He shakes his head, innocently replying, “Nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “Hm.”
He stretches his legs, shifting subtly away from me. “Pay attention to the movie.”
Oh my, he’sblushing. And secretive! Since when is Hall secretive? He used to process every single one of his thoughts and emotions verbally, and now he’s dodging me with this “Nothing” business, just like a self-conscious human. And right when we were having a gazing-adoringly-at-each-other moment. Which probably doesn’t bode well for the romantic notions I’ve been entertaining (they involve a horse-pulled carriage ride through Central Park and a broken axle, leaving us stranded with only each other’s body heat for warmth).
On further, and disturbing, reflection, gazing-adoringly-at-each-other moments are a frequent occurrence for Hall. He gazes adoringly at my mother when she compliments his pies, and gazes adoringly at Hallmark Christmas movies, and icicles when the sunlight hits them just right, and... truly, I can’t think of anyone hedoesn’tgaze at as though they’re the most important, special being in the universe.
Hall leans in again, although he doesn’t look at me. He keeps his face angled toward the screen. “I was just thinking,” he whispers, “about one of your evil schemes.”
“Which one is that?”
“To make an enemy’s pillowcases scratchy for the rest of their life.”
I don’t believe for a moment that this is really what’s been on his mind, but I indulge with a “Have you come to the dark side, then?”
“For one scheme only. I don’t like that Ted Cruz guy.”
I giggle. Someone two rows in front of us, four spaces down on the right, twists around, holding a finger to their lips. It’s Greta Garbo. I’m being shushed by Greta Garbo.
Hall lowers in his chair, sliding all the way down out of sight. We both laugh. More people shush us.
“This is fun,” I murmur in his ear when he braves coming back up. “We should come here more often.”
“If you think this is fun, you should see what I can do with the tub in the purple guest bath. Hint: I can expand it into a lake and re-create a Viking ship inside it.”
“Really?”
Up on the big screen, Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell stop what they’re doing to turn in our direction, giving us reproving frowns.“Shhh!”
It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, even if it isn’t all the way real.
*
Chapter Fourteen
Countdown to Christmas:
4 Days
IN THE MORNING,it takes me a minute to figure out where I am.
I sit up on my elbows, hair a wild tangle about my face, and squint at the bedroom. “What happened in here?” The red pickup truck andfresh-cut Christmas treesdécor have been swapped for a nautical theme. A ship steering wheel takes up one wall. The curtains are white with a lobster print. Instead of Christmas trees, we’ve got signs that saygone fishin’andjoe’s crab shack. Even the design on my phone case is different, seashells instead of elves.
“Felt like we could use a change,” Hall announces, rolling off the bottom bunk. His sweater displays Santa Claus in board shorts, surfing the waves. “It was getting stale in here.”
“Very beachy.”
“I thought about bringing in real sand to cover the floor with.”
“Grandma would murder you.”
He glances nervously at the door. “I might’ve already put some in the den.”
“In theden?”
“A beach theme needs sand!” He magicks together an outfit for me, laying it out on the bed: a seafoam maxi dress, floppy hat, and oversized sunglasses. It wouldn’t be at all out of place in Hawaii or Los Angeles, but we’re in Colorado, days away from Christmas. You’d think he’d be trying to stuff me into every outfit fromA Christmas Prince, forcing a wardrobe change once an hour.
