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“No, no. That’s fine.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, sweat pooling between his pectoral muscles.

He really needed to go for a run.

“So what should we do today? Besides, you know.” She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows before nuzzling closer and kissing his neck.

She was fine. Completely fine.

She didn’t understand.

“Just kidding,” she said, perhaps seeing him tense and misinterpreting the reason. “I don’t think I could again anyway. But maybe a warm bath with some lavender Epsom salts? I’ve always wanted to do that. Have a bath with a man. I don’t know why. It’ll probably be super cramped and uncomfortable. But I still want to try, you know? I want to start ticking things off my list. All those things I’ve been too afraid to do. Too afraid to even think of, really. But now I can consider all the possibilities, start checking them off. With you.” She lowered her head onto his shoulder.

He needed to run. To move. But how could he with her head on his shoulder? Her hopes and dreams and plans for them pressing down on him, keeping him rooted in place?

He didn’t know how to explain it to her. How to get out of here without making a mess of things. How to draw another breath through the crushing weight in his chest.

Then he remembered what he’d done the last time he’d needed to escape.

“Hate to be a buzzkill, but I actually have to go into work today.”

It was only an excuse at first, but as he said it, he realized it was likely true. An action overdue. His job. The studying he needed to do to ensure his promotion. These important tasks that had somehow slipped his mind.

He’d never phoned Sara back.

“Aw. You don’t think you could call in sick for one more day?”

Call in sick. He’d done that, hadn’t he? Certainly for their trip to Vancouver. But that was days ago. He started counting backward. The afternoon shift he was supposed to rush off to when they arrived back in Calgary—when he’d gone to confront Devra’s brother instead. The day shift he’d missed yesterday while they stayed in bed. The morning shift he—He jerked to a rigid sitting position, and Devra’s head slipped off his shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Hmm?” She glanced at the microwave clock. “Twelve thirty.”

Shit. Three shifts. He’d essentially missed three shifts, given he was currently playing hooky from a shift scheduled to end in less than two hours. Four shifts, if he included the sick day. Not to mention him showing up late in the days prior.

“I have to go.”

He leaped off the stool and sped to the door. A suffocating sense of déjà vu washed over him as he exited her house, Devra still looking sex dazed and unconcerned after kissing him goodbye.

He heard Melissa’s voice, an echo of their phone call.

We weren’t good for each other.

He sprinted to his van, battling the howling wind and swirls of snow.

“Feel free to come over when you’re done,” Devra called after him.

“Yeah,” he replied over his shoulder. Flurries stung his cheeks when he faced forward again.

He jumped into the vehicle and twisted the key in the ignition. The van coughed and sputtered. He turned the key again. The interior lights flickered, then died. It had been cold last night. Too cold. He hadn’t plugged the block heater in. This simple necessity of a winter in Calgary completely forgotten.

The van revved then whimpered. “Come on. Damn it.” He slapped two palms against the steering wheel, the loss of control sweeping through him. He tried again.

The engine sputtered to life, and he slumped forward in relief.

He thumbed a quick message to Sara, then shifted into Drive. He drove fast, parked illegally in the twenty-minute pickup zone, and jumped out. He landed in snow deeper than his boots. It chilled his ankles.

The snowman inflatables that usually greeted him outside the holiday tent were deflated and buried under snow except for a few errant limbs that flailed in the wind. The tent walls were zippered down to protect the interior from the extreme weather, but the sign pointing customers toward the single flap entrance had been knocked over. He righted it before rushing inside.

The smell hit him first. Like sour milk.

“What is that?” he muttered to himself, before he saw the spill. A fridge filled with eggnog had a single carton tilted sideways, holding the fridge door open, creamy liquid leaking out and puddling on the ground. Before he could act, he caught movement in his periphery and spotted Zhi shuffling in his direction at a speed that might be considered a sprint for the grandfatherly man. He was rolling a mop and bucket, drops of soapy water splashing over the side.