Title Page

Copyright Page

Text copyright © 2021 Rainbow Rowell

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Amazon Original Stories, Seattle

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Amazon Original Stories are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

eISBN: 9781542034494

Cover design by Micaela Alcaino

1

Christmas 2020

Reagan was carrying too much.

Her overnight bag and groceries, plus a glass pan of Jell-O salad—too much Jell-O salad—because she didn’t have a smaller glass dish, and Grandma had always made it in a glass dish, so you could see all the colors.

Reagan was carrying too much, and the driveway was slick as fuck. There was snow on the ground, and her grandpa hadn’t salted the driveway or shoveled his walk. She couldn’t really blame him—he never went anywhere. Her parents dropped off his groceries once a week.

She walked extra slow, taking small steps.

“Hey there!” a man called.

Reagan looked up, and her foot hit a patch of ice. She went down quick, landing on one knee—and then on her hip, and then on the groceries, twisting the whole time to keep the glass pan in the air. “Fuck.”

“Holy shit!” the same voice swore. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Reagan shouted from the ground.

“Don’t move!” Whoever it was was getting closer.

“You don’t move—are you wearing a mask?”

“Oh . . . no.”

“Then stay where you are!” Reagan set the Jell-O salad on the ground. “I’m fine!”

She pushed up onto her knees. She could see him now, the neighbors’ son—the quiet one with no chin. Standing about ten feet away from her. He had his arms out like he was still about to help her up.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No.” She was a little hurt. Her knee felt scraped, and her hip was already throbbing. She lifted herself up onto her feet—

Then hit another patch of ice. The guy darted toward her. She caught her balance and pointed at him. “No!”

He stopped, his hands still up. She could see his breath.

“I swear to God, Mason”—Reagan didn’t even remember that she remembered his name—“I have been quarantining for two weeks, and I am not giving my grandpa Covid because you can’t listen.”

“Okay,” he said. Then he pulled his scarf up over his face—and Reagan thought at first that he was trying to hide his nonexistent chin. But then she realized he was trying not to blow germs at her. “Just be careful,” he said.

“I was being careful before you tripped me!”

“Before I tripped you?”

“You yelled at me!”

“I was saying hello so that I didn’t startle you.”

“Well, good work!”

“Reagan?” someone new shouted. “Are you okay?”