#rosesonbreeze002

[confusionism]

“‘The good and the bad?’” It’s as though he’s tasting the words, getting a feel for their texture. He knows there’s a seriousness to what she says — a bigger story behind the laughter and smiles — but he also can’t not tease, “You know I don’t mind that y’all are loud, right?” With a front row seat to the Ricci dynamic, a fully immersive experience, Aiden thinks he’s gotten more than most would have, and he’s grateful through and through. It would be an understatement to say that he’s never felt more welcome. That much must be clear in how his shoulders have never looked looser, and he feels an ease in letting out a small laugh.

“Hey,” he pats her hand twice, “do you, coach.” He doesn’t need to admit it, but he does: “I like you the way you are.”

The more he says it, the more he feels open to saying it. And it’s not like he’s ever been opposed to such expressions of affection, but there’s never been a reason for them to begin with. It’s cheesy as fuck, but with Anna he feels like the plants that she asks of, watered and fed, warmed by a constant source of light. Whether or not it’s her intention, Aiden can feel himself growing with every minute they spend together, in his sharing and in his offering. In his joking, too, as clear as how he says,

“The plus side is that I know how my closet looks.” His way of affirming her suggestion without explicitly acknowledging it. “I don’t have to worry about messing anything up, if you throw me in there again.” The innocence of his expression is broken by a laugh, at the sheer silliness of their circumstances and the pure enjoyment of going through it all in the first place. And maybe it’s the height of his spirits that have him moving bolder than he typically would: he wraps his fingers around her hand and gives it a squeeze. A quiet, ‘Yes. All of the above.’

“I can have someone check while I’m gone.” A personal assistant somewhere down the managerial team’s chain, or maybe even a player who owes him a favor or two. “I’m more interested in figuring out this ‘Who-who.’” He’s playing it cool despite the fact that he’s thoroughly amused. It all translates as a simple question: “Will you show me your favorite spots there, too?”

"The good and the bad." She reassures, with a keen look in her eye. There's plenty of good to be found in the heart of her family, teaching humility and openness. But no one is perfect, which she's keen to remind Aiden of. Her extroversion can be, and sometimes is, pushy. Her open-heart can be naive and grating to skeptics. Silly girl, her last boyfriend called her. All things learned from the Ricci's and their world view.

"I would have guessed." No man starts off as an athlete, then subsequently moves to a foreign country if they weren't familiar with moving around. Change is a constant, but those grown to it manage it better. Judging by the ease in which Aiden navigates the change, well, Anna needn't know for certain to piece it together. "That's a good idea. And," she sits up. "In the meantime, there's always my dad. You know he'll gladly talk football with you." They may be American, but her father's Italian. A devotion to football feels mandatory. It's not the same as Aiden's dad, she knows, but Anna's only ever had a father's love. Why not share it?

"You're not exactly a social media savant, babe. I had to check the game schedule." She counters with a ginger smirk, no ill-meaning behind her teasing. Aiden may be predictable when it comes to work, by virtue of its transparency. But his personal life? Anna didn't have stories, reels, and posts to dig through that weren't tied into the football club. Luckily, he touches her cap, and Anna knows that's no longer a problem.

"Well..." She tilts her head, a glimmer of something equal parts flirtatious and shy in her eye. "I've never been to your place. And, it might be nice to stay somewhere without. You know," Anna shrugs sheepishly. "-- Without my parents in the other room." It's bold and brash, but compared to how Anna typically is, it's conservative by those standards. Rare is any relationship she's had that's been this innocent. It's all on purpose, she knows, but she's only human.

"Really?" She lights up like the Christmas Tree in her purview. "You'd come to Paris?" Somehow, it's more surprising than dragging him to her family home. "Mister Le Coucou?" She says, in the exaggerated American accent Aiden trotted out for fun. Already, she's buzzing, and it's only sensitivity that slows her down. "As long as you don't mind being away from home for so long." She's used to it - Anna doesn't even have a permanent home, her things scattered across a number of different rentals and her parents' house. And while she relishes the feeling of him, the one she has with him. Well, he has a physical one, too. "No plants that will go unwatered?"

[confusionism]

Aiden raises a curious brow at the sharp remark, but he mentions nothing of it. It might not be his place, and it definitely isn’t the time, not with how immediately Anna switches gears. He follows her lead with a sip from his own glass. “Your family’s good like that.” He hums. “It’s easy to see where you get it from.”

He’s also finding that it’s the core of his favorite things about her. The warm heart, the earnestness, the openness— not only has she had positive values instilled in her, but she’s also had the guidance to let them shine. Anna is unapologetic about who she is, what she does, and the words she speaks. Aiden is keen to absorb it all, but that must be a funny thing about admiring someone so much: you feel keen to reflect the same right back. It may not always be perfect, but it’s something in the grand scheme of a life wherein he often says nothing.

“I moved around a lot when I was little.” Sometimes sharing a room in an already-cramped house, other times staying in apartments that felt less spacious than a large box. The most recent spot was a short row of manufactured homes that looked closer to old shipping bins abandoned in the desert. “Honestly not sure if my Pops is where we were when I left, so… I should reach out first.” He will, at the very least to make sure that there was anything to take her to, to begin with.

With that — and many other thoughts over the last few weeks — it’s not lost on him, that his conceptualization of ‘tomorrow’ is beginning to include a certain brown-eyed beauty sitting mere inches away. Despite the newness of it all, and his lack of experience with this direction, Aiden isn’t scared. Call it an extension of the reflection, but the smile that he wears speaks volumes of how easy it is to talk to her. To make plans with her. He presses a palm over the top of her hand.

“I’m not that hard to find.” Clearly. She’d had no trouble figuring out where to march into for answers, and one couldn’t forget that his calendar was largely dictated by the team’s schedule. He reminds her of such, leaning forward and tapping the brim of her cap. “Just follow the blue, right?” That’s also an unspoken admission: he’d simply tell her if she asked.

He thinks nothing more and nothing less of how he counters, “London for the New Year. Anywhere special we should go? Or were you thinking, like— a quiet night in?” Because maybe she wants or needs a break between the busyness of the holidays and the rush at the start of the year. But there’s no exact explanation for why he suddenly mentions, “They don’t need me back ‘till the 10th.” He runs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe you need someone to carry your bags?”

