A moment of silence passes between us. “We’re here now. Ready for the official Jesse Scott New York City tour?”

“Let’s go!”

We stand up on the backseat, poking our heads out the sunroof. A cold wind hits my face, but there’s no way I’d sit down.

In a very meta moment, we pass a Jesse Scott billboard in which he’s belting it out into a microphone. The limo edges by Times Square, heading north all the way to Central Park, where we get out and walk.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“One of my favorite places.”

I hold my breath as we pass the Plaza Hotel, and then we approach FAO Schwarz, this humongous toy store that’s decorated for Christmas. Twin nutcrackers flank the entrance, and animatronic penguins are singing “Let it Snow.” It smells of potpourri and hot cider.

I link my arm in Jesse’s. “Why’s this one of your favorite places?”

“Mark brought me here when I was younger, and he bought me this remote-controlled helicopter, which I loved.”

People on the sidewalk take pictures of Jesse, but it’s nothing like Nashville where he gets mobbed every two feet. Here, people keep a wide berth as we enter the ginormous toy store.

This place is wild. I gaze up at a life-size replica of a grizzly bear. The toy store back in Franklin could fit in the FAO Schwarz lobby—I would’ve gone crazy in here as a kid. And being here helps me understand Jesse even better.

“I want that train,” Jesse says, peering up at the one chugging around a track on the ceiling.

“I want that elephant.” It must be two stories tall.

He looks at the price of the stuffed animal, grimacing. “It’s seven thousand dollars. Mark would kill me.”

“I was kidding,” I say with a smile. “This guy is more my style.” I pick up a little penguin. It’s twenty dollars.

“That’s more like it, Miss Greedy Pants.”

“Greedy pants?” I smack his shoulder.

We stop every two feet to look at remote-controlled helicopters and LEGO displays. Jesse plays “Twinkle, Twinkle” on a xylophone, and then we end up in the boxer shorts section. I’ve never seen so many different kinds of underwear in my life—every superhero, every cartoon, from Barbie to Transformers to Star Trek.

“You gotta get these,” I say, holding up a pair of Harley-Davidson boxers.

“Sure,” he says and adds in a sneaky whisper, “I’ll wear them for you later.”

After the toy store, we buy pretzels from a cart and just wander around. It’s freezing outside, but I don’t feel cold—not with Jesse’s hand tucked in mine. We gaze into bright, dazzling storefronts and talk about whatever, walking slowly as people pass us on the sidewalk. Before I came to New York, I figured I’d want to see the Statue of Liberty and Central Park, but now that I’ve seen Jesse’s big, bright smile, I only want to explore this new place between him and me.

I may not be fixated on seeing the sights, but Jesse is. He says he’s been to New York, like, a hundred times, but he’s never been to the Empire State Building before and wants us to see the view together. His limo drives us downtown to Thirty-Fourth Street, then we take a series of different elevators to the top of the Empire State Building and step out into the frigid night to views of the Brooklyn Bridge and Freedom Tower. The entire city.

For a long moment, I stare at the millions of twinkling lights.

“I love it here,” I whisper.

“I do too. I feel like I can be myself here and not worry who’s watching…but it’s not my home, you know?”

“I get that.”

I ask someone to take our picture, and Jesse wraps his arms around me from behind and kisses my neck. It’s warm and personal and makes me tingly all over, and when I turn around to hug him, I feel nothing but comfort.

“Can you text me that picture?” he asks.

“Yeah, and I’ll make sure you get a print for your mantel.”

“I’d like that.”

It excites me that he’s willing to put our picture up in his living room, because he has no other pictures of family or friends. Jesse’s changed so much since I first met him. But I wish he’d realize he can’t give up his music just to please his family.

Tonight, I’m telling him what he needs to hear. But what if what I have to say makes him push me away again?

• • •

“This is turning into another Maya Henry’s Day Off,” Jesse says when we get out of the limo at Wollman Rink in Central Park to go ice skating. I’ve never gone before.