“She’s talking to you,” Abbie murmured as she and Will approached the cabinet.
“She’s talking to you,” he shot back, cradling the kitten in one hand and grabbing a stack of plates in the other. For a moment, it was almost like old times. Before things had gotten … complicated.
Then he leaned in close, so close his face must’ve brushed the dense halo of her hair, and added, “Your grandma was right, you know. I was excited to see you, Abbie. Always am.”
She almost dropped the silverware.
Three
@DoURe1dMe: Hey. I can see you, you know.
@AbbieGrl: ???
@DoURe1dMe: Arguing in the comments of that gossip account 
@AbbieGrl: -typing-
@AbbieGrl: -typing-
@DoURe1dMe: You can’t defend me from every bullshit rumour.
@AbbieGrl: Factual inaccuracies grate at my soul and there’s nothing interesting on TV.
Will woke up the next morning to cool, white sunlight spilling through the cracks in his curtains—or rather, the curtains in one of Ms Tricia’s spare bedrooms. This Christmas, he, his mother, Abbie’s mother, the twins, and the two older Farrell brothers would all be crammed into this five-bedroom house, which meant he’d be sharing his bed pretty soon. But until then…
Until then, it was he and Abbie alone on this floor, their rooms opposite each other’s. If he hadn’t been so bone-tired last night, he would’ve done something about that. He remembered from their teenage years at impromptu house parties down the street and piss-ups at the park that Abbie had always been more open in the dark. But Will was still pretty jetlagged, so he couldn’t speak to Midnight Abbie just yet.
Soon.
That decided, he sat up, stretched, and grabbed his phone. 10:01 a.m., which meant Abbie had been awake for hours and Ms Tricia was still semi-unconscious. Perfect circumstances for a bit of light wooing. (Will was an expert in the theory of wooing, having attended the premieres of many period dramas.) He read his news alerts, which always depressed him horribly, but seemed like the right thing to do. Next, he opened his top-secret Instagram and tried not to feel disappointed at the lack of messages from Abbie. It was probably weird that they’d DM’d each other last night from across the family room. He shouldn’t expect her to crave his conversation the way he did hers. So Will shook off his frown and checked his texts.
Kara: You’re killing me here, kid. Call me back.
He deleted that one.