Again, if Diego really was my boyfriend, I’d be dead from the shame. Now I’m just livid. I’m not sure what makes me angrier: the fact that my mom openly discusses my dating life with the whole town or that, apparently, the prize of my happiness is a pumpkin pie. I’m almost tempted to turn on my heel and get the hell out, but then I get a whiff of cacao and can’t help myself. No gossiping old ladies will keep me from my hot chocolate.

“Still ten years to go,” I point out, putting on a sterner and definitely less cordial tone. “I’m sure you’ll get your pie, eventually.” I rejoice in knowing that my lifelong spinsterhood will at least deprive Mrs. Cravath—who I honestly liked until five minutes ago—of her pie.

“So, what can I get you two lovebirds?” she asks, unaware of my shifted demeanor.

“We’ll take two hot chocolate specials, thank you.”

“Go sit… I’ll be right there with your order.”

We choose a table by the window, and I can’t help but notice how Diego’s mouth keeps twitching.

“You have something to add?” I hiss.

“No, sorry.” He finally lets the smile dance on his lips. “It’s just that I grew up in Chicago, and now I live in New York…”

“So?” I ask, impatient.

“I never got that whole ‘small town where everyone knows everyone’ thing. But now I do.”

“Welcome to my personal ho-ho-hell.” I roll my eyes. “See why I needed you here?”

“I’m starting to.”

***

When we leave the café, it’s already dark outside. We hop into the car and I take Diego to the final spot of our tour.

We cross a stretch of open water toward Lynde Point, and I pull over on the other side of the bridge. “Our famous lighthouse is over there, but I can’t get any closer with the car. Want to take a stroll? It’s really pretty at night.”

“Sure,” Diego says.

I open the car door, and a freezing blizzard attacks me. “On second thought,” I say, pulling the door close again. “It’s too windy out there. Another day?”

“At least we’ll still have an excuse to get out of the house.” He grins.

“I see you’re getting into the right Christmas spirit.” I glance at the car’s clock. “Oh, and it’s late, anyway. My parents like to eat dinner early.”

Diego massages his belly. “If dinner is anything like lunch, I’m all in. Your mom is an amazing cook.”

“Yeah.” I reverse the car and hit the road again. “The food is one of the few perks of coming home for the holidays.”

As we drive, I keep up my role of improvised tour guide whenever we pass a building of interest, like the local brewery, or the Katharine Hepburn museum and the cultural arts center. “And that’s my high school,” I say, pointing. “And right there, under the ledge near the entrance, is where I had my first kiss.”

“And who was the lucky guy?”