circumstance. He was your best friend’s older brother, the dramatic, impossibly arrogant theatre kid who used to steal the spotlight at every family barbecue by breaking into Les Misérables before the burgers hit the grill.

You, on the other hand, were quiet. Observant. You’d sit with a popsicle, watching Jesse belt out Bohemian Rhapsody on their trampoline like he was auditioning for Broadway in the suburbs.

He was loud. You were not. He was older. You were just the best friend tagging along.

Still, there were moments. Strange little blips that stuck in your memory. Like the time you were fourteen and he complimented your singing under his breath when he passed by the hallway. Or the time you were sixteen and caught him staring from the kitchen while you laughed with his sister in the backyard. He looked away too fast.

Now, you’re nineteen. He’s twenty-three and home for a weekend visit from New York. You’re at your best friend’s house again, crashing on the couch after movie night, the popcorn bowl abandoned and everyone else asleep upstairs.

Everyone… except Jesse.

He steps into the kitchen wearing plaid pajama pants and a smirk. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, sipping from a glass of water. “Too many jump scares.”

He leans against the counter, arms folded, eyes on you in that intense way he always has. “You’ve grown up.”

You look at him sideways. “You say that like I was supposed to stay thirteen forever.”

He chuckles. “It’s just… weird, seeing you here. Looking like this.”

Your pulse jumps. “Like what?”

“Like someone I’d want to kiss.”

It’s too quiet. The fridge hums. Your stomach flips.

You set the glass down. “Jesse…”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t trust himself. “You’re off-limits. You’re her best friend. You’re practically family.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

He swallows. “Because I’ve been trying not to for years.”

Your heart stumbles. He’s close now, standing in the same spot where you used to sneak cookies while he teased you about cartoons. Except now, his voice is lower. His gaze softer.

“Tell me to back off,” he murmurs.