“So don’t,” I say, too sharply. “You’re six foot four, Jasper. I’m not taking your legroom.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t be. You’ll be cranky and uncomfortable. Just get on the plane. Take a nap. I’ll see you when we land.”
He stands, and I think maybe he’s relented, but instead of heading to the boarding lane he walks to the ticket counter. The woman not swiping passes looks up at him and after a stunned blink, she smiles. I resist the urge to snort knowingly. She’s going to do her best, even in spite of the fact that she’s wearing a jingle bell necklace and elf hat, but Jasper is probably not going to notice. His mind is so one-track, all the time. If he went up to that counter to try to get a second business-class seat, then that’s literally all he’s thinking about. I once saw a waitress undo two buttons of her shirt while he asked her about the dinner special and his eyes didn’t stray once while he ordered the rockfish. I still remember the exact, slightly befuddled way he’d said, “What?” when he looked back at me after she’d walked away.
She makes a few keystrokes on her computer and they exchange a few words, Jasper turning to nod his head my way at one point.Ugh. Now we seem likethosepeople. Like we’re so important, we justhaveto be in business class. I pretend to be interested in my phone.
“Here.”
A ticket appears in front of me. I look up at Jasper. “There’s no way.”
Forget that the ticket agent thought he was handsome; even a face like Jasper’s doesn’t make a new business-class seat appear on a full flight three days before Christmas.
“I switched our tickets.”
“Jasper, I said I didn’t—”
“I can’t be comfortable,” he says bluntly, still holding out the ticket. “I can’t be comfortable if you’re not. Just take it, please.”
When I look up at him, I hear that holiday bell again. All the years I’ve known him and I’ve never seen emotion like this on his face, something so desperate and yearning. I know, IknowI shouldn’t hear it, but I do.
I reach out a hand and take the ticket.
But I don’t look at him when I walk away.
Chapter Five
JASPER
I know it’s over before we even knock on the door.
When Kristen and I met Gil Dreyer six weeks ago, we did it at his office, a nondescript building ninety minutes outside of Boston. The space where Gil did his work was as rumpled and unexpected as the man himself. No one would expect the most advanced desalination tech the world has seen in years to come out of that lab, and no one would expect that a man with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy and absolutely zero employment history in advanced scientific fields would be the one to develop it. It hadn’t been an easy sell, getting him to GreenCorp, but in that cramped, messy, dated office, we’d had an advantage.
But there’s no advantage in driving up the winding gravel driveway leading to the Dreyer home, which is, in fact, more like a rustic, snow-covered country compound. We lucked out in missing a heavy fall a couple of days ago, so the roads were mostly clear, flanked by dirty, packed drifts, but out here the snow is mostly bright white and smooth.
Frankly, it looks like Christmas Town, also known as my personal nightmare, and judging from Kris’s face—which had mostly been stoic throughout our drive—her personal charm factory. It’s midafternoon, so the lights aren’t on, but through the light snowfall we can see them strung up everywhere—winding around the trees flanking the drive, lining the roofline of a small red and white cottage that’s got a massive mulberry wreath on its door, woven around the columns on a front porch that lines the entirety of the tidy ranch house with smaller red-ribboned wreaths hung on every window, white candles on every sill. There’s an actual Christmas tree in the front yard. Fully fucking decorated.
This man is not going to go pick up from here and move after the first of the year.
“Oh!” Kristen says, which, disappointingly, is a much more enthusiasticohthan the one I got for telling her she’d given me the best kiss of my life. When I look over at her she’s got her hands clasped together, leaning forward in her seat so she can see better. I follow her gaze and see a young couple walking around the side of the house, a massive basket swinging between them, full of what looks to me like literal boughs of holly.
I am in hell.
“He knows we’re coming, right?” I say, more to myself than to Kristen. Carol had confirmed it all late Thursday afternoon, once Gil was back from his trip, and I’d followed up with a call that evening. He’d warned me there wasn’t much of a point, that he’d made his decision, but I’d insisted. “We’re in town for another meeting,” I’d lied. “We’ll just make a quick stop by.” He’d chuckled and said he and Romina wouldn’t mind the company.
Before Kris can answer me, the man himself has stepped out onto the porch, wearing a green cable-knit sweater and jeans with a hole in the knee; he’s got one hand holding a mug of something steaming and the other stroking the length of his steel-gray beard. Behind him, a short, dark-haired, bespectacled woman in a red sweatshirt follows, also holding a mug. She raises a hand and waves enthusiastically.
Kristen says, “They’re like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!” and I shoot her a look. She smiles sheepishly, pink washing her cheeks. She’s always sopretty.
Out on the porch we shake hands, meet the two holly-gatherers—Tanner and Allison—who turn out to be Gil and Romina’s son and daughter-in-law. Tanner pats Gil’s shoulder and says to me, “You’re the one trying to take my genius old man away from us,” but he’s got a smiling, easy demeanor about him that tells me he knows we’ve got no real shot at this, either.
“Kristen and I, yes,” I correct him. Beside me, Kris shifts her body slightly so her arm presses lightly, almost imperceptibly against mine. That’s not a thank-you; it’s a warning, or at least a reminder. It’s not the time to be corrective, she’s saying. Touches like this—they’re normal for us on the job, a way we’ve learned to communicate with other people in the room. But I’m feeling them all wrong now, my brain and body scrambled, one sending misguided messages to the other.
“This is beautiful,” Kristen says, smiling and looking out over the white expanse of land. “Whether we convince you or not, Gil, this is quite a sight. Thanks for letting us drop by.”
Gil and Romina beam at her, both of them almost tripping over each other’s words to offer information. Gil says he’d give her a tour if it weren’t for “those fancy shoes” she’s wearing, and Romina points out the cottage, a former garage, which they’ve been renovating in case “certain someones”—Tanner and Allison smile—want to spend extended time on the property for “oh, any reason at all!” I’m guessing this means we’re not supposed to talk directly about the grandkid on the way, and my suspicion is confirmed when Kristen only gives a smiling, knowing look to Romina, as if they’re old friends.
