I collect my family’s gifts in return, and am surprised when Diego hands me not one, but two wrapped bundles. One I recognize as the ring box from the mall. The other is a mystery. I tear into that one first.

I push the wrapping paper aside to reveal a hardback copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I flip the cover open, and gasp at the tiny writing printed on the copyright page:

Printed in the U.S.A.23

First American edition, October 1998

I stare up at Diego, astonished. “This must’ve cost you a fortune.”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Found it in a used bookstore in Brooklyn. I don’t think the owner realized it might have any value.”

Still, I don’t know what to say. I keep looking into his eyes, speechless.

He must read the unasked question in my gaze, because he leans in and whispers in my ear, “Everyone deserves a little surprise at Christmas.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I turn my head to the side and kiss him. A deep, non-PG-rated kiss.

“Ewww,” Sarah’s five-year-old daughter protests. “Mom, they’re kissing.”

I pull back, smiling, and say, “Thank you.”

“You might want to open your other present, too,” Diego says, in a voice so low only I can hear. “Would look a bit suspicious if you didn’t.” He grins at me.

A minute later, I’m pulling on my cat ring when the inevitable happens. From the other side of the fireplace, Paul opens his present from me and exclaims, “Nikki, wow. Liam Grady’s new book.” And then he asks the deadly question. “How did you manage to get a signed copy? I thought those were super rare.”

They are, damn me.

“Oh, really?” I play dumb. “I just picked it up at the store from the new releases booth. Guess I got lucky.”

Next to me, Diego tenses. He knows I’m lying; he was with me when I bought all the other books, and Paul’s book wasn’t among them. Let’s hope he won’t read too much into it.

Eighteen

All I Want For Christmas Is You

My hopes are in vain. Diego is cold and detached with me for the rest of the day. He does nothing overtly hostile, but by now I can pick up on his moods as well as if I’d known him a lot longer than two weeks. And I can tell he’s pissed.

It’s written all over his curt, monosyllabic answers. In the way he does his best to avoid meeting my eyes after we’ve been eye-flirting for days. And in the way he avoids even the slightest contact with me.

I just know it has to do with Paul and his gift. Diego is no fool, and if I got to know him so well in such a short time, the same must be true for him. But even if I’m pretty sure why he’s upset, I say nothing. I’m too much of a chicken. So I let this new distance between us fester until we’re both in bed that night and there’s nowhere left to hide. Not even in the oppressive silence weighing down on us both.