There's a rush of bashfulness that colors her cheeks, something Anna will blame on the slight chill. She's in a profession that has the power to make her ego massive, and knock it down to size in the same breath. Containing it is how she keeps two feet on the ground, and her spirits high. But hearing about her dad and just how proud he was? "He said that, did he?" The Ricci's aren't withholding in their praise or affection. Coming from Aiden, though, is proof that his affection is true even when she's not around. "It helps Isabella couldn't make it." It's a small dig, revealing that Anna isn't all sunshine and rainbows. There's an uncertainty there, an insecurity around her big sister. "No, no," she claws back, taking a sip of her whiskey. "It's sweet. My dad's good like that."

And yet, not all fathers can be. Inhaling softly, she searches Aiden's eyes for a lie, a puffery. Something to tell her that it would do more harm than good, to encourage Aiden to reach out. Still in the fresh bloom of a new whatever-it-is that they started, and Anna is already fiercely protecting. His is a quiet heart, but just as tender, and it's only once she decides he means it that she nods. "Then you'll never have to ask, what if? You could call, write..." Pausing, she adds jokingly; "Fly there, bring a girl with you." Anna could handle Arizona. She's a wrecking ball of emotional walls, and she could rock a bikini by the desert pool.

"But you should reach out." That's the bottom line, encouraged with a nod. "Whenever you're ready."

She lets them sit in the vulnerability of her words. No expectations, per se. Just hope, shining in her eyes. A small laugh, amused at his retelling. Is that how he'll refer to it now? Just as easily, Anna's laughter dilutes into a heartfelt stare. There were no words or definitions. No logistical plans of how to make it work, with their lifestyles and travel schedules. Yet Anna's never felt such a commitment from any man, and Anna places a hand on their touching knees.

"I'll gladly have you... London, New York, Timbuktu--" She can hear her heart beating in her chest now. "I'll find you anywhere." She wants to press on, ask about the when and where. Talk about how they'll make it work. Finally, she settles for the near future; "Maybe," she thinks out loud. "We can head back to London for the New Year?" Somewhere more equal footing, like his place or her rental. "My parents are heading on a cruise, and I'm not working until the 3rd in Paris?"

[confusionism]

Anna may have considered other spots more ‘posh’ than this, but Aiden wouldn’t ever have wagered such a guess, not with the wide variety of goods she has gathered, and not with the coziness of the spot she has found. He lives for the places like this: low-key despite the constant buzz, easy to disappear into no matter the odds. He gives thanks for her work before scooting his chair closer.

“Maybe I will.” Not just ‘maybe.’ He didn't build the life he has now by hanging between the edges of ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ and he won’t start with any of that now. “—Not because I wouldn’t have peace if I didn’t, but… I guess it’s—” he tilts his head as his words slow, “—it’s something your dad said. When we were fixing the lights in the garage?” Slicing a dumpling carefully, he explains, “He was really, really excited you were there. You and Theo. Like just the thought of you guys coming home, and how proud he was.”

Aiden has never needed approval, and he doesn’t need it now. Rather, it’s more of: “I don’t really know what Pops thinks.” How he feels. Is it any surprise that his father is as closed-off as him? “—Could be good to know.” Why was he always so difficult to reach? Why had he never accepted a cent of his recent years' earnings?There were always more questions than answers, and when the latter no longer fit into his typical cycle of thinking, of training, of simply being, Aiden was content to leave them be. Maybe it was time for a change?

Now, his next bit of silence isn’t from the heaviness of his words as much as it is the need for focus. Mealtimes have always been quieter than the rest, one part savoring the flavours, another part appreciating the mere substance. He hums approval without noticing it, as thoughtful in his chews as he is swift.

The only time he slows is when she broaches a different kind of ‘maybe,’ the kind that they haven’t quite spoken of at all. When he swallows, he leans back in his seat, watching as she drags her fork around. “You think you’ll still be ‘crazy’ about ‘some guy’ by then?” The question is as soft as it is earnest. He’s made plenty of people ‘crazy,’ sure, but it’s never been like this. And she’s been so generous over the past few weeks, beyond the patience with his notorious fumbles…

Maybe it’s his turn.

“I met this girl who…” What was the best way to describe Anna Ricci? “She showed up at my office, ready to chew my ass out, to tell me to ‘bugger off.’” It was largely stupidity on his part, but his lips curve into a small smile. He shifts in his seat, gently bumping his knee against hers. “I’m glad she didn’t. I really like her, and… If she’d have me…” A question, an offer, a confession, he speaks as calmly as he does, no matter how warm the center of his chest feels. “I’d celebrate more than just Christmas with her.”

"I've got this." Anna's a take-charge sort of woman, and she's observed enough of Aiden's likes and dislikes from their short time together to know what to pick. Ultimately, they end up with an assortment fit for a shmorgasboard; crunchy flatbreads of every variety, charred brussel sprouts, pork dumplings contrasted with portabello arancini... All finished off with two whiskeys, neat. "There looks good." It's on a less crowded spot in the outdoor eatery, with a good view of the tree without drawing too much focus.

"Have you?" She guesses from Aiden's pause that the message was akin to that in a bottle, set off to sea. The question remains; was he secretly relieved that his dad never called back, or haunted by it? She unfurls the cutlery, attentive as she sets up both their settings. "You try, too." Anna mentions gently. Would he have called, if a part of him didn't want to try?

She doesn't need to know everything, to know that it's in his head. Yet unlike her Christmas presents, this isn't something they can tie up in a bow, with crisp corner and a tidy ending. Some things are, and may continue to be, messy. And though Aiden doesn't seem like the sort to engage in a messy, he is far more formidable to withstand one. "I think that you should call him, if you can be at peace with any outcome."

Reverting back to her Anna-sense of grounding, she continues; "I showed up at your office ready for you to blow me off. Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just not that into you..." She quotes the cliches she's heard, ones that don't hold much power anymore. "And I know he's your dad, I know it's not the same as telling some guy you're crazy about to bugger off. But some of it translates-" Like bravery and acceptance, hard things to build up to, impossible to deny once there.

"I think you've taught me just as much." How to fix a loose wheel on her luggage, the importance of not eating too much sugar before watching a soccer game (she was sleepless that night). "Maybe..." She plays with the food on her plate, before adding; "Maybe we can do it again, next year."

[confusionism]

“Regret nothing.” If anything, it’s quite the opposite, with him pushing around the blocks in his brain, making as much space as possible to let every detail sink in. And it need not be said that her ‘secret’ is safe with him. To begin with, his directness has always meant that Aiden is a buoy in the water, rather than a bridge between two ends. He floats along effortlessly, almost conspiratorially when he presses the side of his arm against her. “What’re you showing me first?”

