Cold Feet -

She didn’t turn around. She heard Mark sit down a careful two feet away. He was wearing his old college hoodie, the one with the frayed cuffs. She’d bought him a new one last Christmas. He’d never worn it.

Emma reached down and touched the back of his head. His hair was soft. She’d forgotten how soft. Cold Feet

She’d cried. He’d kissed her frozen nose. And they’d walked home wrapped in the same coat, clumsy and giddy and so sure that love was a thing that burned hot enough to melt any winter. She didn’t turn around

“Yeah,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Yeah, I can do that.” She’d bought him a new one last Christmas

He looked up. His eyes were red, his nose running from the cold. He looked nothing like the man who’d proposed on a frozen pond. He looked better. He looked real.

Mark blinked. “What?”