“Right.” He put the hot chocolate down on the coffee table in front of them and ran a hand through his hair. Get it together, Reid. This wasn’t going to work if he pissed himself with excitement every five seconds. “Well, yeah, the hot chocolate’s for you.”

She looked at him, and it was warmer than the mug had felt in his hand. He had no fucking idea how she did that: how her face barely moved, how she kept her feelings wrapped up so tightly inside, yet showed them to you through her eyes. It had taken him years to realise that some people missed it completely. That they waited for her mouth to smile or her words to compliment when they should’ve been looking elsewhere.

Will always knew where to look.

“Thank you,” she murmured, dry and restrained as ever, but her eyes said, “You’re a sweetheart.”

And then she said it. She actually said, with actual words from her actual mouth, “You’re a sweetheart.”

He blinked, frowned, wondered if he’d just had some sort of stroke. “Er … did you say something?”

“Yes.” She sipped the chocolate. The mug was still in front of her face when she mumbled, “I said you’re a sweetheart.”

Will slowly, slowly realised that he hadn’t imagined a thing. She’d said it. She’d said something nice, out loud, to another human being, and that human being wasn’t an infant or a close friend in floods of tears or a corpse on the day of its funeral. “Holy shit, Abigail.”

She glared. “What?”

“Nothing.” Will knew what was good for him.

Her glare turned into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Then his big mouth said, “Post-divorce therapy?”

She scowled, which was one expression she’d never hidden. “I am going to murder my own twin with my bare hands.”

“Actually, Harlan told me.”

“I am going to murder all my brothers with my bare hands. How unfortunate.”

“All of them? What’d Noah do?” Will found himself smiling, which was unusual for a conversation about fratri-whatnot, but Abbie had always had that effect on him.

“Nothing yet,” she said, “but I’d like to cover my bases.”

“Fair enough.” Will’s smile faded. “Sorry, by the way. I think he thought I already knew.”

“Probably,” she agreed, and gave him the look that meant Don’t worry about it, so Will didn’t. When Abbie was done with something, she was done with it.

“Enjoy the chocolate. After my workout,” he said, “I’m going to make you brunch.”

She put down the mug and pulled a needle gently through her hoop of fabric. “Honey, you know you can’t cook.”

“I took lessons.”