Fox is such a delightful grump. Joy smiles into her coffee, watching him outside until he disappears from view. She moves to the living room and lounges on the love seat while checking the news and her mentions on her phone. The size of her platform being what it is made it somewhat impossible to keep up with comments and new followers. She’s used to it for the most part. Besides, burner accounts exist for a reason.

Joy scrolls just to reset the number to zero as she often does, but an interesting username catches her eye—MonahanWoodland had followed her.

Fox has a decent following for a small business. His pictures are mostly scenic shots and wood furniture because he’s a carpenter. Is that the right word? Or is it woodworker? She isn’t sure, but there’s a time-lapse video of him building a cabinet from start to finish—shopping for wood in a huge warehouse to proudly standing next to it once it’s done.

Joy’s jaw drops as she clicks a picture of a beautiful coffee table. His captions are straight and to the point: Coffee Table. Red Chestnut finish. Completed January 6th. Available. Etsy and Monahan Woodland.com

His main grid keeps to theme fairly well, minus a few pictures. She spots Summer and another woman who looks so much like Fox they must be related. There’s only one non-work-related picture of him with a golden retriever. Joy laughs—even with a very happy dog by his side, Fox looks as grumpy as ever. She double-taps that one and follows him back.

Malcolm finds her like that about thirty minutes later. Still lounging on the couch, systematically liking all of Fox’s posts to freak him out. She’s never understood why people get so skittish when a new follower likes all their old photos. What’s the point of having a public archive if everyone is expected to like it in secret?

“Hey,” Malcolm says.

Her heart clenches at the sight of him. He heads straight for her, lifting her legs, sitting down, and lowering them onto his lap.

Joy rests her phone facedown on her stomach.

Malcolm doesn’t say anything else, and neither does she. They just . . . stare at each other because that’s what they always do. Both feeling terrible. Both wanting to apologize first. Neither one wanting to make the other feel worse. He wants her to go first because he needs her to. He can’t react until she chooses the direction their conversation will go in. Just looking at him makes her want to cry and it’s just so stupid that they’re like this. There’s always some external pressure wedging itself between them.