“What time would you think would be best to begin our holiday lights excursion?” he asked, hands on hips, back military straight.

“Um, it starts at six p.m., I think, so maybe we leave here at six? It’ll take about a half hour to drive there and park and get tickets and everything.”

His head bobbed with a tad too much enthusiasm. “Perfect.”

I didn’t want him to leave yet, so I asked, “What are you doing for the rest of the day?” I suppose I could have mentioned Brody’s party, but this felt safer.

“Auntie wanted to do a bit of shopping in town and then your grandmother invited us over to her cottage around three to watch a Christmas movie.”

“Which one?”

“It’s not yet been decided. Auntie Esha’s suggestion was Love Actually, which I then countered with Die Hard.”

“And were shot down.”

“Decisively. Your grandmother’s suggestion was—”

“It’s a Wonderful Life,” we said in unison.

His smile returned. “I think we shall let a flip of the coin choose for us.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Are you perhaps around to join us?”

“I can’t.” I waved behind me. “I’m here until about three, then I have to nap. And don’t you dare make fun of me for napping.” I pointed at him with a stern expression to emphasize my seriousness on the matter. He held up his hands in surrender.

“I have nothing but a deep and abiding appreciation for the afternoon nap. Woe that Western civilization fails to properly acknowledge their healing properties.”

I smiled. “Totally.”

We shared a smile.

Val chuckled behind me. “Y’all are so cute,” she drawled, and I bit my upper lip in embarrassment.

Arthur’s formality rushed back. “Right. We shall be in touch,” he said.

I couldn’t help myself, I saluted, which earned an arched eyebrow in return. But there was a hint of a smile, too.

As soon as he exited the lobby, I turned back to find Val leaning against one side of the desk, watching me through hooded, knowing eyes.

“Whatever,” I said, then decided to leave her to go tackle the dishes. I did some of my best processing while doing the dishes. Usually.

Eighteen

An hour of dish soap–induced processing later and I was in no better a place than when I started. In fact, I may have been worse. Emotionally, that is. The kitchen looked amazing. But my mind?

A jumble.

Arthur. Cute, annoying, funny, too-serious-for-his-own-good Arthur somehow made me feel like I was caught in a spell.

And I was on the verge of putting events in motion to take me away from him.

Then again, maybe I shouldn’t? Maybe I should keep my Barrington-related anxiety to myself and return there and let no one else be the wiser. In a way, that would be the easiest thing to do.