It had to be done, though.

My brain buzzed with potential ideas for a first sentence (“Speaking of Arthur and Barrington Academy . . .” or “It’s funny you mentioned my school” or “I’m okay with him being here because I don’t think I’ll ever see him again after Christmas is over and here’s why . . .”).

I took a breath . . . and nothing came out. Not even air.

My throat closed and I bit my lip.

Dad was oblivious.

“Have you talked to Mia since you’ve been back?” he asked instead.

My grip on my knight tightened. “Nope,” I said, moving the piece out of harm’s way and letting the opportunity to broach the Barrington subject fall by the wayside. At least for now.

“That’s unusual. You two’ve been like peas in a pod since you were in second grade.”

“Yeah, well. Things change.” One of the vaguest comments possible. It failed to fool him.

“This have anything to do with that boy?” he asked.

Dad always had a way of not remembering Brody’s name, partially to tease me but also to let me know that Brody wasn’t his favorite person. It annoyed me when we were going out, but not anymore.

Before I could conjure up a reply as vague as my previous one, Arthur entered the library and inadvertently saved me. I hadn’t seen him since we returned from our shopping excursion, which had ended with him buying four pairs of Wranglers in various styles.

He stopped when he saw me and Dad, his back somehow straightening further, which I wasn’t sure was possible.

“Oh. My apologies. Ms. Brown said there were books in here I could . . .” His words trailed off as his glance flitted around to the shelves of books before he took a step backward as if to exit. “Excuse me.”

“It’s Arthur, right?” Dad said.

This caught both Arthur and me by surprise.

Arthur stopped in place.

“Yes, sir.”

Now I looked back at Arthur. He was almost at attention as he faced Dad. One lock of straight dark hair fell over his forehead and bounced.

“Finley tells me you came here looking for a good Christmas.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dad grinned. “It’s the name, right? Christmas has to be a great place to spend Christmas? That happens a lot.”

Arthur’s glance landed on me for a hot second before returning to Dad and I held my breath. Not that changing the town’s website without permission was the worst action imaginable but the chances of it being illegal were—now that I thought about it—probably higher than I’d like and that’s not something I wanted to explain to Dad. Now or ever.

So I was hugely relieved when Arthur replied, “Yes, sir,” and then added nothing else.

“You came in here looking for a book?” Dad continued.