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What are you up to?

More relief flooded me, and I told myself it was the nicotine hitting after a long pull, not the bubble popping on the screen, showing she was typing.

M: “too” was the issue, yeah…

I could practically feel her eye-roll.

M: Helping in the kitchen, you?

J: Same. Also, and less importantly, trying not to strangle anyone…

Too much? Maybe. But an inexplicable urge to tell her everything gripped me, one I had to shove back into the recesses of my mind.

M: You? In the kitchen?

I’m calling the police, someone clearly kidnapped you

J: Is that so hard to believe? ;)

M: Yes. I imagined you on a throne, ordering a servant around.

My pulse thumped in my ears. I wrote and rewrote the reply, too scared to mess it up because the peace between us felt like a wisp of wind could shatter it—and I’d never wanted something to last more.

J: I can send you a pic…Or you can subpoena the 100 potatoes I peeled and diced

M: You do know I can ruin you with this information, right?

Perfect Josh, peeling potatoes like a commoner

I imagined her smug little expression, and a strangled laugh tore from my chest, chased by something warm pooling between my ribs.

I put out the cigarette that had mostly smoked itself and lit up another, frozen leaves scrunching underfoot as I paced, heart in my throat, thumbs turning daring.

J: You won’t. Besides, don’t you feel good knowing one of my little secrets?

And hey, would you look at that? your turn to share one…

Too bold. Too much.

I dragged in smoke, long pull after long pull, scrubbing my hand over my face and cursing myself under my breath.

What the fuck am I doing?

But god, this felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, like doing one-fifty on the empty motorway, with dark asphalt whizzing underneath.

The butt extinguished in the damp ashtray and still, she hadn’t replied.

I went too far.

I trudged back inside, the thin layer of snow turning into tar under my feet.

Carols climbed up the walls, and people were mercifully silent as I resumed the veggie extravaganza—probably because my dad and uncle had retreated to the lounge for a whiskey and business talk. That left only my mom, my aunt, and my cousins, who were being little shits, trying to pawn off tasks to each other or trying to make it into a game.

The why became glaringly obvious when one nearly chopped a finger off, and I sent them away with a barked “out” and a scoff.

Against all odds, she replied. The faint buzz against my thigh had my pulse kick up like a spooked animal. I wiped my hands on a towel and reached for it, fast and a little clumsy, though thankfully nobody saw.

M: All right, but I need your written consent you won’t laugh