Willow cocks her head. “Anything important? Or were you thinking about how amazing my homemade eggnog tastes?”
“Um.” While it’s not awful, I wouldn’t call her sugar-free eggnoggood, either.
She laughs. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
“No. Of course not.” I reach for my glass and take a healthy gulp for emphasis. “It’s good.”
“I use monk fruit sweetener. So it doesn’t have that artificial taste like some of the other sweeteners.” She peers at my glass. “I could sprinkle some nutmeg and cinnamon on top. That might help.”
I take another gulp, hiding my grimace at the thick consistency. Then I set the glass down. “It’s really good, Willow. The best eggnog I’ve tried.”
She stares at me for a second before laughing again. “You’re not a very good liar, Ryan. I can tell you don’t like it.”
“It’s not that. I do. I’m just… not a huge fan of eggnog, period. But yours is very good.”
“We can have something else. I’ve got soda, sparkling water, beer, wine…”
“This is good,” I insist. “And anyway, it’s Christmas Eve. Weshouldbe drinking something Christmassy.”
Willow takes a sip of her own eggnog and hums in pleasure. Then she places her hand on my leg. “Are you sure you don’t have someplace else to be tonight? I didn’t think when I asked earlier, but with it being Christmas Eve, maybe you were supposed to spend it with your family.”
I put my hand over hers. “No, I’m not supposed to head to Rhinebeck until tomorrow morning. I was just going to hang out around the house tonight.” Glancing at the familiar movie playing on TV, I add with a smile, “And watchA Christmas Story.”
She follows my gaze, smiling at the part of the movie where Darren McGavin is opening the shipping box that holds the leg-shaped lamp. “My dad always makes us watch it on Christmas Day. On a loop.”
I chuckle. “Same. It must be a dad thing.”
Willow leans closer. Her scent—a blend of cinnamon and honey and vanilla—wafts towards me. “Well, I’m glad you came over. Even though it’s not a very exciting date.”
“This is aperfectdate.” A strand of her hair falls over her forehead, and I tuck it back behind her ear. “But are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“I’m sure. Once I did the injection and replaced my patch, I was fine.”
I turn her hand over and stroke my thumb across her palm. “And your family wasn’t expecting you tonight?”
“No. Same as you, I’ll head out tomorrow morning. Early, so I can hopefully miss the worst of the Long Island traffic.”
A moment later, she frowns. “Shoot!”
“What?”
“The present for my sister. With everything going on, I forgot to buy it.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand. Being held hostage and all…”
Willow’s expression goes pensive. “True. I guess in terms of a meaningful gift, surviving a hostage situation to make it to Christmas is right up there.” She pauses. “Ryan.”
“Yes?”
“What you did in the store. That was really?—”
“Foolish? Dangerous?”
“Brave.” Her gaze holds mine. “You were so brave, Ryan. I was so scared?—”
My heart squeezes. “Willow. I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Protecting me? Being amazing? You have nothing to apologize for. And yes, I was scared for myself. But I was scared for you, too.”
