But his ex-girlfriend definitely thinks we are.

I don’t need to tell Bree that, though. This is Asher’s and my little secret. One he probably doesn’t want the whole office to know about. We’re probably breaking a lot of rules. Fraternizing with the interns is frowned upon.

“I’ll take these.” Bree grabs the donuts from me. “And you go tie Asher’s shoelaces before he gets another wrinkle on his forehead.”

I take a sour cream glazed for the road and turn back to the elevator.

* * *

Asher is shoveling Lucky Charms into his mouth when he opens the door. He’s chewing with such vigor that I have to wonder if he has any teeth left.

“There’s a Christmas tree in my living room,” he says after swallowing.

“It came?!”

“Why is there a Christmas tree in my living room?”

“Because I ordered one.”

“I don’t recall asking you to order a Christmas tree or five wreaths or an animatronic reindeer that I have absolutely no place for.”

“Of course you have a place for it,” I say, pushing past him. “You have a veranda.”

“I’m not putting an animatronic reindeer on the veranda of my three million dollar apartment.”

“That makes you sound very pretentious.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Okay, Ebenezer.”

I follow the scent of coffee through his apartment that feels as cold as it does outside and drop the bagel I brought as a peace offering onto his table next to today’s New York Post.

He lives in an old industrial building with exposed brick walls and wooden beams lining the ceiling. It’s an open floor plan. A countertop bar with four metal chairs divides the kitchen and living room. His computer is set up at the very end where a crumpled up napkin and an abandoned plate of toast lies. There’s a coffee stain on the marble top.

His couch is plush and white and marshmallow-like and sits in front of a small oriental rug —the light glaring in from the floor to ceiling windows makes it glow. I want to sink into it with a mug of hot chocolate and a fleece blanket while watching Hallmark Channel movies on his TV that’s bigger than my entire apartment.

But what strikes me most whenever I come here—which isn’t very often—is that the only form of life in this place is the leafy green plant that sits on top of his coffee table. There are no pictures or paintings or small personal touches. It’s empty.

Which is why he needs these Christmas decorations—to breathe some life into this place.