Hall is still watching the weatherman raptly, imitating his hand motions as if practicing how to warn Colorado of snowstorm trajectories. I smile evilly at the back of his head.

He and I are going to make some magic together.

*

Chapter Four

Countdown to Christmas:
8 Days

THE AIR SMELLS like pulverized Thin Mints and triumph. We’re at zero hour.

“This seems like a lot,” Hall remarks as he helps pile Hefty bags full of presents into the red pickup, which was supposed to be mine, but Hall keeps changing the lock on it because he’s worried I’ll drive it without the care it deserves.

“It better be. I’m making up for a whole bunch of holidays in which all my presents were shit. Do you know what I gave everybody last year?”

He shakes his head.

“Books from Little Free Libraries. I had a job waiting tables and was saving up, because holidays are expensive in my family. Grandparents, parents, two sisters, a brother, a sister-in-law, a brother-in-law, and their monsoon of collective offspring.”

“That’s a lot of people to shop for.”

“But then a customer recognized me and wouldn’t stop taking pictures, not even being sneaky about it, so I finally snapped at him. The manager took his side, of course, because the customer is always right. My boss ordered me to apologize. I chose to quit. That’s what always happens. It isn’t easy to get hired in the first place because of my arrest record, so when some restaurant or store takes me on, thinking maybe I’ll bring attention to their business, people come in and act like total dillweeds to me, to look funny in front of their friends.” I stomp back into the gingerbread town house and emerge with one of my suitcases on wheels. This is going to be a tight fit. “I’m supposed to stand there and take it while they laugh and ask why I’m working there.” My face reddens just remembering. “Humiliating.”

“Couldn’t you work somewhere else, then? Find a job where you don’t have to interact with the public?”

“I have no skills, Hall. I’m not good at anything. My only talent is being beautiful and talking my way out of parking tickets.”

Hall frowns, a crease between his eyebrows. I bet he’s never frowned this much before, in his entire existence, even when he was merely a collection of floating particles watching Stonehenge be erected.

Together, we manage to get the door to shut. I sag against it, breathing heavily. “Do you think we got enough?”

He reaches up over his head, hand-cranking a long receipt out of thin air. Reading glasses appear on his nose as he fires off my wishes. “So far, here’s what you’ve already bought for your family: A sable. A ’54 convertible in light blue. A duplex. Checks, specifically from Jeff Bezos. Amal Clooney’s engagement ring. A yacht.”

“The sable is fake. The convertible is the size of a shoe. The duplex is in Madagascar, which, whole lot of good it’s doing for me over there. The checks from Jeff Bezos don’t have his signature, which means I’ll have to forge them, and the yacht is stuck in the mountains.”