His superiority made me want to push the matter. “C’mon, you’d look cute.” As soon as the word—cute—left my lips, I cringed in searing mortification. Cute?? Good Lord! I should’ve just kept looking at his butt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arthur go still, but I refused to look at him directly. Instead, I returned the shirt to the rack and nervously tightened my hold on his jacket. His phone slipped from the pocket. It was a miracle of reflexes that I managed to catch it before it crashed against the pine floor. But when my thumb hit the front screen, it lit up.

And I saw the banner text notification for him from Bronwyn. Not that I was snooping. But it was right there and it took a millisecond to read: Hey.

A chill shot through me. “You’re friends with Bronwyn?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Do you mean Bronwyn Campbell?”

“How many Bronwyns do you know?” I snarked.

“Four.”

Oh. “Seriously?”

“It’s going through a resurgence, particularly in England. Why are you asking?”

“She texted you,” I said calmly and held out his phone. “I didn’t mean to read it.”

He took his phone. “Ah.” And after a quick glance, he cleared the notification and turned back to his own reflection.

I bit my lower lip. “So, like . . . are you? Friends with her?”

“I wouldn’t call us that.”

“What would you call her?”

“A schoolmate.” His eyes met mine again through the reflection. “We had three classes together last term,” he said, as if to explain. “And she has an affinity for texting.”

“Oh.” I gripped his jacket harder, wondering if somehow Arthur was reporting back to her about how shitty things were in Christmas. My breathing started to grow shallow. “Why ‘Hey’?”

“It’s a form of greeting? One favored by Americans, I’ve found.”

My brain started to get away from me. “It’s super familiar, though. Are you telling her about Christmas?” To my dismay, anxiousness permeated my voice. Which was stupid since I wasn’t going back there and wouldn’t see Bronwyn again, so why did I care?

I wished I didn’t care.

Arthur slowly turned back to face me. “If you’re referring to the fact you lied, no. I’ve made no mention of it to anyone. As per our agreement. Which I’m going to presume you’ve not yet worked on.”

I clenched my jaw. “You’re going to the reindeer farm tomorrow.”

“That required no effort. It dropped in your lap.”

“So? You’re still going,” I shot back, petulant.

He stared at me for a long beat, his expression hooded, and my heartbeat picked up its rhythm, thudding against my chest.

Then he reached for his jacket.