Gusts of cold air. Loose peas and a green sweater. His arm didn’t budge. Isabel pulled harder. Part of it ripped off onto a frozen chicken. “Serves you right.” Below lamb chops and a pork belly, that face now discoloured and crusted with ice. She hauled him out. Propped him against the freezer. “Giving me the cold shoulder, Steve?”
Chest beeped. Open too long. Armpits sweating, Isabel slammed the lid shut onto Steve’s face, scoring his jaw. Wet finger where she melted his image.