Page 110 of Gap Control

“I’m observant."

“You’re terrifying."

Peggy rolled out a classic line for her. “TJ, you always did get weirdly competitive when you liked someone.”

I coughed. Mason blinked.

We finished the hand in silence. Peggy stood, stretched, and said, “I’ll leave you two alone.” She disappeared into the kitchen with a mug in hand and a look I didn’t trust.

Mason gathered the cards, reshuffling them even though the game was over.

“She’s smart,” he said finally.

“Too smart.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just waiting to be grilled more thoroughly. I know Peggy.”

“She already decided.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Decided what?”

“That I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Are you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “No. I've done enough of that in the past. I’m done running from things that scare me.”

When I didn't respond, he added, "I love you."

I leaned forward, brushing my fingers across his knee. “I love you, too.”

He exhaled.

“Even though I obliterated you at Knock?”

“Especially because of that.”

Mason headed for the bathroom, and I found Peggy on her balcony.

It was barely big enough for two chairs and a narrow table with a citronella candle stuck in winter hibernation. The city spread out beyond the railing in grayscale—streetlights haloed in mist, headlights moving slow through slush, and a world still catching its breath after Christmas.

Peggy had wrapped herself in a gray knit shawl that looked aggressively cozy. She handed me a mug before I could say anything.

“Chamomile. Don’t make a face.”

I didn’t. I sipped. It was warm and citrusy. Calming.

“He loves you,” she said, eyes still on the skyline.

“I know."

“And?”

“And I love him.”

She nodded, like she’d already known both answers but wanted to hear them out loud. For a while, the only sounds were the hush of traffic and the occasional clink of my spoon against the ceramic rim of my mug.

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