Suffice it to say, there’s a lot around them. From the crowd with its early-in-the-day ebb and flow, to the offerings that smell as good as they look, one can get lost on this block alone and never have a shortage of things to do. Whether it’s the city’s wonders rubbing off on him, touching the sensitive parts that never see the light of day, or maybe just Anna’s sense of comfort creating a blanket over his shoulders, coaxing him out slowly, he considers her words carefully and answers.

“I left a message.” He never called more than two times before letting the voicemail handle the rest. “I know how it sounds like— that maybe I’m avoiding him, or maybe I have a reason to avoid him. He’s not bad. Just…” Infirm. Undependable. “—He tries.” He tried.

But as many knew, trying wasn’t always enough, and for Aiden that meant taking advantage of an early growth spurt, putting in the work where his father’s efforts came up short. Despite how much anger he felt toward the world, it was never toward the guy who had raised him with what he had. It could never be.

“You think… Should I call him again?” His voice is quieter, now, as though speaking of something that’s only for them. It is, but it also isn’t, but it’s in-line with the reality that, “It’s the best Christmas I’ve had.” It’s all thanks to her. There’s no denying it, and he really wouldn’t, anyway. “The most festive. I know I have more to learn—” like how to make a snowman that doesn’t look close to the grave, and how to sip cider without burning his tongue, “—but it’s been a good ride.”

"You might just regret that. I've got an appetite on me." She makes good choices; running every morning, making sure she keeps off the caffeine, and Anna certainly eats her vegetables first. But as far as models go, she's an anomaly, and she's listened to many a snide comment about just how much she could eat. "Just don't tell my agent." It's an ongoing fight. No matter that Anna keeps her figure, or books the best campaigns. A model who eats? It's only cute in 10 second TikTok reels.

She listens without jumping in, eyes and ears keen to absorb everything that Aiden is willing to share with her. For all the times that Anna can be the persuasive gust of wind against emotional fences, it's not always her first reaction. She knows the importance, especially for someone like Aiden, to give in the pieces he's ready for. "I try. Work tends to get in the way. Everyone wants to shoot summer in the winter. But this year-" Anna wasn't booked, Aiden was by her side; a great time to come home.

It also helps that her sister never makes it home. Something personal of her own, that Anna isn't quite ready to share yet.

"Well, this year might be the best Christmas I ever had." And there's no denying how she lets her eyes linger, the implication written in the way she squeezes his arm. It's because of him. And she holds him a little tighter, when he mentions his father. Anna's only ever fallen into her parents' arms, so the distance way of speaking is foreign to her. It makes her heart ache, really.

"You've made such a big life for yourself." Anna finally says, glancing at the ground. "There's nothing wrong with protecting that, until things are ready to be changed." She doesn't know Aiden's father, can't know what is or isn't his fault. But Anna knows enough to know that putting things back together is timing, as much as it is a willingness. "Does he know you're back in the States right now?"

[confusionism]

He bites back a small smile. It’s charming, the way her energy bounces around from one thought to the next. “You’re right,” he counters, “but I gotta set an example.” After all, cups weren’t won at the bottom of a glass. The typical, rigorous training regimen was a big reason why the post-season celebrations were notorious. There were also other matters at play, mostly of his past, from the lessons from his father to the late night shifts behind the counter— but those stories could wait for another time. As far as Anna knew, or perhaps expected, he ate as cleanly as possible, trained as diligently as the players, and steered clear of whatever would mess with his mental clarity.

“Le who?” He’s picked up some French through work, but he emphasizes the American-ness of his accent. Either way, it’s all for show, an easy segue into his answer. “Nah. C’mon.” He keeps her arm tucked against him just a little bit tighter, more emphasis on how he says, “Let me treat my coach to her faves. My thanks, ‘cause she didn’t give up on the rookie.”

It’s his way of saying: it’s already nice. Being here, being beside her, either one and all of the above. He thinks back to their short excursion out of the city mere weeks ago, sharing one of his cherished locations. This could be the same thing here, right? He imagines her, younger than she is now but still just as pretty, her laugh more radiant than even the star at the very top of the tree. He wonders, briefly, if she might be able to speak of something similar years from now: a fond memory of creating these precious firsts with him.

“You… Come back? Every year?” They step forward in some line and he clarifies, “To see your parents, I mean. To skate and hit up your spots.” It’s not lost on him that she’s given a more-than-intimate look at where she comes from, what comprises the foundation of who she is. The thought coaxes him back to an earlier question that he’d left unanswered. “My Pops and I… Well, we haven’t seen each other in a couple years. We talk sometimes—” for birthdays and Father’s Day, at the least, “—but it’s tricky to go all the way.” Schedules. Feelings. Go figure. And lest she suggest an alternative kind of plan, “—He tried visiting, once. Didn’t work out.”

"I don't give out phony compliments, trust me." Anna may be generous with her time, energy, and affection - but not about her assessment of things. Honest to a fault, it's been misread as obnoxious behavior more than she could count. Fortunately, Aiden's exactly the sort to see it for what it is - respect by way of honesty. "They have these insane goat cheese, pepper, and shrimp pizza." It makes her sound like a gourmand, but really, Anna just favored the oddest combinations. "But also this classic pepperoni slice that's just -" She can only level her eyes with him. There's no describing it any other way, but with a serious look

"Hey, you live in England now! Drinking is the national past time." She defends, once the skates are promptly returned. Immediately taking his arm again, like it's instinct. As if she's been doing it forever, instead of a few weeks (if that). "I actually really love this spot. It's right by the tree, and I've got fond memories of being sixteen with my parents." It's an affordable, outdoor eatery with rows of food trucks and twinkle lights. The sort of place everyone goes.

"Unless-" She blinks up, realizing it. "I don't know, you want to go somewhere more posh? Le Coucou? Eleven Madison Park?" She knows Aiden isn't like her famous, social hungry exes. But Anna can be fair and admit the food is great, even if most of her dates dragged her there just to show her off. "I just thought--" She shrugs, as they approach the outdoor space with its heat lamps and darling view of the tree. "This could be nice, too?"

