“This is going to help me get in touch with my inner magician,” he declares, holding up a copy of Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas. I give him a thumbs-up. Hall is on his journey now.

As we leave, he compliments the workers’ festive holiday vests, leaving all of them in great moods. “Thank you and good night! Let your hearts be light!” They wave at him, and a smile tugs at my mouth that I can’t for the life of me put away.

“Find anything for white elephant?” I ask when we’re back in the truck.

He shakes his head.

“Me, neither. I want something suitably bizarre.”

“I want something unforgettable.” He pages through one of his new books. “Un. For. Gettable.”

I turn to him in the cab, rubbing my hands together in front of the vents. “Now what?”

Hall eyes the landscape. Purses his lips. “Go down to the end of the street and make a turn on the corner next to Last Dollar Lanes Bowling.”

“What’s back there? Hall, you have to tell me.”

“I physically cannot. I like surprises too much.”

I make the turn; right as the bowling alley flashes by, bam!, we’re at an intersection in another town. “Damn it, Hall!”

“Brake! Brake! You have a red!” He halts the car with his magic, and I turn to glare at him.

“Where are we?”

His soulful gaze is a dangerous counterattack, melting my scowl away. “Morris, Wisconsin. I found a brochure in the tower room of your grandparents’ house for this weird little place called . . .” He fishes the brochure out of his pocket and smooths its trifold illustrations. “The Junk Yard. It’s supposed to feature all kinds of curiosities, and you said you wanted a bizarre white elephant gift, so I think it might be the place. They have Beetlejuice wallpaper. A teapot engraved with the entire text of Alice in Wonderland. Taxidermied raccoons.”

“Sounds promising.” I’d love for Athena’s husband to have to deal with a dead raccoon. “Which direction do I go?”

“Straight. According to the map, there’s this big round bend in the road, and it’s off to the right.”

There’s no snow on the ground here, but it’s been raining, mixed with sleet. Only when my eyes are straining to glimpse past the windshield wipers and the headlights have automatically switched on do I realize the sun is going down. I hate that it gets dark so early in winter.

I spot a large building with bright-burning windows and Hall exclaims, “There!” I slow down, but there’s no mistaking the timber sign out front, held up by the paws of an enormous metal grizzly bear standing on its hind legs. Fireside. The place is clearly a restaurant now.

“Sorry, Hall. Looks like they went out of business.”

“Wanna go in, anyway? I’m famished.”

“The parking lot’s full.” As I mention it, a Jeep passing in the other lane turns in front of us, on their way to dinner. “We’ll be waiting ages for a table.”