“Do you really like my hair this way?” I ask at the end.

“Love it!” Blair smiles sincerely.

I hug her tighter. “Distract me. What was your big news?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her throwing a guilty look at the champagne bottle. A thick layer of condensation now covers the dark glass. The wine’s got to be warm by now. Great, I ruined her celebration.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, brushing my question off. “Let’s talk about it another night.”

“You bought the bubbly,” I insist. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

She chews on her index nail, undecided.

“Did Richard propose, too?”

“No,” Blair says and, still biting her nail, adds, “but he asked me to move in with him.”

I try to smile, I really try, but my lower lip starts trembling. I manage an, “I’m so happy for you,” before I start sobbing again.

Blair pulls me back into her arms and tries to console me. “It won’t be super soon. I told him we would need time to figure things out, and I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay. Listen, I know the holidays are hard for you, and I’m here. Richard is going back to England over the break, but I’m staying in the States. We’ll go home together, and whenever it gets too hard at your place, you can come and crash in my room, I promise. It’ll be just you, me, and Chevron. A girls’ club.”

I calm down a little. Blair coming home to Connecticut with me is the lifeline I need to survive this Christmas. Knowing she’ll be there is the only positive piece of news I’ve gotten all day. Also, for the first time, I notice Chevron—Blair’s semi-golden-retriever dog—didn’t come home with her.

“Hey, where did you leave Chevron?”

“At Richard’s. I took the subway back. With traffic, it would’ve taken forever in his car, and it was too cold to walk, even for me.”

“Oh, I could’ve used the extra cuddles.”

Chevron is the most empathic and only dog I like.

“I thought you were a cat person.”

“I am, but Chevron is basically a cat born in the wrong body.”

Blair smirks. “If you say so.”

“At least when the two of you move out I’ll be able to adopt a real cat, body and soul.”

The thought almost cheers me up, if not for the mocking voice inside my head announcing, Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Nikki Moore: single, alone, and crazy cat-less cat lady.

Three

The Perfect Man for Christmas

The next morning, I arrive at the office super early. Not only to catch up with work, but also to avoid the double-takes and possibly false compliments my impromptu makeover will spur.

I’ve just finished checking the wardrobe for tomorrow’s shoot when Melanie walks in. She stops just inside the door and makes a shocked, “oh-I-walked-into-the-wrong-office” face. Then she blinks, realization dawning. Closing the door behind her, she approaches my desk slowly. “Your hair…”