Page 5 of Betrothal Blitz
Agent: Don’t worry, you’re almost through both.
User: That almost sounded like optimism.
Agent: Careful. I have that disease and I'm warned it's contagious.
There wassomething about her wit—sharp, fast, but with a weight behind it. Like she knew how to wield it for armor but didn’t always want to.
Paul felt his chest loosen. His shoulders settle. He liked this woman. Whoever she was. He could’ve chatted with her for hours.
User: Okay... it’s uploading. Finally.
Agent: Smooth as a freshly paved county road.
User: That was oddly specific.
Agent: I’m a man of oddly specific talents.
The typing bubble appeared again.Paul felt it linger, then disappear. Then come back again.
User: I just wanted to say thank you. This probably looked like a routine panic over a missed form, but it’s not. This filing keeps my firm in good standing. And the work I do matters. To the women I represent. To the families I fight for. So thank you for not brushing me off.
Something in Paul'schest gave an unexpected ache, like thawing ice. He’d pegged her as a control freak when the chat first opened, the kind of overachiever who needed everything perfect and everyone to move at her pace. She’d let the mask slip. Just a little. Just enough to show him the fire under the polish. Instead of recoiling, he found himself leaning in.
He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to carry all that weight alone. That someone could hold that space with her—shoulder some of it, if she’d let them.
Agent: My mom used to say: The strong don’t show up to be heroes. They show up because someone has to.
User: She sounds like someone worth listening to.
Agent: She is.
User: Thank you, again. Really.
Agent: Anytime. I mean that.
User: Maybe in another life you’d be the one needing the legal help.
Agent: I don't plan to break any laws anytime soon. But I'll take your number down in case I decide to get wild in the next chat room.
This might have been slightlyinappropriate. Slightly. Entirely inappropriate would've been if he'd looked at the sheet she'd uploaded to determine who she was. He hadn't. That would have been a direct violation.
But asking for her number via chat? Gray area.
Back in the chat, the bubbles were bubbling. The cursor was blinking. And then—nothing.
The screen glitched. The spinning beach ball of death appeared as snow battered the window. The lights blinked out. Then the screen blinked out. A second later, the power came back on. The computer took a second to reboot. When it did, there was a message on the screen.
Connection Lost. Chat Session Ended.
CHAPTERTHREE
The lights flickered once, twice—then surrendered with a final, breathy hum. The overhead glow of Birdy's office vanished, plunging the space into shadow.
“Oh, no no no no—don’t you dare.” But her laptop screen blinked, sputtered, and went black.
Birdy sat frozen for a beat, staring at the blank screen like she could will it back to life. The hum of the small, personal space heater she used to keep her toes warm inside her pumps died. The old radiator, which was in charge of the upper atmosphere of the room, gave a half-hearted groan. Outside, the snow, which had been a whisper against the window, raised its voice. It sent its flakes against the windows in steady, sideways sheets.
The streetlamps had gone out. The bakery across the square was dark. So was the diner.
