“I’m a passive-aggressive poet.”

“And you didn’t even know it.”

Asher rolls his eyes. “This is a piss-poor turnout.”

Bree and I are the only ones here from the office. The sixty percent chance of snow was enough for everyone to mumble apologies to me while they hurried out the door to their much warmer homes. Bree only came because I promised to buy her coffee for a week.

“More cookies for us,” I say. “I’m glad you came, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not for the epic hot chocolate and Snapchat filters.”

“I’m here because my father insisted the company be represented by someone who doesn’t look and act like a deranged elf.”

“Oh,” I say. “I figured you were here for Francesca.”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend? She’s performing tonight.”

Asher’s face turns stone-cold and he snarls down at the crowd below, which isn’t a reaction I expect to get from someone who’s dating an Italian mega babe who has a law degree and legs for days. He should be beaming like the sun.

“We’re not together anymore.”

“Since when?”

“A few months ago.”

“Why?”

“Apparently I have the emotional capacity of a rock.”

That’s why he’s been more grouchy than usual. It all makes sense. No one wants to face the holidays as a newly-single person, fending off all the when and why and how questions. It must be so depressing having to rehash all the gory details. And then to see all the happy couples living in jingle bell bliss while you’re nursing a broken heart? I would be a little grinchy too.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” he says. “And I’d rather not discuss my personal life with you. I don’t even like you. You’re shrill and annoying and you write in purple ink.”

“I like purple ink.”

“It’s tacky.”

A hum trickles off my lips and I look away from Asher as the lights dim and the live performances begin.

There has to be something I can do to make his holiday a little brighter. The last thing I want anyone to feel is sad around Christmas, when everything is supposed to be holly and jolly and gingerbread-flavored. I could take him to the holiday market at Bryant Park. Or sign him up for a cookie baking class. Something to get him out and doing something festive. I bet he doesn’t even have a tree, which is a shame because he has a gorgeous window that’s just calling for a Fraser Fir. I’m going to have one sent there tomorrow.

And a wreath.

And a dozen boxes of string lights.

He’s going to be living in a winter wonderland.