Cold Feet – Editor's Choice

She felt her feet. Warm.

“You were shivering so bad your teeth were chattering. And I asked if you were cold, and you said—” He stopped, swallowed. “You said, ‘Only my feet.’” Cold Feet

“You told me,” Mark said, “that your feet were cold because you’d forgotten your wool socks. But the rest of you was warm. And that was enough.” She felt her feet

“Put them on me,” she said.

Now, the cold was different. It wasn’t outside. It was between them. A creeping frost that started with small things—a forgotten anniversary, a dismissed opinion, a hand reaching across the bed for a hand that wasn’t there. They’d stopped talking about anything real. Stopped laughing at inside jokes. Stopped saying I love you like it meant something other than goodnight . And I asked if you were cold, and