[confusionism]

To Anna’s credit, she isn’t entirely wrong. Aiden spends the next half-hour locked in as though he were preparing for a championship match. He can skate around decently without the extra support, although he never mentions his preference for it aloud, and every turn feels less tedious than the last. Maybe next time, he’ll be skilled enough to challenge that little brat to a race, and then they’ll see who’s really ‘adorable.’ At the end of it all, however, Aiden’s too fatigued to be mad; he collapses onto the bench, giving a moment for his muscles to cool down from their strain.

“You think?” Based off of soreness alone, he would rate his performance as ‘middling’ at best. Following her gaze, he nods back at her suggestion and hums. “Guess it’s five somewhere. They got any snacks, though?” Apparently fury has a way of burning off even the most generous stack of pancakes. He begins working on his skates’ laces. “I hear a lot about New York having the best stuff. Pizza, bagels. Even the desserts?”

Once they’ve gotten their gear off, Aiden takes the initiative at grabbing both pairs of skates and depositing them back with the attendant. He ambles his way back to Anna, his legs feeling faintly like jelly. “What are you in the mood for, though?” Because she may have swore to be the best tour guide he’s ever known, but this can’t be a day based entirely for his sake. “Like, uhm— where’s your go-to spot on a chill day? Or somewhere new that you wanna go?”

And as for things coming full circle: just as they’re walking away, he catches sight of the kid with the sneaky moves. The kid waves, and Aiden simply returns the gesture, still narrow-eyed, but with a measure of respect. He’d charmed his girl. Game well-played.

Really, the kid is precious! With dark brown hair and puppy dog eyes that can make anyone go tender, Anna's a lost cause. Might she have noticed some silly behavior while they were skating? Maybe. But she chooses to see the best - the little kid with a scuffed ego. "Go on, then. Let it rip!" She was exactly the same at that age, taunting and overly-confident. Rolling her eyes at Aiden, she gives him an extra nudge, laughing when the kid does nothing else but skate off.

"He was adorable." She says, like it's an answer to Aiden's question. Sure, she saw it, but cute triumphs over naughty behavior. Besides - "And he's just motivating you to kick it into high gear." She's watched enough football games with Aiden at the helm, either as part of the team's promotion or even during her tenure as Lex Wentworth's trophy girlfriend. He's always motivated when there's something on the line, someone to prove wrong.

She pulls Aiden along, managing to make at least a few rotations with minimal risk of injury. Halfway through the skate, Anna's even convinced they must look like a classic holiday RomCom. When the Zamboni is pulled out, Anna helps Aiden onto a nearby bench by the skate return. "You weren't half bad, babe!" She says with a nudge, plopping back next to him. "Let's get a treat on a job well done. Cocoa, or..." Shrugging, she peers at the outdoor bar. "Something stronger?"

[confusionism]

"Wait—" Damn the 'sex,' because it almost sends him flying off of his feet. Genuinely. Aiden is far from a prude, but that was hardly the topic he expected facing. And not only does he have to deal with not totally eating it like he did this morning, but now he has to face that goddamned kid who's been acting like the king of the rink. The kid swipes by swiftly and Aiden pulls a move, like something out of a stunt show, slipping and sliding, looking ready to twerk before he catches his balance one more.

This time, when he breathes, he holds either side of his hips. "I grew up in Arizona," some backwater place not even mentioning, "south of Phoenix. Definitely no ice there." The only notable spot for folks their age and younger was a bowling alley where half of the lights stayed off and the other half flickered. The place smelled of canned cheese and the owner was a strange man who couldn't stand upright— similar to the geriatric-like position that Aiden is in now. "I was 20-something the first time I saw snow."

He wasn't ashamed of that before, and he isn't ashamed of it now. Aiden has always held his worth as more than all that he's missing, be it in finances, in luxuries, and in everything in between. What he is bothered by is the fact that some little shit seems to be targeting him. He wonders: does he know that he makes grown men cry on the regular?

Shaking his head, attempting to shake off the heat, he refocuses on lighter things. It's easy when he's got the light right beside him. He resets his position. "One more time." With clear intent, he takes a deep breath and follows Anna's instructions. All things considered, it goes smoother than before. "I can ride a bike," he announces, lest she think that he's incapable of other things too. He won't mention the first part of her example. "—Just saying."

It's no surprise that Aiden takes instruction well. As quick and adaptable as one would expect, from a professional coach. Even if he think he looks silly (which anyone would, mind you), he carries it with such keen attention. Anna knows it's just a matter of time before he's skating circles around the same brat that nearly knocked into him. "You're doing great." Anna murmurs encouragingly, loosening her grip - just a little. Something to force the balance on himself, rather than on her. She busies herself keeping up with his footwork, a good natured laugh at every expletive. "Not a lot of ice skating where you're from?" She wonders out loud, nudging forward.

"I--" It's that rare flash of insecurity, bubbling beneath her bright surface. She's not a tortured person. Complaining about anything, even the things that keep her up at night, feels foolish. But Aiden is staring at her, the way only he can, and coaxes it out of her. "It does. It's an honest job." No matter what people think. Anna makes her sacrifices; no permanent home, long hours on set. "I just wish people too me seriously, at least sometimes."

"They will." She decides, confidently. Just because they don't now, doesn't mean they won't in the future. Anna's young, there's time. And she's starting strong with Aiden, someone who celebrates her seriously. Laughing, she grips him once more. "It's like sex, or riding a bike." She teases, beginning to release his arm. "Once you get the hang of it, you'll never stop."

[confusionism]

Aiden’s thoughts will have to wait; he has a life to save before anything else. In this case: his.

He’s content to watch Anna give her little demonstration — just as he had been quiet so as to let her speak before — and it’s in this wordless observation that he thinks he can make out the subtleties of skating. Not quite as light as handling a ball, but not with so much weight that you slip. Maybe. Experience was always the best teacher. Anna could be a very close second. He clears his throat when she reaches for his arm, and with a tiny shuffle, he—

“Oh, shit.” But he’s safe! He looks ready to go down on his knees and pray, but it’s with some kind of blessing that he remains upright, his free arm sticking out. “Okay. Just—” his breath makes a small cloud in the air as he does his best to straighten out. He’s like a flower, slowly blooming to full height. Relief washes over him when his gaze is finally back above hers. One more puff of air. “—Think I’m good.”

And for the next couple of minutes, at least, he’s a baby penguin learning how to waddle through the snow.

