“If I could summon special effects in real life,” I force myself to say, throat bobbing, “I’d disappear in a puff of smoke whenever I leave a room instead of using the door.”

His eyes twinkle. “I could make that happen.”

“That would be incredibly extra.”

“The only way to be.” He withdraws his hand to snap his fingers, knave of hearts card appearing between his thumb and forefinger. “I’d have flames shooting out of my hands. And then I’d go like this”—he punches the air—“and—fireball! Swoosh, right through the wall.”

“You’re absurd.” It comes out sounding like You’re adorable.

“You’d love it.” He grins. “Don’t lie.”

“If we were actually in a movie,” I remark, “we wouldn’t have to drive back through all this snow, we’d just slide from now into tomorrow, appearing in the living room out of thin air to admire this sunrise you’ve been talking up so much. I would simply clap my hands and—”

*

Chapter Twelve

Countdown to Christmas:
5 Days

HALL’S ARMS ARE around me, just as they were in the snowy parking lot seconds ago, but fiery reds and yellows now burn across the right half of his face, all the colors of daybreak tracing lips that are unsmiling for once, catching every red ribbon in his rich brown hair. The colors enunciate shadows where they flatter most, carving out sinfully attractive cheekbones, jawline like a blade. I watch his pupils flare even though the abrupt change of light should make them constrict. His Adam’s apple works down a swallow, faint red blotches appearing on his throat. “Here we are,” he says, pitch low.

“How does that work? I feel so well rested. Not at all like I stayed up all night.”

“You didn’t. I moved us through time. Gave all your systems a touch-up so that you won’t feel the drag.” He pauses, and suddenly I am hyperaware of each light press of his fingertips resting on my waist. He doesn’t seem in a hurry to let go; after a moment of consideration I summon the bravery to slowly wrap my hands around his tan, freckle-splashed forearms. He feels so substantial beneath me. Strong and sure.

With literal light shining on our proximity, all of our easy playfulness from before dissolves. I’m wondering what’s going on, question marks shooting off left and right in my brain like fireworks, but why should an embrace have to mean anything? Hall might not view this closeness as an intimacy cue like a human would. Also, he hasn’t verbally indicated that his status as someone who’s never crushed on anyone has changed, and I don’t want to be presumptuous. He likes physical touch, period. He likes being close to all sorts of people, not just me. It’s better to not ask if there’s anything going on at all, to simply enjoy what I can.

“That’s thoughtful of you,” I manage as his gaze flicks upward to my forehead. He tucks an errant strand of black hair back into its pin. It’s the perfect excuse to break away, but his hands return to me immediately, dropping a fraction lower on my hips. His thumb brushes the narrow gap between my shirt and waistband, the skin-on-skin contact sending up a shiver. His thumb quickly corrects to a higher location, ever the gentleman.