She dropped it in the center of the table with two straws.
I looked at the shake.
“I don’t do dairy,” Luke lied smoothly, sliding it toward me.
I narrowed my eyes.I had seen this man drink a quart of milk from the carton.“You drink protein shakes made of whey.”
“Whey is different.It’s… performance dairy.”
I rolled my eyes, but I took a sip.The sugar hit my bloodstream like a drug.“It’s good.Try it.Consider it extra fuel.”
I pushed it back to the center.
Luke hesitated, then leaned in.He wrapped his lips around the straw—the straw right next to mine.I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
Heat flared in my stomach that had nothing to do with the soup.
“So,” Luke said, pulling back.“Christmas break.You staying on campus?”
“Probably.Less travel cost.”
“You should watchDie Hard,” he said.“It’s the ultimate Christmas movie.”
I stopped mid-sip.I looked at him with genuine horror.“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.Bruce Willis.Nakatomi Plaza.Christmas Eve.”
“It’s a hostage situation in a corporate high-rise,” I said, putting my spoon down.“The holiday is incidental.It provides a reason for the party, nothing more.You could set it on the Fourth of July or a retirement party and the plot remains functionally identical.”
“False,” Luke said, pointing a fry at me like a weapon.“The emotional core of the movie is John McClane trying to reconcile with his wife for the holidays.The music is Christmas music.There is literally a dead guy with a Santa hat on him.”
“A corpse in festive wear does not a Christmas movie make,” I countered.“A Christmas movie requires a theme of redemption, charity, or magical realism.Die Hardis about ballistics and glass shards.”
“It has redemption!He realizes he was a jerk to his wife.”
“He realizes he might die,” I corrected.“That is survival instinct, not holiday spirit.If I am hanging off a building, I too would likely regret my marital disputes.That is adrenaline, not Santa Claus.”
Luke laughed.A full, chest-deep sound that made heads turn in the diner.He looked delighted.
“Okay, Professor,” he said.“What’s a real Christmas movie then?”
“The Muppet Christmas Carol,” I said instantly.
He blinked.“The Muppets?”
“It adheres to the source material while introducing a meta-commentary on the narrative structure via Gonzo the Great.It is statistically the most accurate adaptation of Dickens.”
Luke stared at me.And he smiled.Not the polite smile he gave fans.The real one.The one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Fine,” he said.“We’ll watch both.We’ll run a comparative analysis.”
“Acceptable.”
By the time we got back to Stony Creek Hall, the rain had stopped.
The dorm room was quiet.It smelled like lavender detergent and old books.It smelled like home.
I went to my desk.Picking up the puck,—the one Luke had given me after the shutout—I turned it over in my hands.
