“It’s a threat.”
“It’s Walmart décor, babe.”
“Exactly.”
She rolls her eyes and starts logging into her computer, humming along to the Christmas playlist our overly cheerful office manager insists on blasting from the communal speaker. I swear I’m one gingerbread-scented candle away from committing a felony.
December used to mean something warm and soft. But since Mom and Dad died, it’s like someone took the joy out of the season and left me the empty wrapping paper instead.
Not that I say that out loud.
I just sit, sip my burnt office coffee, and open Illustrator like I’m not being force-fed holiday cheer through a firehose.
My phone buzzes beside my mousepad, and my stomach does that stupid little swoop that I pretend is indigestion.
Fireboy:Did you know I risked my life for a blueberry danish this morning?
I bite my lip, already smiling.
Me:Thoughts and prayers. Was it at least an elite pastry?
Fireboy:Mid.
Me:Tragic.
Fireboy:But I thought you should know I ate it like a hero anyway. No blueberry gets left behind.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can catch it, and Ana swivels her chair.
“RedRiot’s flirting again?”
“I’m not flirting,” I lie, typing rapidly. “I’m mocking his poor pastry decisions.”
Ana raises a brow. “Is this still the same dude? That fire guy?”
“Yeah, same one… But it’s not that serious.”
It is absolutely that serious. He’s the only part of December that doesn’t feel exhausting.
Work is chaos—clients demanding full rebrands before the New Year, my boss pretending deadlines don’t apply to him, coworkers who treat me like the resident pixel elf. I don’t mind the job, really. I like making things look beautiful. But December at a design agency? Hell in glitter.
Fireboy is relief. Fun. A pocket of warmth I didn’t think I’d find again, and not just because he’s good at talking me out of my panties.
I glance at my screen.
Fireboy:What’s on your schedule today? Saving the corporate world from bad fonts?
Over the past couple weeks, I’ve shared a few more snippets of my life. Not enough for him to come stampeding through the office doors, but enough for him to know I work in graphic design.
It’s nice, and he’s been returning the gesture by sharing small snippets of his day-to-day life, too.
Me:Someone submitted a brief in Papyrus this morning. Pray for me.
Fireboy:Jesus Christ. I’ll light a candle.
Me:You seem to have a thing for fire
Fireboy:You clocked that, huh
