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“You don’t look orange,” I observe.

“Maybe not Oompa Loompa standard, but still on the Tango side of things.”

I scowl. “You have such a low opinion of yourself.”

I’m tired of the way she talks about herself like she’s some unlovable orange creature.

“I have something for you.” She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I hope you haven’t spent any more money on me, because if you have⁠—”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” She shakes her head and pushes her hair behind her ear, which means she’s nervous. That surprises me, as I thought we’d moved past being nervous around each other.

“I took your advice and tried writing a story. It’s been tricky. Every time I’ve sat down to write, nothing has come to me, or I’d start well and get lost halfway through, or I’d get distracted by things like the spider in my spare room that I was convinced was a black widow until I googled it and discovered it wasn’t even a spider—you get the idea.”

She pulls in a large lungful of air as if recharging herself.

“Anyway, last night, I just saw this mist, like my brain fogged over, and all I could think about was this story. I thought I might go insane if I didn’t write it down. And you said you’d read something if I wrote it, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought, after what you said before, you might want to take a look. It’s a fairy tale, I think. Fantasy? Maybe a kids’ story? I don’t know. I just sat down, and I wrote whatever came into my head… and voilà.”

She pulls a wad of paper out of her back pocket and hands it to me, and I notice the shake in her hand. I have to stop myself from taking it in mine and steadying it with a kiss.

“Of course I’ll read it,” I tell her.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But go easy on the critique. I haven’t written anything since I was in high school.”

“I’m no Dickens, so I think you’ll be safe.” A lump forms as I try to swallow the fact that she’s trusting me with her work and wants to know what I think.

“Thank you. Look, I have to go. Jamal is going to hunt me down. Are you free for lunch?” she asks.

“I’m always free. Oh, and are you busy Thursday night?” I take the leap because the twins will harangue me if I don’t.

“Thursday? No, why?”

“You’ve been summoned to the Smithy household for a second helping of chilli and hairdressing.”

“Seriously?” She looks surprised, which hurts me more than I care to admit.

“Yeah. They were all really disappointed when you weren’t there last week.”

“Wow. I didn’t realise they liked me,” Alice says, her eyes wide and full of wonder.

And therein lies the problem. Alice doesn’t seem to notice when people like her, so it’s no surprise that she can’t see it when they love her.

Or maybe she’s just like me and pretends she can’t see it when it’s waving in front of her face.

Because I do see it. So clear and resolute.

I’m in love with Alice.

I take my tea and her story into my office, and although I know I should be working, the lure of her words pulls me in, so I sit back in my chair and read.

The Frozen Heart

By Alice Sutton

There was a time when the prince had been light on his feet, a carefree song in his words, and a widespread joy on his face. But this was a time long ago, a time before her.

She’d flown into his life like a butterfly, wings ablaze with golden rays, with promises of grandeur and greatness.