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We’d always opened presents on Christmas Eve for as long as I could remember. Mom started, impatiently unwrapping the little wooden jewellery box I’d thrifted and hand-painted with daisies.

Then, dad followed suit. He carefully opened a second-hand book on the Vietnam War and pretended his eyes hadn’t gone misty behind his glasses as he read the dedication I’d jotted down on the first page.

But the happiest of all was gran, whose green eyes turned watery and sparkled, and who kissed me twice on both cheeks for the little metal tub of Chinese cream she swore by.

“How did you know I was running low?” she half-sobbed.

I hadn’t. I’d been too swamped with exams to check in with mom, but I was glad my guess had been right, and I rewarded her with a watery smile of my own.

But much as I tried to focus on my family, my eyes kept flicking to my phone. I’d texted Pri and Liam happy holidays, but Josh still hadn’t replied.

Even as I beamed, clutching the beautiful necklace and pocket money I’d received, my chest tightened uncomfortably as I thought of him trying not to strangle someone. Months ago, I would’ve given anything to hear this, but now…

Picking up the phone from the table, I excused myself and headed to my room, nerves fluttering down my spine. I had no clue what had possessed me, but before I could change my mind, I pressed call and sucked in a long, grounding breath.

Ring, ring, ring.

I picked at a stray lint on the sleeve of my sweater.

Of course he wouldn’t answer—

“Hello?” His deep voice was tinged with surprise and something else I couldn’t place, coming in a little muffled, like he was cupping the phone close to his ear.

“Hiya, it’s Mia…”

I winced internally. Texting had been easy, but this? My palms dampened and my pulse galloped as I sat up from my bed and started pacing.

“I know it’s you, silly. I just didn’t expect you to call.”

His tone came out warmer than I’d expected, touching my cheeks, which passed pink and settled on red. The wind sighed on his end.

“Is something wrong?” He added when I’d gone silent for fear of saying something stupid, feet wearing deep lines in the thick carpet.

“No, nothing’s wrong, I was just…”

Worried.

Yeah, right, like I’d say that.

“I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

The blush crept down my neck, betraying me, the mattress dipped under my weight, and my fingers found the quilt blanket and fiddled with a seam.

“That’s sweet,” he murmured, voice low and warm like dripping honey. “Merry Christmas, Mia.”

Silence beaded on the line as my throat worked, bobbing with all the questions I wanted to ask.

“Are you by any chance drunk?” A teasing lilt seeped into his voice as it grew smoky, a timbre that bypassed my brain and liquefied my insides.

“N-no,” I squeaked.

I was definitely a little tipsy, but I wasn’t sure I could blame everything on it.

“Shut up. I’m just being nice. Festive spirit and all,” I rushed to add. Despite my casual tone, my burning skin had shrunk two sizes.

The silence stretched.

Did he hang up?