Francesca comes on after an R&B singer finishes her version of Last Christmas. Asher looks unfazed. His lips are set in a pointed frown and he’s glowering the same way he does when I enter his office without knocking.

He’s hiding it well. To any passerby, he’s just here for the show, but I can see his eyes shift as Francesca moves across the stage like some sort of whimsical gazelle. His jaw and fists clench. He looks angry. Though, I’m not sure if it’s with her or himself.

I wonder what would happen if I talked to her.

Try to explain that Asher’s under a lot of pressure at work.

Maybe she’d give him another chance.

“She’s beautiful.” I’m in awe of her.

“She’s heartless.”

He must still be in his angry phase. I wonder if he’s already gone through his eat-three-pints-of-ice-cream-and-not-get-out-of-bed phase. I need to know these things so I can gage how far along he is in his recovery. Because if he hasn’t cried yet, then we have a very long road ahead of us.

It’s when the first snowflake falls and the countdown begins that I realize what I’m actually up against. Because Francesca is on stage cuddled up next to a guy with a ginger beard and Asher is shaking next to me. It’s not just snow in the air, but jealousy is rearing its ugly head too.

This changes everything.

She can’t see Asher like this—sad and angry and lonely—not when she’s already moved on and looks smitten and in love. He’s one forehead wrinkle away from losing his mind.

So I think fast, because I’m good at it. I know how to improvise and make do with what I have. The things I can do with a tube of glue and some popsicle sticks.

When I see Francesca turn towards the area Asher and I are standing in, I make a very rash decision.

“Trust me,” I say to him.

“What? Why? More importantly: no!”

But I’m already grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, yanking him down to my level because even in three inch heels, I’m barely five-four. I watch his eyes go wide before I close mine.

We’re kissing.

Or, at least, I’m kissing.

Asher needs some serious direction, but that’s a lesson for another day.

It’s sickeningly sweet and innocent. I giggle into his mouth and my lips part into a smile against his. I’ve always wanted to do this—kiss someone in front of a Christmas tree in the middle of New York City. I just didn’t expect it to be under these circumstances, and I definitely didn’t expect it would be with Asher McGowan.