You work up Christmas morning. Alone, like it had been the past months. You took the breakup hard. But Jayce seemed to be doing just fine. Golden boy didn’t seem to dent. Not for the press nor for you.

It was sad in a way, you walking down the stairs. No gifts under the tree. No fire in the heath. Nothing, you made your own breakfast and bundled up. Getting ready to go to your parents house.

Making it one step out the door before the tow of your boot hits a gift. Wrapped in red wrapping paper. Neatly folded around the edges. Picking it up to read the empty tag. Sitting on the step. Ignoring the cold burn of the snow as you open it.

cookies, and boots. New boots, ones made for the snow. The snow that never seems to stop this year around. The same boots you mentioned a hundred times to Jayce.

You could act like you hadn’t seen his truck drive by. But you saw it, on your own porch steps you called him.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jayce greeted awkwardly, acting as if he hadn’t got you the boots. Ones you complained over the price tag dozens of times. Like he didn’t have a clue in the world. Just you calling him on a random day.