She smiled when she peeled back the paper on her own gift to reveal a book of poetry by Walt Whitman. “Thank you. It looks like we’re on the same wavelength.”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, before I forget.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance he’d let her borrow. It was the third book he’d given her in as many weeks. The first she’d studied and somewhat enjoyed. The second was similar to the first, only not as enjoyable because she found herself trying to think of clever things to tell him about it when she finished, which made it feel more like a school assignment. And the third, well, the third was her breaking point.

“I’m impressed,” Nick said, taking the book. “I thought it would take you longer.”

“Don’t be impressed,” Lina said. “I didn’t make it through the second chapter.” And she’d only made it that far because he said it was one of his favorite books and she thought it might get better. “Sorry, it just felt like too much work. I’m starting to think of you as my professor instead of my… my—”

“Friend,” he offered, smiling. “That’s okay. It’s not for everyone.”

“I know you like to talk about philosophy, but I’m really not that much of a reader. I mean, I love poetry and commercial fiction, but I’m not really into the philosophy books.” She wasn’t going to pretend to be an intellectual when she wasn’t. “Sorry.”

“Philosophy isn’t a prerequisite to our friendship,” Nick assured her.

“That’s a relief.”

“I hope everything goes smoothly for you on Christmas,” Nick said after walking her to her car.

“Do you think it’s odd that I’m letting him spend the night?”

“I don’t know.” His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his coat. “Do you?”

“You sound like a psychiatrist.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Occupational hazard I suppose.”

“It’s a little odd, I think.” She drew in a breath. “Thanksgiving was awful though, and I just—I don’t want to go through that again.”

“I understand.”

Lina met his eyes. “Well, good night I guess.”

“Good night.” He leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips, releasing a flutter of butterflies in her tummy. “Merry Christmas.”

Lina was pulling a baking sheet full of cookies from the oven when Phil stepped out of the mudroom on Christmas Eve. “Smells good,” he said.

“Oh!” She brought her hand up to her chest as she spun around. “You scared me. I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Sorry.” He met her eyes.

“It’s fine.” She turned back to the cookies.