“Hey, A,” he finally says, ten inches away from where they started, “—you don’t… Don’t think you’re brilliant too?” She might not be wholly self-deprecating finding the value in what she does, but something in her words doesn’t quite sit well in his stomach, and it’s definitely not just nerves. “‘m sure what you do takes brains. Lots. Lots of deals and—” oh shit, he wobbles, “—and talking, too.” He won’t tell her what she can and can’t do, what she should and shouldn’t, but he can acknowledge all of the good that he sees. He suddenly pauses and presses his hand atop hers. His breath is embarrassingly labored. “You’re not shallow.” One more breath. A nod. “They better celebrate that.”

Who ‘they’ is, he won’t say exactly, because on one hand, he means ‘everyone.’ On the other, he’s distracted— laughing in that subtle way that he does, through the air he struggles to catch. “—Thought you said this was easy?”

"I'm a pretty girl." Anna answers, unblinking. "I know, I know. Women are supposed to be pretty, but never actually own it. Well, I do. So, I picked a profession where that's celebrated." There's value to what she does, she knows. Being a model was a form of artistry, whether people believed it or not. Anna made more than her parents ever saw in their lives, and used it to things for herself and others. But on some banal level, isn't that why? "My sister - the one whose ticket you took - she's brilliant. A surgeon. Smart as anything. And my brother, Theo, who you met at Christmas Dinner? He's a saint by nature. Does all this work activism work. Human rights, civil rights..." Finishing the lace of her boots, Anna sighs. What was her point, other than revealing so much of her vulnerabilities before she's even on the ice?

"I guess my point is we all have natural talents. And mine is the way I look, how I can make people pay attention. It's shallow work sometimes, but... I like to think I've made good out of it." She's uncertain if she'll be as remarkable as her siblings, or even Aiden. Be the sort of person with true talent and ability that leaves its mark. But at the very least, she can sleep knowing how much of her time and money goes to elevating women's charities. After all, philanthropy is the only thing she can turn to that doesn't scoff at the fact that she's a glorified hanger sometimes.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Anna winces. It was much more than Aiden asked for, far more revealing that she intended. Luckily, by the time her skates hit the ice, she's weightless. Making a quick twirl, to get used to the weight of it. She pauses, right as the little boy wonder whips past Aiden. Skating back, Anna takes his arm, using her stability to prop him up. "So, weight forward, and you want to push off one skate and then another. Like, pointed outwards." She instructs, gradually pulling him forward

[confusionism]

“Insane. That’s one way to put it.” There are plenty other words that could amount to the sights, the feels, the smells in their surroundings, but Aiden just doesn’t have them all. And maybe that speaks volumes to the limitations of his experience outside of work, but either way, he’s like a rookie in their first time on the green. To think, they’re not even on the ice yet. They find an empty bench one the skates are in their hands, and then comes the easiest part of the entire process.

“What drew you to your work?” A direct question without announcing her identity. His voice might be low, and he’s always been good at being discreet, but he knows all too well that there’s never too much caution when being out in public. “Thought you might’ve been scouted or something.”

He may not be aware of all of the ins and outs of her kind of public career, but he knows that there are always stars that shine the brightest, even in a sea full of them. It had only taken one sight of Anna sauntering into the set of the team’s promotional campaign for him to recognize that she fit the term’s outward expectations easily. Now he knows, it isn’t just her beauty that turns heads effortlessly, it’s a sum of everything: the confidence, the optimism, the work ethic. These are all traits he considers, recognizes, and admires.

Once his skates are all laced up, Aiden stands and gets a feel for the blade beneath his feet. Finding balance isn’t so bad, but—

WHAM!

Some kids slam against the side of the rink, then sink to the bottom of their icy cage. “Uh…” Aiden’s brow furrows. No, no, don’t get scared now. Really, it’s not the fear of the physical that stops him. He’s been there countless times before, between machines and between other players who’d wanted to force him out of the game. It’s more of the unfamiliarity, the fact that he’s got plenty of new things to learn. “Wanna talk me through this?” She could show him, too, grab his arm like she did before, but it wouldn’t be him if he just said that.

Some things, Anna just knows. She can hear it in his silence - her words leave its mark. One of those fleeting, seemingly insignificant moments that might mean nothing. But here and now, it means something, and she holds his hand a little tighter as a result. Anna is no saint of a person, despite the angelic wings she wore on runways. She has her flaws, like her obnoxious behavior and naivete. However, she knows what she can be for Aiden. What she wants to be.

"See you in a bit, Robbie." Anna utters cheerily, stepping onto the city that never sleeps. Her attention focused solely on Aiden; how his dark eyes look to the lights, the sky, the buildings. London, Paris - Anna's been to many cities. But she knows; there's nowhere like New York City. Smiling gleefully, Anna takes his arm in hers, keeping him close. "Insane, right?" The city is like her, in many ways; mad and too much, but relentless.

"Oh, I grew up here." She explains, gearing up for a story as she pulls Aiden with her into the ice skating queue. "I was just twelve when my mom and I would take the train in for auditions, shoots... Shed my blood, sweat, and tears on these sidewalks." The Ricci's were comfortable, certainly not rich, but it was Anna's own volition and sunny disposition that built her career. And she had the bruises and rejection to prove it. "I've missed it." Though she loves the thrill of traveling, there's no substitute for home - a person and a place.

"Two skates, please." Anna says, smiling back at the cashier. Face tilted just so to avoid detection.

[confusionism]

For all of his life, “team” has always meant a means to get by, contrary to his solitary nature and indicative of something larger than himself. Whether it was his dad’s urging to “leave the adult stuff to” him or “play for the scouts,” or even when it was time to rise above the odd jobs that often left him short-changed, those four letters have been systematic, with countless plays to get him to his high rank now. If it was worth it: certainly, for it was a comfort to know that there was food on the table, that he could act smart and never work another day if he really wanted.

But what about happiness?

The most earnest reason for anticipating the sunrise, something brighter than all the stars in the sky. There are times when Aiden sees Anna’s disposition — the little bounce to every step, the singsongy tune to every word, and that smile that’s charmed countless others around the world — and he thinks she just gets it. And for her to share that with him? He has never been so sentimental, has often questioned if he has such capacity in him, but there’s no denying that, if he could save moments forever, he would pick this one right here. He nods back quietly and runs his thumb across her skin. Acknowledgment. Agreement. Solidarity.

Because maybe, just maybe, she can show him what all of that means.

