He grabs my jacket for me and holds it out while I slip my arms through the sleeves. I jog my memory to remember the last time any of my dates ever did that for me and not a one. There’s something old school and chivalrous about the act that I love.

“Thanks,” I murmur when his knuckles brush against my neck as he brings up the collar.

I face him, but he’s not looking at me, instead buttoning his jacket. I almost get the feeling he’s intentionally keeping his eyes focused on the task.

He follows me out of the restaurant, and between the bar and outside, it feels like a mile because I’m suddenly very aware that he’s watching my every move. Rather than sauntering, I feel my walk is stiff and awkward.

The chilly November air hits me when I step outside and turn to face him. “So… I guess I’ll just wait to hear from you. Let me know about the meeting with Bethaney.”

Why does this moment feel like the awkward part at the end of a date when neither person knows what to do?

He signals with his arm in front of him. “I’ll escort you home. Are you walking or did you take the tube?”

“The tube?”

He shakes his head as though he’s forgotten himself. “The subway, I mean.”

“Oh, no, I walked. It’s not that far. You don’t need to walk me home.” I rub my hands together. “I made it all the way here on my own.”

His mouth pulls to the side. “I understand this isn’t a date, but Finn would pummel me if he knew I’d let you walk home on your own. C’mon, no arguing. I’m not accepting a no.”

“Well, all right then.” I walk in the direction I came and Andrew falls into step beside me, positioning himself so that he’s on the street side.

We walk the first block in silence before just the sound of horns honking and cars whizzing by weighs on me.

“You never said what your dislike of Christmas is about? Notice how I didn’t say hate.”

He side-eyes me but doesn’t directly turn to look at me. “I have my reasons.” His voice is tight and strained.

“Which are…”

He doesn’t bother to respond, and I frown. I just want him to love Christmas, to see how magical this time of the year is, and it drives me crazy that I cannot get him to feel the way I do.

More silence until we reach my block. I point at my small building, lit up with a solitary light over the entry door. I inwardly cringe when I spot Mrs. Hoffmeister sitting on the stoop, smoking. “This is me.”