The hostess greets me with a friendly smile and an apology that it’ll be a short wait. My stomach is eating itself. I join Hall in nosing around the shop, sniffing craft soaps and candles, tempted to nibble the ones that smell like food. Hall can’t resist touching every single ornament, dropping borderline-inappropriate noises of appreciation. Other customers grant us a wide berth.

He picks up a rainbow swirl lollipop in the shape of a heart and holds it up to the light, a treasure in the wild.

A guy in a trucker hat nearby throws Hall a look that is crossed between confusion and annoyance, and I narrow my eyes at him until he turns away. I’m seized by feral protectiveness of Hall’s personality, his worldview, what makes him different. It is so goddamn refreshing to spend time with a man who is this in touch with his emotions, who is respectful, sensitive, wise yet playful. He’s made of literal holiday magic, not a single drop of toxic masculinity to be found. He wasn’t raised with societal expectations baked into his every molecule, and the result is fascinating. A twinkling example of what could be.

I lean against a rack of quilted purses, the corner of my mouth kicking up. “I bet your heart is actually shaped like that.” I point. “Like the hearts in cartoons.”

He wings a brow. “My heart is the same as yours.”

“Yours is sweeter.”

“That’s not true.”

He’s in denial. I show him a Grinch toy, and he scowls. “Ha!” I laugh. “That face! Now you look just like him.”

He smooths his features. “Do not.”

Hall is so much fun to tease. “You really ought to finish the movie. He redeems himself in the end.”

“I find that highly unlikely.”

“He does! He gives back all the stuff he took, and—”

“Your table is ready,” the hostess says, appearing behind us. Hall pins me with a severe look, a reproach for defending the Grinch. His lashes are so dark along the lash line that from a few feet away, it appears like he could be wearing a hint of eyeliner. The jade in his irises is a stark contrast. Why would the universe make him this attractive?

As we’re led through the din of the restaurant, I feel a rise of apprehension that’s usually triggered by crowds, but luckily, no one notices me. Right as I reach to pull out my chair, Hall touches my shoulder gently. Begins to remove my coat. I revolve to help him tug me loose from my sleeves, and he grins at my obvious surprise. Then he pulls out my chair for me, gesturing for me to sit; after I do, he pushes me back in. We both order hot chocolate.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I mumble after the hostess leaves us, swallowing a lump in my throat. “You don’t have to do fiancé things when we’re alone.”

He slants me a look. “Having good manners isn’t a fiancé thing. It’s a Hall thing.”