Christmas Taboo
“Those stepbrothers won’t know what hit them.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.
We lock up and head out, the city air crisp with snow flurries.
The café’s a short walk, a cozy spot with fairy lights and the smell of fresh coffee.
We slide into a booth, and Jess orders a latte and a croissant sandwich.
I go for black coffee and avocado toast, my stomach growling now that I’m awake.
“So,” Jess says, leaning forward, “you gonna survive this Christmas thing? New stepdad, stepbrothers, your mom acting all lovey-dovey?”
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