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One of them was a thick envelope. The second was a smartphone.

Blair took both objects as he sat down next to her, peeking inside the envelope to discover a thick wad of bills. He stared at her, incredulous. “This is way too much. I can’t accept it.”

“It’s from our father. On the stipulation that you return his credit card.”

She held out her hand and Blair slid his wallet out of his coat pocket. He removed the card and handed it over to her, his attention shifting to the phone.

“That one’s from me,” said Venetia. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give our parents the number. I just thought you should have a way of getting in touch with me.”

Blair shook his head. “I really can’t accept this.”

She closed his hand around the phone. “You can and you will. You can pay me back once our father convinces our mother to let you have access to your own bank account.” She rolled her eyes, and Blair’s chest tightened. The fact that he had so much money stashed away where he couldn’t access it was intensely frustrating.

He placed the phone in his pocket, its weight an unexpected comfort. It felt good knowing that he could get in touch with his sister if he ever needed to. “Thank you. How are you doing?” Blair asked, sitting next to her on the couch. “How’s Steven?”

Venetia suddenly broke into a wide smile. She rested the back of her hand against one of her warming cheeks. “I finally did it, Blair,” she whispered, her voice cracking with suppressed emotion.

He watched as her eyes sparkled and danced, his heart beating out a strange rhythm as he inferred her meaning. “You⁠—?”

She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Yes.”

After all this time. All the mistakes, all the heartache.

“But you said it couldn’t be forever,” Blair reminded her, his expression softening.

“Usually, that’s true. But sometimes…” She wiped at her cheeks, fanning her face with her hands. “Sometimes you get lucky. Mom had a vision I’d be successful this time. Otherwise, I never would have risked it again.”

Although Blair’s own worries still weighed on him like a block of lead, his sister’s joy poked through like starlight, bright and luminous.

“You deserve it,” Blair whispered, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “Every moment.”

20

Ever since moving into her house, New Year's Eve had been Iris’ favorite night of the year. There was a reason that Vitford’s first night—replete with live music, local shop vendors, delicious food booths, and fireworks—was considered one of the best small-town celebrations in all of Massachusetts.

This year, though, both she and Gabriel had to work: Gabriel at the bookstore, and Iris handing out meals to the hungry and unhoused in front of the church. A deacon had asked her on Christmas Eve if she would help, and Iris hadn’t had it in her to refuse, though she sort of wished now that she had.

Blair decided he wanted to join her. Although he hadn’t said as much, she sensed he believed that if he could replace the memory of his episode on Christmas Eve with something new and fresh—like recording over an old, battered cassette tape—it might diminish some of the shame he still held over the incident.

They walked straight past the festivities, the holiday lights that beckoned from every storefront to lure customers inside, the crowds of families and laughing children that lined the streets. Vendors pushing carts of glow sticks, festive hats, colorful eyeglasses, and party poppers occupied the sidewalks, and the tantalizing scent of mulled apple cider wafted over from a table in front of the cafe, where two smiling teenage girls were cheerfully handing out steaming paper cups in exchange for a three-dollar donation.

Intricate ice sculptures lined the walkway up to the library, and Iris wanted nothing more than to spend the evening strolling through the twinkle-lit path through the community garden, but she forced herself onward, Blair at her side.

Two guitar players stood in front of the church’s double doors when they arrived, the pride flag fluttering in the winter breeze above their heads. Iris recognized one of the musicians as Cody, the proprietor of the pub, and she gave him a cheerful wave. It had been too long since Gabriel and Iris had made it to one of his open mic nights; she realized with a pang that they hadn’t attended even one since Blair had been staying with them.

To the right of the doors were three fold-out tables supplied with soups, stews, crusty bread, and an overflowing basket of butter packets. An enormous coffee machine and a tank of hot water for tea and hot chocolate sat beside a plate of chocolate chip cookies, neighboring a towering stack of napkins held down with a large river stone.

A church volunteer handed Iris and Blair an apron and ladle each and set them up in front of the soup and stew station. At first, everything was quiet, the surrounding crowd seemingly only interested in the music on the steps. After maybe twenty minutes, however, a line began to form.

Iris smiled as she carefully ladled the soup into waiting bowls. Apart from quietly greeting the individuals and families who collected their dinners, they worked in companionable silence, the night calm and peaceful.

Too soon, a heavy snow began to fall, its wet flakes sticking uncomfortably to Iris’ hair and sneaking beneath her collar. She went to lift her hood over her head, only to remember that the coat she wore didn’t have one. It had been a poor clothing choice for the chilly night; it didn’t even reach her knees. Blair observed Iris with a slight crease of worry between his brows. She straightened her shoulders, trying to hide her shiver, but it was too late—Blair had already removed his knit hat and was sliding it gently over her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

“What’s the catch?”

Distracted, Iris’ hand paused over the outstretched bowl, a few drops of soup spilling over the edge of the ladle. She frowned at the man standing in front of her. His face under the scruffy beard was distinctly unfriendly, and a strong and unpleasant odor wafted from his tattered jacket.

“I’m sorry?”