“Marigold . . . Says . . . So Long,” he croaks.

“Incorrect!” She rears back in outrage, grabbing the throw pillow he’s clutching for dear life and tossing it at one of her great-grandchildren. Athena and Felix have thirteen-ish children between them, and they seem to be in competition to see who can bequeath the most unfortunate name: they started out okay, with Olivers and Daisys, but now we’ve got Domino, Ichabod, Octavian, Honeysuckle Lou, Minnesota Moon, and Peach Tree. I’m pretty sure that the kid who just took a pillow to the face is called Frangipane.

“Your favorite film might be That Feeling in the Air,” Mom supplies helpfully.

“I love that one,” Hall insists, but Grandma scowls, waving him off.

“Too late. Don’t patronize me.” Then she glides out of the room without another word, and Hall’s face blanches, mouth dropping open. He turns to me.

“Does she hate me?”

“Of course not!” Mom exclaims, then rushes after her mother.

Dad turns toward us. Digests the sight of Hall and me together. “So. Tell me about yourself, Hall. How’d you two meet?”

My mind goes blank.

“Whole Foods,” I reply as Hall says, “Baseball.”

Dad stares. “What?”

I want a private word with my so-called boyfriend, so I place my hand on Hall’s knee. My father instantly jumps up, making a hasty exit. “Be right back.”

Hall is still staring at my hand when I retract it, then pinch him. “Baseball?” I hiss.

“It’s an American pastime,” he hisses back.

I wave him off. “Fine, that one’s on me. We should’ve come up with a How We Met story before we got here. Also. A limo? Why’d you get a limo!?”

“It’s the classiest of all the vehicles. You name a classier vehicle than a limousine, I dare you.”

“You watch too many movies.” I wonder when he stole my father’s entire outfit, copying not only Dad’s shirt but his slacks and watch, as well. He’s very suggestible. “Don’t wear my dad’s clothes, it’s creepy.”

“That’s how I’ll make him like me. Also, movies are my favorite thing in the universe.” He’s getting worked up. “After bayberry candles and Thomas Kinkade landscapes. I gave us an impressive limo. I’m using fashion psychology to earn your dad’s approval. I’m pulling out all the stops here, and it’s like you don’t even appreciate it.”

“You fainted in the doorway,” I remind him. “I warned you my grandmother was a witch and not to fawn over her, but what did you do?”

“Okay, so yes, I fell to pieces. That is true. But in my defense, she looked directly at me. Her magnetism wasn’t diluted through a television screen. It was a holiday miracle.”

“You need to bulk up your armor or she’s going to eat you alive. Less merry and bright, more hard-ass. The best way to repel this fanged, mind-reading predator is to be aloof, acting as if you’re not impressed or interested in anything you see here. Like you’ve got dark secrets and a heart of steel.” He looks devastated at the thought. “P.S., stay away from my brother, Felix. He’s a snake.”