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“There’s no need to panic,” Clement said, straightening up and adjusting his scarf. “Iris knows how to handle herself.”

“She’s alright?” Gabriel couldn’t help the panicked edge to his voice.

Clement gave a single nod. “She, ah, defused the situation. But I would be careful, my friend.” He slid the book he had been holding earlier across the counter to Gabriel. The cover was adorned with hearts, the title Anxiously Attached popping out at him like a malignant jack-in-the-box. “You might want to handle the situation before it causes you to lose the one person you can’t live without. And no.” His friend’s arrogant smile snapped back into place. “In this instance, I don’t mean me.”

Before Gabriel could respond, Clement slapped down some bills and turned to exit the store.

“You forgot your book,” Gabriel grumbled.

“Consider it a late Christmas gift.”

With that, Clement strode from the shop, leaving Gabriel staring at the empty, frost-bitten door.

21

The night pressed in on Blair like an oppressive cloak, tightening around his stomach and making it difficult to breathe.

He couldn’t shake the shame from what had happened earlier that evening.

The scene had replayed over and over in his mind during their silent walk home under the pelting snow, and while he’d watched—still in a state of shock—as Iris piled pillows and blankets on the living room floor, announcing that they would all be sleeping out there that night to celebrate the holiday.

Blair wasn’t ignorant; he knew Iris just wanted to keep an eye on him, afraid that he might shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces if she wasn’t there to ensure he stayed intact.

Gabriel returned earlier than expected, bursting through the door like a town crier with a message of great import, his long-belted coat dripping snow all over the carpet. His raised brows had lowered in relief as he took in the quiet scene before him: Iris and Blair propped up against the couch with a bowl of popcorn and twin hot chocolates, a familiar Christmas movie playing on the TV.

But Blair hadn’t missed the way Gabriel sat close at Iris’ side, as though the storm were brewing inside the walls of their home rather than out in the deepening night. It was almost as if Gabriel knew what had happened. Had word of Blair’s altercation spread that quickly?

At a quarter to twelve, Iris turned off the movie and navigated to a different app that broadcasted the ball drop in Times Square. While they counted down to midnight, Blair thought over a few of the many new years he had seen in his life, each one more or less indistinguishable from the last. He didn’t know whether to feel optimistic at the prospect of the upcoming trip around the sun, or terrified. There was so much to hope for, and yet he felt as though it could all be taken away in a second, leaving him more dejected and isolated than ever.

Now, while the three of them lay cocooned in the blankets Iris had set up, Blair was all too aware of Iris’ presence to his right, the heavy sound of Gabriel’s breathing from his spot closest to the door. Blair turned to face the wood stove, nails digging into his palms as he tried to force his brain to quiet, but it was impossible.

With a soft sigh, he carefully extricated himself from the blankets and wandered into the kitchen. Blair eyed the dark room, unsure of what to do with himself. He wasn’t really tired, even after the stress of the evening. He only needed about four hours of sleep per night; those with the full strain of his condition required even less.

What he needed was a way to get that bearded man’s face out of his mind, to try to forget the rage that had flared white-hot inside him, the distress in Iris’ eyes as she’d watched him unravel.

He peered at the clock on the stove—it was just before three a.m.—before quietly navigating his way up the stairs to the music room.

Blair flicked on the light, blinking against the brightness as he surveyed his surroundings. Between the two pouf chairs sat the yellow rose in its new, overlarge vase. A basket of his apothecary supplies rested beside the bookshelf that hosted Iris and Gabriel’s knickknacks. The only thing out of place was Iris’ mandolin, which lay abandoned on the rightmost chair, a folded piece of paper tucked underneath.

His footsteps were silent as he moved close enough to trail his hand along the paper. He had a sudden vision of Iris, her legs curled beneath her as she strummed the mandolin, her gaze faraway as if lost in thought. Her notebook was propped open on one knee, a pen resting on top of a blank page.

And then the force of her emotions hit him with the velocity of a speeding train, dragging him along the tracks as he was bombarded with a heady mix of fear, warmth, yearning, compassion, empathy…

Hands shaking, Blair unfolded the paper, hungry for the words that accompanied such feelings.

It was blank.

Overwhelmed, Blair let the page flutter back onto the chair. He swallowed, risking a final touch so that he could slide it back underneath the mandolin. Then he backed out of the room, turned off the light, and snuck like a ghost into his room downstairs.

A half hour later, Blair straightened up on the window seat as his bedroom door creaked open and Iris stuck her head inside.

“Hey.” Her voice was quiet, hesitant. She wrapped her hands around the lilac sleeves of her pajama top to block out the icy breeze snaking through the tall double windows. “Can I come in?”

Blair nodded, cranking the windows closed and sliding over so Iris had a place to sit. She settled on the cushion next to him, motioning to the wired earbuds visible beneath his hair.

“What are you listening to?”

He pulled out his left earbud and handed it to her.