It’snotreal.
It’s notreal.
But for tonight, it’s something warm.
***
I’ve barely stepped into the office when Ana hits me with a snowflake-shaped Post-it to the forehead.
“This is your Secret Santa assignment,” she says with a festive grin.
I peel it off with a glare. “I thought we agreed I was boycotting Christmas this year.”
“You say that every year, and yet here you are. In an office. In December. With friends who love you.”
“Stockholm syndrome.”
“Bitch, please. You designed the name tags for the office potluck in four different fonts.”
“Against my will.”
“You added glitter.”
“Again, against my will.”
“Sure.” She flops into her desk chair. “Just admit it, you love us.”
I roll my eyes but don’t argue. Ana’s been my work wife since my first day here three years ago, and she’s annoyingly perceptive for someone who voluntarily listens to Christmas remixes before 9 a.m.
Everett, our third musketeer and the only man ever good enough to refer to as our conjoint work husband, slides into the conversation. “Also, I saw you smiling at your phone before you even clocked in. Don’t think we didn’t notice.”
“That was a work email.”
“Uh huh,” he says, sipping his iced oat latte even though it’s minus six degrees outside. “And I only wear this peacoat for warmth, not aesthetics.”
“It was probably the fire guy,” Ana says, then leans into stage-whisper. “The one shesexts.”
I nearly choke and snap my head around to ensure no-one else in the office heard. “Would you like to shout that louder?”
“I mean, if we’re putting it to a vote—”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, sliding into my chair and turning on my computer. “Yes, it was Fireboy. No, we weren’t sexting… And can we not discuss my vaguely anonymous situationship before I’ve even had caffeine?”
Everett raises an eyebrow. “Vaguelyanonymous? Has he given you anything real yet? Like, ooh I don’t know, a name? A face? Or are we still in voice-only fantasy land?”
I shrug. “He’s told me stuff. Little things. He has a cat named Hazel who only eats imported kibble, and he’s a firefighter who works shifts. And he likes jazz… or his cat does.”
“Jazz?” Everett blinks. “Is he eighty?”
“Don’t be rude,” I say, smiling despite myself. “He’s sweet, and funny. And honestly, he’s the best part of my day.”
Ana softens. “Okay, but babe… don’t you think it’s time to meet him? Or at least ask if he wants to?”
“I mean…” I twirl my pen between my fingers, heart tapping a little faster. “We’ve only been talking for just over a month.”
“You’ve beensextinghim for over a month,” Everett corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“It’s not just that,” I say, a little defensive. “He’s… we talk. Like, really talk. He makes me laugh when everything feels overwhelming, and he doesn’t pressure me. He just shows up.”
