“Do you want me to put it back?”
“No.” He spins, menu strapped protectively to his chest.
“Well, I gotta use the bathroom before we take off. Don’t do any more crimes until I come back.”
He’s already gnawing on an unfinished slice of bacon, even though I know he’s full to bursting, concentration wholly riveted on his spoils. “Yeah, yeah, gotcha.”
I do have to use the bathroom, but the main reason I dash back inside is to buy a magic kit that I spied on the wall while Hall was checking out.david copperfield’s vault of secrets. over 50 tricks inside!Adult men might not be the target demo, but this is probably as close as he’ll ever get to magic camp if it’s true that his time really is limited. Not that it will be, because I don’t feel cheerful at all. But just in case.
Bouncing back outside, I’m cold right down to the marrow, and when I catch my reflection in the window of the truck, I’m taken aback. Idolook different, as if I have an inner light, almost like Hall does. This must be The Hall Effect, then—a consequence of being in his merry orbit. Right up until I hand the package to Hall, I’d planned on saving it for Christmas. He should get to tear open a gift along with everybody else, and not merely for appearances in front of my family.
I can’t help myself. I want him to have it now.
He holds it in both hands, sucking in a little breath. “Oh,Bettie,” he says quietly, gaze so starry that I can’t look directly at him for long. It’s like peering into the depths of a billion answered wishes. “Is this for me?”
I nod.
He cups the side of my face, then retracts. “This is my very first gift. I’ve never gotten one before.” He slips it into the car and wraps me up in a hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into my hair.
I can’t move, blinking rapidly at a streetlight over his shoulder. My throat begins to close, the corners of my eyes burning. As though a carver takes a chisel to my heart, I feel another sliver of ice chipping away.
When he lets me go, I smell faintly of peppermint and my fingertips are warm to the touch. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t think Hall cares as much about the gift as he does about the fact that he was given one. “Wait until I learn all these tricks,” he says with one of his lopsided smiles. “You won’t know what to do with yourself. You’ll be all in swoons.”
“Swoons?”
Hall chucks my chin with his thumb, then drags it over to the base of my throat where my pulse thumps. “Yeah. You know? All aflutter.” He can’t see, but burnished gold washes over the red and green plaid of his sweater, starting at the shoulders like epaulets, trickling all the way down.
I stare at him, every ounce of amusement escaping through my cracks, evaporating in the chilly air. My pulse is hammering, pressing right into his hand. I feel like Hall is becoming more and more human before my eyes. Changing. The pure wonder remains, buton top of that, other pieces of what it means to be human, of what it means to be a humanHall, are layering one over the other in startlingly rapid succession.
“If I could summon special effects in real life,” I force myself to say, throat bobbing, “I’d disappear in a puff of smoke whenever I leave a room instead of using the door.”
His eyes twinkle. “I could make that happen.”
“That would be incredibly extra.”
“The only way to be.” He withdraws his hand to snap his fingers, knave of hearts card appearing between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d have flames shooting out of my hands. And then I’d go like this”—he punches the air—“and—fireball! Swoosh, right through the wall.”
“You’re absurd.” It comes out sounding likeYou’re adorable.
“You’d love it.” He grins. “Don’t lie.”
“If we were actually in a movie,” I remark, “we wouldn’t have to drive back through all this snow, we’d just slide from now into tomorrow, appearing in the living room out of thin air to admire this sunrise you’ve been talking up so much. I would simply clap my hands and—”
*
Chapter Twelve
Countdown to Christmas:
5 Days
HALL’S ARMS AREaround me, just as they were in the snowy parking lot seconds ago, but fiery reds and yellows now burn across the right half of his face, all the colors of daybreak tracing lips that are unsmiling for once, catching every red ribbon in his rich brown hair. The colors enunciate shadows where they flatter most, carving out sinfully attractive cheekbones, jawline like a blade. I watch his pupils flare even though the abrupt change of light should make them constrict. His Adam’s apple works down a swallow, faint red blotches appearing on his throat. “Here we are,” he says, pitch low.
“How does that work? I feel so well rested. Not at all like I stayed up all night.”
“You didn’t. I moved us through time. Gave all your systems a touch-up so that you won’t feel the drag.” He pauses, and suddenly I am hyperaware of each light press of his fingertips resting on my waist. He doesn’t seem in a hurry to let go; after a moment of consideration I summon the bravery to slowly wrap my handsaround his tan, freckle-splashed forearms. He feels so substantial beneath me. Strong and sure.