Robbie announces that their stop is here, and after a quick shuffle and a firm, “Thank you, sir,” they’re ready to really jump into the city. The street is far quieter than he’d anticipated, and Aiden considers that they can thank the holidays for that. He can’t help the 360 twirl he makes, all for the sake of taking everything in. The buildings, the lights, that cold and thick smell— he’s a fish out of water, but he’s eager to find his way, even if it means falling smack on the ice. And as is always the case, he speaks as though giving a line, even though it really isn’t. “You come here often?”

"Then aren't you lucky that you're here, then?" Anna knows that fame and all its connotations are different for everyone. Knows that for however close she and Aiden have become, there's still tons she doesn't know about him. But Anna knows who he is, at his core. Enough to know that he isn't a football manager for the fame or notoriety. He's in it for the life it gives him; somewhere to sink his strategic mind, in a setting that's familiar. It is a livelihood, but it's not his entire life.

Or maybe it was... Anna's uncertain, but it's possible Aiden sees more to life than work. Maybe, she inhales, he'll see her, too.

"We're a team!" She proclaims, with merry confidence. The patented blue of Chelsea married happily together, between her hat and his scarf. She likes it, the sense of unity and belonging that Aiden gives her by wearing his kit. Smiling back at Robbie's reflection, whose eyes meet hers from the rearview mirror, Anna shrugs. "We have to wear the same kit if we're going to be a team." It's the closest she broaches the us, between her and Aiden, and it's enough to earn a smile from her driver and nothing more.

"Glad you asked, kid." She says, playing into her title of coach. Thank God Aiden didn't gift her a whistle. She'd be insufferable in the city with one. "I think we'll get dropped off at Rockefeller Center." Anna thinks out loud, with Robbie nodding, already turning on the upcoming avenue. "The tree is just beside the rink, so we can rent some skates and check out the lights." Squeezing his hand, she nods as they approach. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

[confusionism]

Robbie talks much, much faster than he drives, and Aiden has to wonder if this happens to be a requirement to be close to Anna Ricci: friendliness, liveliness, a close match to the brightness with which she navigates the world. It’s somewhat of a comfort, as it is with her, that he doesn’t need to force himself to fill in the blanks his quietness leaves in a place.

“I expect it in England,” he reasons, thinking back on the measures taken to protect and conceal him there. “Different ball game here.” It even had a different name, didn’t it? Despite that, Aiden takes to Robbie’s analysis like he would in the locker room. He’s astute with his observations, open-minded enough to listen to the thoughts and suggestions of others, and thoughtful in a way wherein he says plenty without giving every last secret away. It has always been easier like this, speaking in strategy than in feelings.

The latter is something that he’s still learning. Words in that realm have never been easy, but there’s something to be said about the way he moves from instinct. Although the car’s windows are tinted, there’s no mistaking the light frost that coats it, as well as everything along the road. Aiden digs into his coat’s pocket and pulls out a very familiar piece of fabric, the colors of which match the theme of the current conversation. He wraps it around his neck and tucks the ends away neatly. It isn’t until Robbie’s comment later on, on the uniformity across the backseat, that Aiden takes notice of what he’s done. Again, he breathes out a laugh. It’s all pretty fitting, isn’t it?

“Not too much?” It’s a clear callback to Anna’s words, although what answer he receives won’t matter; he’ll wear it until the threads give out. Whatever look he gives her is lost under the dark of the tunnel and scattered under the rows of neon lights. He isn’t scared, necessarily, but there’s a sort of anticipation to this journey, one that has his hand sliding down to cup the top of hers. And once the light of the sky filters through the windows once more, when he catches his first glimpse of the buildings rising into the sky, he can’t help but give her hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s our first stop, coach?”

It's presumptuous to throw on his team's gear like it's hers to wear. At least the necklace can be mistaken for her own name. But representing the Chelsea colors is her version of wearing his number on her shirt. A way of showing where she stands, without actually saying it. "Not too much?" She asks, with a crinkly of her nose when he adjusts the brim. It's not like she's going to take it off now. She'll wear him on her with pride.

"I'm trying to be incognito." She winks, in a nod of finality. Anna loves the city - the energy, the lights, even the people. However, said people had a propensity to make a scene. On more than one occasion, she's been late to things because one teenager with an iPhone posted her location on TikTok. It's why she adores the small, but mighty team of drivers that service her. They are precisely not her demographic; older, salt of the Earth, with all the paternal energy and none of the creepiness associated with it.

She should have expected it. But seeing Aiden and Robbie exchange words make her beam, awe and pride married into one. It would seem, Aiden is the big star in their Range Rover, and Anna listens intently as Robbie recounts the last few games from the front seat of the car. A mark of admiration, even inspiration, settling as she listens. Anna's made a career out of what she looks like, and the energy she can bring. But Aiden's done it with his mind, his ability to get it done.

It's not lost on her, the bell curve of a model's career. One day soon, she'll need to find value elsewhere.

Fortunately, Aiden knocks her out of the reverie, and Anna's eyes drift back at him with a small laugh. "This can't be the first time you've gotten that kind of attention." Especially in the UK, where football is life. "It seems I'm traveling with the big guns." She teases, placing an affectionate hand against his knee as they pull onto the highway. "Maybe I should have bought you a hat."

[confusionism]

If the rest of the trip has been a whirlwind, between the unbridled energy and the constant conversational engagement, breakfast is no exception. This surprises no one. What does surprise Aiden is the fact that he makes it through in one piece, somehow stomaching a hearty serving of pancakes and fruit (his thanks to the chef) while also keeping down the nerves lining the rest of his stomach. He’s thankful that there’s no mention of this morning’s little discovery… then he’s blushing all over again, thankful for the reassurance, but even more so that no one’s in any actual trouble.

Warm showers do well in washing away the rest of the embarrassment, and dressed in his usual, monochromatic ensemble, he stands ready for their ride into the city. He takes Anna’s words without a second thought, replying, “Yeah? You scared of the road?” If she is, he doesn’t blame her; there are far too many drivers that move around as though they’re in an open field.

That’s when he notices her cap. The girl. The team. His heart soars with pride, and he can’t help an amused smile. “Chelsea, huh?” He gently tugs on the brim as though adjusting it. Cute. “Go team.”

