But I also felt, deep down, that Arthur was bluffing. It didn’t matter anyhow because he didn’t know I didn’t intend to return to Barrington, which made his threats to destroy my reputation there toothless.

That didn’t stop the guilt, though.

Not for Arthur—he could pound rocks—but for his aunt Esha, whom I’d met at brunch. That was when I’d also seen Arthur here for the first time, which led to me nearly dropping the plate of pancakes I’d been carrying to Mr. and Mrs. Yablonski’s table.

I liked Aunt Esha immediately, despite her having an eerily effective poker face that left me with no clue if the sentiment was mutual.

Grandma Jo had introduced us earlier since Aunt Esha was aware that I was one of her nephew’s classmates and had expressed to my grandmother the desire to meet me. She had grace and poise, like the international diplomat she was.

It was equal parts intimidating and fascinating.

The thought of her being disappointed by her stay here over the holidays upset me, especially because I knew Grandma Jo had been so looking forward to having a different set of holiday guests from the usual. She’d even gone so far as to practice cooking biryani with chicken, samosas, and kheer so they’d feel welcome. It was always important to her that guests felt at home when they stayed here and I didn’t want to be the one to mess that up.

Plus, there were more than a few other personal issues I’d learned since my return. Like my best friend, Mia, dating my ex-boyfriend, Brody, while I was away. And my parents’ surprise separation they’d forgotten to mention during our weekly phone calls. Both were issues I wanted to avoid, and taking Arthur around town in some sort of warped “best of” holiday tour would help accomplish that.

So there was a lot more upside for me in this besides avoiding his attempts at blackmail and for that reason I said, “Okay.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed yet again. “What does that mean?”

“Well, Arthur, it’s a term that has its origins in nineteenth-century Boston and was one of the first words to go what today we’d call ‘viral’ when an editor—”

His face flushed deeper. “I am quite aware of what ‘okay’ means in the general sense—and its etymological origins, thank you—I’m asking about the context here, now, with you.”

“Okay means . . . okay. I will help you—”

“And Auntie Esha, if she wants?”

“And your aunt Esha, if she wants, experience a”—I made quotation marks—“ ‘proper American Christmas.’ ”

That should have satisfied him.

Naturally, it didn’t.

“You have to be enthusiastic about it.”

“What?”