It was an extraordinary dry spell, for Reagan—she was a curmudgeon, but she’d never been a monk.

The pandemic had changed her.

She’d gotten a lot pickier about who she let get this close. She’d gotten kind of fixated on repercussions.

But Reagan had kissed Mason before, and nothing bad had happened. It was a purely good moment in the middle of a very bad time. She hadn’t forgotten it. She hadn’t stopped wondering what might have happened if she could have kept her shit together.

Mason was leaning over her. He had one hand on the railing and one under her chin. She liked the way he kissed—gentle, but with purpose. She put her arms around him, to hold him steady.

They kissed for a long time. Until Mason pulled away to look at her.

“What,” Reagan whispered.

“I was making sure you weren’t crying.”

She poked his ribs. “Shut up.”

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m just cold.”

“It is December.” He was standing up, taking off his jacket.

“I’m not going to wear your jacket,” she said. “I’m not a fifteen-year-old cheerleader.”

“You were a fifteen-year-old cheerleader,” he said, holding out the jacket.

She took it. “How do you remember that? I got kicked out after one semester.”

He shrugged. “Put on the jacket, so I can kiss you again without feeling guilty.”

Reagan did. It was quilted inside, and still warm from him.

Mason sat down beside her on the top step. She had to scoot over to make room. He leaned behind her to take another bite of Jell-O salad.

She craned her head to look over her shoulder. “You can take that with you,” she said. “You don’t have to finish it right now.”

Mason smiled with all of his teeth. He slid his arm around her waist. “I’ll get the dish back to you.”

Reagan looked down the steps, out into the yard, past the fence. “Yeah,” she said. “All right.”

You can read more about Reagan in the novel Fangirl.

The Prince and the Troll

ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A LAND, THERE LIVED A BOY.

Well, he was a boy, but now he’s a man. Tall and strong and full of purpose. With middling blue eyes and middling brown hair, and a smile for almost everyone he meets.

He has work that makes him feel useful.

He has a house that makes him feel safe.

And he’s lucky to live right along the road—the long, wide road. He can see the smoothest part of it from his window.

He may as well be a prince.

One warm January day, the man was walking along the wide road from his safe house to his useful work when he dropped his phone over a bridge. “Damn it all to darkness!” He hadn’t even noticed the bridge.