Aiden spots the large, black vehicle drawing closer, and it’s an odd sort of experience. On one hand, he’s familiar with these kinds of rides, arranged for the sake of both convenience and security. At one point in time, making ends meet meant sitting behind the wheel for hours on end. He’s come very far since those days, and although he’s grateful for the privilege of being able to sit in a wholly different seat, the other hand — his sense of independence and his ‘do it myself’ attitude — keep him from relying it all of the time. A mix, then, of humility and politeness make it natural for him to stop beside Robbie and offer his hand.

“Good to meet you, sir. Thanks for the ride.” The shake is as firm as they come. Knowing what his typical demeanor is like, imagine Aiden’s reaction when Robbie suddenly expresses his enthusiasm for the very team emblazoned on Anna’s cap. Aiden is wide-eyed at being known by name, and thoroughly warmed by the recounting of last season’s ‘brilliant comeback.’

This is not how conversations about his work typically go, not with a platoon’s worth of both players and other team staff members to work the media side of things. Who would remember him when the replays featured just about everyone else? He’s never been remotely close to being known as the face of the team. Shocked and touched, and essentially speechless, it takes Robbie’s friendly hand to remind him that he ought to make himself comfortable. Aiden settles down beside Anna, his brain still abuzz as he mumbles a low, “Wow.”

"Time to face the music." She agrees, clapping his thigh in a singular, bold swoop. Knowing her parents, it can go either way; a humorous grilling over pancakes, or smirking ear-to-ear as they talk about the weather. Anna should have known they would pick the latter - if only to spare Aiden some of the embarrassment. It's halfway through the dishes when her mom announces, in no uncertain terms, that Aiden didn't need to "sleep in her closer" tonight. A not-so-subtle way of saying; no one would mind if they shared a room.

After breakfast, Anna begins to put her plans in motion. After a hot shower and a search through her closet for something lowkey, she meets Aiden at the front step in a thick coat and a Chelsea Football Club baseball cap on her head. The gold necklace still set on her neck, beaming in the Winter sunlight. "I forgot to tell you... I don't really drive." Anna admits sheepishly, once she sees Aiden following behind her. "But, lucky for you, my agency always gives me a ride."

She's humble about her success, always two feet on the ground. But there's no denying what Anna means to her agency; one of the highest earning models, with the biggest social media followings. Anna came to fame in her early twenties and hasn't let go since. Just as she's talking, a black Range Rover pulls up to the driveway. Even from the tinted windows, Anna recognizes it as Robbie. A greying, fifty-something man with a round phase and a loud voice.

"Merry Christmas!" Anna greets, stepping into the backseat after he promptly opens the door. "Robbie, this is Aiden. Aiden, Robbie. He's been driving me for years now."

[confusionism]

“That’s right,” he hums back. “Guess you’re going Bob the Builder for your New Year’s resolution.” As if that ‘can do’ attitude isn’t an inherent part of her personality. Where he takes well to her movement, sliding his arm around her into a subtle little half-hug, he doesn’t know what to make of her comment on his bottom. Does he tease her by reminding that she’s neither touched nor seen it? Tell her that hers is much nicer in comparison? He wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea either way, and so he holds back, simply letting out a small laugh and shaking his head.

“Probably feel it later,” he mutters on that, and then he easily switches to the bigger question of the rest of the day. “Yeah. City sounds good.” It’ll be good to get out of the house in general. More than that, however, it’s a dream — at least, he’s heard — a popular destination year-round, for more reasons than anyone could count. Aiden has never been so adventurous, his experience limited to where he’s worked, but he can feel that curiosity now, both a byproduct of and an accompaniment to his enthusiasm for spending time with Anna. Even if it means, "I'm not gonna have anything left to sit on by the time we're back."

Before anything else: breakfast. The kitchen may be a many steps away, but he can smell the scent of warm batter on the stovetop. “Food first?” He doesn’t want to, but he also kind of does. Like, yes, he’s not sure if he can look at her parents in the eye, but also he’s got to at least try. “I don’t have anything else to lose in your closet.” His other earring, maybe, but that would just be pushing it.

"So can I." She contests, with a petulant pout. "I have a swiss army knife for that very purpose!" Frankly, Anna doesn't care if Aiden handles any and all repair jobs. But any opportunity to boast about his present, reaffirm just how much she likes it? She'll take it, and more. With Aiden, Ann finds that more is more. Playing it cool is for people less in like than they are. "Hmm... Morning." Without hesitation, she places her forehead against his shoulder, laughing at the phrase. "Your ass is amazing, babe." It's her first foray into anything cutesy, or vaguely couple-like. Which, in spite of her confidence, she says with her face away from his as to not overthink it.

"I think we should head into the city." She loves her childhood home, would relish in playing board games and baking cookies with Aiden for another day, and doing so happily. But she knows its taxing, being around company for so long. And selfishly, she wants the experience of a man she's crazy about holding her hand in the most iconic of Christmas cities. "I can take you to see the tree. Ooh!" She excitedly lifts her head, both hands rounded on Aiden's shoulders.

"And ice skating!" A staple of the holidays, and Anna just knows Aiden will take to it with natural ease.

[confusionism]

"You're worried about the bed screws?" That's not the point, but the solid part of his confidence won't let him continue without reminding, "I can fix that. Easy." But he knows what she really means, and his cheeks are aflame from the mere thought of it. No, it's not inexperience. At least, not in the way of sheer numbers, but he can barely stand the butterflies that pop up in his stomach whenever Anna smiles. They're even more annoying when he hears her laugh.

There's no other way to explain the way Aiden moves than: he's careful. Cautious. As if they didn't spend the entire night pressed together, their limbs tangled together and their breaths in sync. It would be cheesy beyond all fuck to admit that he's just had the best sleep he can remember, but clearly he doesn't need to say it; she's ahead of the game, same as always.

"Good morning." Is it too late to say that? No, it shouldn't be. His eyes drop to her lips, then flicker back up. Suffice to say, he wants to kiss her. He compromises with a palm against the side of her thigh. "I..." His brow furrows as he struggles to piece together everything that occurred before his ass landed on her floor. "I thought I was dreaming." There are times when he looks at her while he's awake and he thinks similarly, but at least with this he can pass it off like he's cool and collected. "—But if you wanna try that again tomorrow, I mean... Maybe I'll notice then." He wouldn't be opposed to it again right now; he's just too shy to admit it. "We, uh— what's the plan for today?" A beat. "Other than giving me an ass concussion."

