She’d even missed family Christmas last year, for God’s sake, which had made things easier, yes—but it had also ripped her heart out of her chest, to act like she couldn’t make it, and instead hole up with Chitra’s family and pretend not to care that her own nosy siblings and brisk mother were miles away. Months later, she’d dodged Will as best she could on her and Jase’s birthday—which had been logistically awkward, to say the least. Abbie had done her absolute best to force distance between them, and still, she couldn’t forget. Couldn’t stop the giddy, nauseous mix of embarrassment and yearning that the memory stirred in her.

Kissing Will two years ago was, quite possibly, the worst thing she’d ever done in her entire life. (Which was saying something, considering the blue-eyeshadow and red-lipstick phase she’d gone through at university.)

Will frowned at her, something urgent and demanding in his gaze, in his voice. “You do know, Abbie. You’d never do something like that without a reason.”

“There is never a good reason,” she managed, “to be unfaithful.” Hm. She’d never said that out loud before. Shame had a very interesting flavour, and by interesting, she meant disgusting, vile, zero out of ten, would not recommend.

“Wait.” She didn’t realise she’d been walking away until Will’s hand, his glove still cold and wet with snow, tightened around her elbow. “Stop. Don’t look like that, Abs. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” The whisper of his voice, combined with the whirl of snow and wind about them, made her feel hypnotised. As if he’d built a whole new world just for them, and they hung suspended in it, and she couldn’t escape so there was no use trying. What a sweet relief it was, to pretend to believe there was no use trying.

“Not your fault,” she said around the lump in her throat. She couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Not your fault,” he volleyed back. “I know he was a bastard, Abbie. We all knew. I don’t think you did anything wrong—”

“I broke my vows,” she interrupted, because that was a rather firm bottom line. “I never said ‘’til death do us part,’ but I certainly said ‘I give you my fidelity.’”

Will was quiet for a moment. She assumed he was re-examining his perspective and deciding she had done something wrong that night, until he replied, “You never did say the death thing, did you? I like that. You’re always so smart, Abs.”

She bit back a smile. One of her friends—a friend whose parents had a happy, healthy, decades-long marriage, of course—had called her unromantic for omitting that part. “Thanks? I think?”