The first thing Billy Andrews ever said to you was, “You’re standing in my way.”
You’d looked up from the basket of apples you were carrying to find him towering over you outside the general store, all broad shoulders and irritation.
“Well,” you replied sweetly, “you’re blocking the sun.”
Behind him, Prissy burst into laughter.
Billy rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time with my sister.”
“And yet she still likes me better.”
Prissy linked her arm through yours before Billy could answer. “Come along before he starts sulking.”
“I do not sulk,” Billy muttered.
“You absolutely do,” both you and Prissy said together.
That was the beginning of it.
Being best friends with Prissy Andrews meant spending a great deal of time around the Andrews family, which unfortunately included Billy.
At first, he only tolerated you because Prissy adored you. He teased constantly, always acting annoyed whenever you appeared at their house.
“Again?” he’d groan whenever you arrived.
And every single time, you’d answer, “You’re welcome.”
Still, beneath the sharp remarks and dramatic sighs, Billy was softer than he liked anyone to know.
You noticed it in little things.
The way he carried heavy baskets from the market without being asked.
The way he waited outside in the cold when Prissy was late leaving school.
The way he always made sure his younger siblings had enough to eat before taking food for himself.
And the way his expression changed whenever you smiled at him unexpectedly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
One snowy evening, you and Prissy stayed late sewing decorations for the church social. By the time you finished, the roads were nearly buried.
“You can stay the night,” Prissy insisted.
Before you could answer, Billy appeared in the doorway, already shrugging on his coat.
You blinked. “You hate walking me home.”
“I hate when you talk nonsense,” he corrected.
Prissy smirked knowingly behind him.
The walk was quiet at first. Snow crunched beneath your boots while wind curled around your scarf.
“You’re cold,” Billy noticed.
Before you could protest, he removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders.
His coat smelled like cedarwood and winter air.
You pulled it tighter around yourself. “You’ll freeze.”
You smiled softly. “How heroic of you.”
He glanced over at you, and for once there wasn’t any teasing in his expression.
“Someone has to keep you safe.”
Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard.
The snow had begun falling heavier by the time you reached the bridge near your home. You paused there, leaning against the railing.
“It’s pretty,” you murmured.
Billy stood beside you, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.
“You spend too much time staring at things,” he said quietly.
“And you don’t spend enough.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then he looked at you properly.
The world suddenly felt very small.
“You know,” he said slowly, “when Prissy first brought you around, I thought you were unbearable.”
You gasped dramatically. “How kind.”
“She talked about you constantly,” he continued. “I figured anyone she liked that much had to be irritating.”
Billy’s ears turned slightly pink from the cold.
“Now I think the house feels strange when you’re not there.”
He looked horrified immediately after saying it, like the confession escaped against his will.
His gaze flickered to your lips before quickly away again.
The wind howled around you, but somehow the moment felt warm.
Then, very gently, Billy reached for your hand.
His fingers were rough and cold against yours, but he held on carefully, like he feared you might pull away.
“You should go inside before you catch pneumonia,” he muttered.
You laughed softly. “Such romance.”
Billy groaned. “Don’t make me regret this.”
But when you squeezed his hand, he smiled.
And it was the softest thing you’d ever seen.
You’d looked up from the basket of apples you were carrying to find him towering over you outside the general store, all broad shoulders and irritation.
“Well,” you replied sweetly, “you’re blocking the sun.”
Behind him, Prissy burst into laughter.
Billy rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time with my sister.”
“And yet she still likes me better.”
Prissy linked her arm through yours before Billy could answer. “Come along before he starts sulking.”
“I do not sulk,” Billy muttered.
“You absolutely do,” both you and Prissy said together.
That was the beginning of it.
Being best friends with Prissy Andrews meant spending a great deal of time around the Andrews family, which unfortunately included Billy.
At first, he only tolerated you because Prissy adored you. He teased constantly, always acting annoyed whenever you appeared at their house.
“Again?” he’d groan whenever you arrived.
And every single time, you’d answer, “You’re welcome.”
Still, beneath the sharp remarks and dramatic sighs, Billy was softer than he liked anyone to know.
You noticed it in little things.
The way he carried heavy baskets from the market without being asked.
The way he waited outside in the cold when Prissy was late leaving school.
The way he always made sure his younger siblings had enough to eat before taking food for himself.
And the way his expression changed whenever you smiled at him unexpectedly, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
One snowy evening, you and Prissy stayed late sewing decorations for the church social. By the time you finished, the roads were nearly buried.
“You can stay the night,” Prissy insisted.
Before you could answer, Billy appeared in the doorway, already shrugging on his coat.
You blinked. “You hate walking me home.”
“I hate when you talk nonsense,” he corrected.
Prissy smirked knowingly behind him.
The walk was quiet at first. Snow crunched beneath your boots while wind curled around your scarf.
“You’re cold,” Billy noticed.
Before you could protest, he removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders.
His coat smelled like cedarwood and winter air.
You pulled it tighter around yourself. “You’ll freeze.”
You smiled softly. “How heroic of you.”
He glanced over at you, and for once there wasn’t any teasing in his expression.
“Someone has to keep you safe.”
Your heart skipped embarrassingly hard.
The snow had begun falling heavier by the time you reached the bridge near your home. You paused there, leaning against the railing.
“It’s pretty,” you murmured.
Billy stood beside you, hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.
“You spend too much time staring at things,” he said quietly.
“And you don’t spend enough.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then he looked at you properly.
The world suddenly felt very small.
“You know,” he said slowly, “when Prissy first brought you around, I thought you were unbearable.”
You gasped dramatically. “How kind.”
“She talked about you constantly,” he continued. “I figured anyone she liked that much had to be irritating.”
Billy’s ears turned slightly pink from the cold.
“Now I think the house feels strange when you’re not there.”
He looked horrified immediately after saying it, like the confession escaped against his will.
His gaze flickered to your lips before quickly away again.
The wind howled around you, but somehow the moment felt warm.
Then, very gently, Billy reached for your hand.
His fingers were rough and cold against yours, but he held on carefully, like he feared you might pull away.
“You should go inside before you catch pneumonia,” he muttered.
You laughed softly. “Such romance.”
Billy groaned. “Don’t make me regret this.”
But when you squeezed his hand, he smiled.
And it was the softest thing you’d ever seen.
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