She shouldn't laugh. Really, it isn't funny, and she's half convinced Aiden is going to burn up in flames out of embarrassment. But there's something comical about it all; as if he isn't a premier league manager, of a top team in the UK. As if her face isn't on billboards, with Taylor Swift on her speed dial. "I'm sorry, I'm being a shit." She says, beaming with stifled laughter, attempting to extend her arms to pull him back towards the safe haven of her bed.

"It's fine. As long as we're not, you know --" Anna thinks of how best to put it, and ends up with an old turn of phrase her nonna used to say; "-- knocking boots and working the bed screws." What? Her grandmother was something of a scandalous woman in he prime. Besides, she's already decided Aiden's blush is her favorite shade of red, and she's tempting it out for her own amusement. Running her hand along his forearm, she sighs.

"Fine, fine. Be the good influence. We'll just have to make up for it tonight." She feels short changed by her mom's interruption. Anna wanted to rouse Aiden with kisses, bury her face in his neck and take in his scent from the morning. "Very well. You slept well, too." Leaning closer, she adds; "I don't think you even noticed me kissing your neck this morning." Anna files it into memory; Aiden sleeps like a log. But it's naughty and nice of her, right in the theme of the holidays.

[confusionism]

"Oh. Uhm—" He's not sure how to respond to all of the compliments, other than a polite little smile, the same shy kind of expression that he's worn each time he's faced her family thus far. "Thank you, ma'am." And if there's another thing that he can say that Anna's clearly inherited from her mother — aside from the unbridled energy and the bright sparkle in her dark eyes — it's how easily she commands the room, as well as how different she leaves it. He barely gets out another, "Thank you, ma'am," before the door slams shut.

Then, he breathes. Oh God. That single moment aged him a decade or so, he thinks, or at least he feels it in how his breath draws out deeply and his shoulders round. He finally wills his legs to move, and he draws close enough to the bed to sit at its edge.

"There's always tonight?" Aiden doesn't want to assume, and so it's as much reassurance as it is a question. "Unless, like— they don't mind, right?" It's all very chaste, after all. That much, they'd agreed on even without discussing, because it was just common sense. Still, he's prepared to make amends where necessary, to inspect every corner of the Ricci home and fix every mild inconvenience for the sake of making it all up to them. He runs his bottom lip between his teeth before extending his arm over Anna's legs and pressing his palm against the sheets on the other side.

"Might be dangerous." What if her mother came back? Or her dad? Their (non-existent) dog? "We got pancakes in the work." And the last thing he wanted to do was make everyone think he wasn't grateful for every gesture. It takes another moment of thought for him to consider why she might be asking for him to climb back into bed with her. He tilts his chin up. "You sleep okay?"

All Anna can do now is laugh, albeit with a nervous tenor, as Aiden emerges from the back of her closet. Christ - she didn't leave all her Victoria's Secret costumes in there, did she? Or worse, those god-awful-but-kitschy Supreme tracksuits. She already knows what her mom looks like without even looking at her; a sideways, knowing smirk with a lifted brow. Entirely unserious, but relishing in the antics of it.

"Uh-uh. An earring." Her mother says, glancing at the two pillows set side-by-side. Then, with a turn back to Aiden, her mother inevitably opens the gates for the Ricci's patented honesty. "I was just telling Anna how sweet and handsome you are. Also, what a lovely necklace." Despite Anna's confidence, she buries her face in her hand. Christ - her mother was more direct than she was sometimes. "Anyway," the matriarch claps her thigh, standing up. "I'm making breakfast. You two are having pancakes."

And just as quickly, her mom flits away, shutting the door behind her. "I'm sorry!" Anna groans into her hands - her mother is lovely, but sometimes intrusive, and scaring Aiden out of her bed was the last way she wanted to start the day. "She's sweet, but oh my god, she says every little thing that comes into her head." Hypocritical of Anna to say, but she says it with an endeared smile. "Guess I'm not gonna get you back in here, am I?"

[confusionism]

All things considered, no matter how difficult his childhood had been in many other aspects, Aiden prided himself in the idea of never being fearful of hiding 'in the closet.' He supposes that it must've just been a matter of time, then— that it was an inevitability in some way, even if in one wholly unanticipated. Like who would've known he'd be well past his teens, sneaking around with a pretty girl, hiding in her closet for the sake of not getting caught by her mom?

Wait.

Are they talking about him? His body is still flush against Anna's clothing, but he tilts his head closer to the door. He can make out most of the conversation. Something about sweetness, something about... Something new? His focus centers in the instant Anna speaks, but it's Mrs. Ricci's last question that resounds like a bell and strikes fear into his heart.

Shit.

What more can he do? It would be ridiculous to pretend like he didn't exist, not with his shoes still in the foyer downstairs, and not with his belongings laid out in the guest room. He opens the door slowly and pokes his head out.

"Good morning, ma'am." He steps out. No, he isn't naked, and with the way his shirt looks stretched and slept in, he (hopes he) looks like he wasn't last night. Still, his cheeks are as red as Anna's shirt. "I was..." He points a thumb behind him. "I lost my earring, and—" tugging against the bottom of his left earlobe, "—and I was... It was dark..." First rule of addressing those in authority at a time when you're guilty: don't look guilty. He straightens his shoulders and holds his hands behind his back, as though he were lining up for inspection. "All good now... Ma'am."

"Mom-" Anna begins to whine, right as Aiden shuts the closet door behind him. True to expectations, her mother lets herself in after the seventh knock. A force of habit; the Ricci's weren't big on boundaries. "What?" She says, with a hint of impatience that's not usually like her. She's a morning person - often already in her trainers, running ten miles before anyone's even up. Hint number one, that something is off.

"He is gorgeous." Her mom, Alessandra, gushes by way of conversation. Mother-daughter often did this; barging into each other's rooms, talking openly about everything and everyone. "And so well-mannered, sweet..." Anna nods. She knows this, and would happily unpack the giddiness with her at any other time. Except, not when Aiden is in her closet. Or that Anna's still wearing her new necklace, which her mom promptly reaches out to inspect.

"Is this new?" Her mom asks curiously, and the question instantly makes her brown eyes shift over at the closet. They haven't talked about it yet; what can or can't be said about them. She knows he's with her, that he isn't leaving. But Anna knows firsthand the pressures of public life, the chatter of people around them. "You know what, mom. I'm actually starving-" She's a bad liar, and mother knows best, and she sees the visible narrowing of her mother's eyes.

"Is he in the closet, sweetheart?"