“No, I’ll be in the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Is your mom working?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“Look!” I point out a deer that’s quivering near a brush of trees. The conversation is dropped. Either he forgets, or he’s smart enough not to pry.

We get back to the hotel and it’s after eleven, but the party's still going strong. Asher heads straight for the stairs and I follow closely behind. I’m frozen solid and exhausted. I need a hot shower and sleep, preferably for twenty hours.

“Ash!” Francesca’s voice slurs over the jazz cover of Last Christmas filtering through the lobby. “Olivia!”

Asher’s glaring down at his feet, like they’ve somehow betrayed him by not moving fast enough.

I’ve exfoliated you. I’ve moisturized you. I’ve treated you to hot stone spa pedicures twice a month. And this is how you repay me?

“Pretend you don’t hear her,” he whispers.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Are you really going to lecture me on my attitude, Ebenezer?”

“This Scrooge gave you his jacket when you were shivering.”

“I’ll alert the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

He barely gets to glare at me before Francesca is pulling me by my arm down the few steps I managed to climb. Asher grabs my hand and suddenly it’s tug-Olivia-war.

On one literal hand, it’s drunk Christmas shenanigans that probably also include gingerbread cookies and spiked hot chocolate.

On the other literal hand, it’s me and Asher alone in a hotel room, which could potentially involve naked shenanigans.

Both sound equally satisfying.

“There are reindeer outside!” Francesca is practically vibrating, which is a level of enthusiasm that I appreciate.

Also reindeer? Frolicking in the snow? Like the whimsical creatures they are? That’s a big jingle bell hell yes from me!

“You’ve really done it now,” Asher mumbles to Francesca.

“Done what?” Francesca asks. “Given your girlfriend the best Christmas gift she never had to ask for?”

“Ah, yes, rabies,” Asher mutters. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

“What kind of random reindeer do you think they got?” I ask. “I’m sure they’re very reputable. I bet they’re verified on Twitter.”

“Right,” he says. “But just so you know, when you start hallucinating and foaming at the mouth, I’m going to tell the doctors to put you down.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “But good luck trying to find another woman who’ll embarrass herself on your behalf at every food establishment in the greater Manhattan area.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Seriously,” Francesca says as she grabs Asher’s hand, pulling him off the stairs. He stumbles into the spot next to me. “You two are perfect for each other. Ash, you did good.”

On our way through the lobby, I steal a snickerdoodle off a tray by the Christmas tree. They’re soft and chewy and sugary sweet. I kick myself for not grabbing another.

Francesca, on the other hand, pas de bourrees and chasses through creative directors and executive producers, completely bypassing the dessert table. She smiles and waves, owning the room and making it her stage. I’m about to give her a standing ovation.