“That is a made-up name!”

“It’s not, though it does have a bit of a cartoon-villain ring to it, doesn’t it?” Lucrecia was a bit of a bully. “She helms a crowd of continental European ex-pats in New York—she’s a second cousin to the Austrian archduke.” And she never let anyone forget it.

“Where’s the party going to be?”

“It was last night, at her apartment on Central Park West.”

“And was it everything you dreamed of?”

“I had more fun at your party this evening.” She laughed incredulously, but it was true. He didn’t want to talk about the party, though, so in an attempt to change the subject, he asked, “What are you going to do with your first weekend of freedom? You should celebrate.”

“Well, I have a ton of grading to do, but my first priority is fruitcake.”

“Fruitcake?” he echoed.

“Yes. I’m on dessert duty for Christmas, and I’m supposed to be making buñuelos, from my dad’s side of the family, and fruitcake from my mom’s. The buñuelos are fine because I’ll do those the morning of—they’re a kind of fried donut–type thing, and they’re best fresh. But the fruitcake is one of those ones where you soak it in boozy cheesecloth for a hundred years and I’m going to have to do a cheater’s version and I’m going to be so busted.”

She didn’t sound overly concerned, though. “You’re close to your family?”

“Yeah.”

“You celebrate on Christmas Eve?”

Her eyes widened. “What’s the date? It’s the tenth, right?”

He looked at his watch. “It’s ten past midnight, so technically, it’s the eleventh.”

“Then it’s officially Christmas. In my world, Christmas starts on December 11. I kind of skipped Christmas last year.” She stuck out her tongue and blew air over it, resulting in a kind of wind-tunnel noise that made Max smile. “I’m not doing that this year.”

“Do you have a cultural or religious tradition associated with December 11?” It was an oddly specific date.

“Nope. December 11 is two weeks before Christmas. And even though I am, historically, a fan of Christmas, I am not one of those people who thinks we should start celebrating it in October. It’s only special because it’s”—she slapped the bar—“Time-limited. So I have this thing where I start ‘doing’ Christmas on December 11. Except for the fruitcake, which I should have started in October. But you were probably asking about the official-official celebration, like with my family.”

He didn’t know Dani well, but the idea of her being a secret lover of Christmas but allowing herself only a strict two-week window in which to celebrate was ridiculously charming.