Page 41 of Break the Ice

‘Well, that. I also need to track him on NORAD.’

‘I don’t know what that is,’ she says.

‘It’s a military organisation responsible for airspace.’

‘That sounds intense.’ She gestures that she’s about to take off her vest top.

‘Oh. I’ll leave.’

‘Is that your phone?’ She points to the stool next to the bath.

‘Yeah, I was taking pictures.’

‘In the bath? Kinky,’ she says, and giggles.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. ‘Not like that. Of the copper.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she says, smiling cheekily, before kicking me out of the bathroom and shutting but not locking the door.

‘What have you done?’ Phoebe asks me as she emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, her hair curled up in a towel turban. She’s wearing those star-print pyjama bottoms and another vest top and aggressively applying moisturiser to her face. She comes over and picks up the chocolate gift sets, all wrapped up in snowflake paper and silver ribbon. She inspects the parcels from all angles.

‘This is so fricking fancy. They’ll open them and then be sorely disappointed it’s just chocolate. What magic origami is this?’ she says, her mouth still agape in amazement.

‘I like wrapping gifts, it’s a skill. It’s all in the angles. The⁠—’

‘Geometry, I get it. Are those my sister’s slippers? I was going to just shove those in a gift bag,’ she says. She examines the ribbons and the gift stickers I’ve attached for her to write names on.

‘I enjoy the challenge, shall we say.’

‘Well, if anyone asks, that was all me,’ she says, laughing and shaking off her surprise. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She turns away, unwinding the turban from her head and scrunching her curls with the towel. I like watching them spring back into place as she bends down to pet Steve, who is sleepy and restful next to the fire. ‘Are you all cosy, poochy? Aren’t you a good boy?’

‘He’s a very good boy. I also took him out before, and you’ll be glad to know he’s pooping normally now.’

‘Well, that is a huge relief,’ she says, scooping up his jaw with one hand and kissing the top of his muzzle. I always like how she does this, and how he closes his eyes for a moment to take in the reassurance. She senses me looking and turns to me. By her side is that bottle of Irish liqueur she got out before. This means she was drinking in the bath, like Miss Hannigan.

‘So did you work out the Firestick?’ she asks.

‘Yep. I also set up the Scrabble, and I’ve cued up something called Love at Mistletoe Falls that looks atrocious. Also…’ I hold up some of our shopping from Lidl and she smiles.

‘S’mores?’ she says, smiling and clapping her hands.

‘Yeah. I thought we deserved a treat.’

She looks over more closely. ‘With Hobnobs? Controversial.’

‘And peanut butter. I like to put a layer on the biscuit layer.’

She looks horrified. ‘That sounds absolutely obscene. I’m in.’

I start opening the packets and getting everything ready. ‘It’s actually a Christmas Eve tradition in my house. My mom would get us all in our pyjamas and we’d sit by the fire, put our stockings up, pour Santa a glass of milk and make s’mores.’

She pouts. ‘That sounds so fucking wholesome.’ I laugh. ‘So walk me through this,’ she adds.

I hand her a skewer with a marshmallow on the end and she sits cross-legged next to me in front of the burner. ‘So we toast the marshmallows in the fire until they’re charred and go squishy,’ I explain.

We sit there for a moment, the flames high in the stove, and she looks at me, grinning. ‘How are your new fisherman trousers? How are those pockets working for you?’

‘I’ve counted ten pockets, by the way,’ I tell her. ‘They also have an adjustable waistband.’ She nods. I realise that might be the sexiest sentence she will ever hear. ‘So then you take the marshmallow, place it on the Hobnob along with a square of chocolate and then sandwich with another biscuit and pull out the skewer and…’ I demonstrate, and watch as she copies me. ‘And then you eat.’