[ Similarly, sitting on a tangle of complex feelings stemming from how she’d been convinced he was really gonna die, this is like seeing a ghost. She’d thought it would be all right, and it is, but there’s a shock to the senses and she’s staring in stunned relief. He looks okay. What a concept.

The bullying twists her mouth down and up simultaneously, performative irritation losing by a landslide to pleasure at its familiarity. ]

Gnarly. Fine, okay.

[ So in she scuttles, not giving him a wide berth but not shoulder-jostling him for the gentle ribbing. Paloma’s confidence in taking liberties: nil. And here in the parlor is where the snow encasing her begins to liquefy. She almost looks sweaty, and there’s about to be an enormous puddle. ]

I have, umm, some things I saved from the garden before this blizzard obliterated the greenhouse magic. Useful for medicine, I think? And— was this not a good time to see you? [ Robe. Paloma looks terrified and very wet. ]