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“Okay.”

Our hands went into position and I tried to think it through.

One, two?—

I was about to make a fist for rock, thinking he’d do scissors, but then I second-guessed it at the last minute, wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

I did paper.

He did rock.

I was right.

“A plot twist.” I covered his fist with my flat palm while trying to ignore the feel of his warm skin against mine. “I win.”

“I suppose fair is fair.”

I glanced at the total as it continued to rise, my insides twisting with anxiety. Thankfully, the universe spared me the humiliation of coming up short and the number froze at $47.22. I let out a relieved breath and handed the cashier my wrinkled fifty-dollar bill as another clerk bagged the items.

Reed paid for Bones and followed me out of the store after we discarded our carts.

Freezing-cold air snapped into my lungs as fat snowflakes floated from a dark sky. I stopped short of the crosswalk and felt Reed brush up along my puffy coat. My chin lifted, our eyes catching for a beat that felt far too long yet not nearly long enough. Sparks swirled between us until the coat started to suffocate me. It was nine degrees and I was sweating.

Then I remembered something.

“Oh! I got you this.” Linking the shopping bags around my wrist, I reached inside one of them and pulled out the cereal box. “Here. I saw you eyeing it.”

He stared at the box with a furrowed brow, then flicked his gaze up to my face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged, pulling my lips into a small smile. “I wanted to.”

“Thanks.” The word fell out as a whisper as he tentatively took the box and slipped it in his plastic bag. “I appreciate it.”

I studied him one last time, drinking in his stubbled jaw, tufts of dark hair poking out from underneath the navy cap, and his light, light eyes, sparkling green and grateful.

Nodding, I turned away with a small wave and pretended it was the cold that was clogging my airways and not the knot of sadness at the thought of never seeing him again.

I didn’t make it very far when his voice reached my ears.

“Halley,” he called out as I heaved my three grocery bags through the parking lot, an icy wind whipping me in the face.

I turned toward him.

I stared at him standing there in his leather jacket and wool hat, holding his singular bag filled with a box of holiday-themed Rice Krispies and a Beanie Baby meant for a girl who wasn’t me.

He smiled before stepping backward and retreating. “Merry Christmas.”

I couldn’t get a response out before he disappeared into the cold, black night.

But I still said it, hoping, somehow, he could hear me.

“Merry Christmas, Reed.”

“Mom.” I nudged her shoulder with my palm, and she didn’t even flinch. “Mom, wake up.”

It was only seven o’clock, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to be passed out before suppertime. I sighed, glancing around the dark room, the windows blacked out with ratty quilts attached to curtain rods with plastic bag clips. Her limp, coarse hair fanned out across a once-white pillow that was now the color of my cousin Lizzy when she was born with jaundice last summer.

It was silly to assume Mom would put me first on Christmas Eve. I was her daughter, sure, but the empty bottle of gin lying beside her was far more precious than the child she birthed and promised to protect. I should’ve known better. Holidays, jingle bells, and family traditions would always be secondary to these drunken stupors.