I made it three whole steps into the library before I realized he was tucked in the window seat, book in hand, beneath the red dragonfly glass Tiffany floor lamp Grandma Jo found on her trip to New Orleans three years ago.

He’d changed out of his Wranglers back into black pants, a heather-gray fisherman’s sweater with a two-button collar that revealed a white T-shirt beneath, and ankle-high black men’s slippers that looked cozy.

But he could have been sporting head-to-toe raggedy sweats for all I cared because I couldn’t stop staring at the black, rectangular-framed glasses he wore and how they made him look nerdy hot. Which I had never before considered my type.

But, as it turned out, it really was.

Sensing my presence, he peered up and over the top of the frames and was surprised.

“Oh. Hello.” He sat upright, feet flat on the floor, marking his place in the book with a bookmark before automatically reaching with the other for his glasses as if to remove them.

“No!” I said with more force than necessary.

His fingers froze on the frames and I tried to cover.

“I mean, I . . . I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Only at night, when I’m reading.”

“They look nice.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated, uncertain and uncomfortable. “Though I . . . can’t actually see you with them on.”

“Oh.”

He took them off, folded them closed, and set them on the ledge next to the bare window, which had an obscured view of the darkened courtyard.

A glance and I could tell at least two or three people were at a table beneath the red glow of a heat lamp, but the angle and shadows made it impossible for me to see their identities.

Not that they were my focus.

Arthur was.

I took a step closer, tucked a strand of my hair over one ear. I noticed him follow my movement before looking back at me, and a nervous energy shot through me that might as well have been a double shot of espresso.

“So, um . . . checking in,” I said because I felt the need to say something and not stand there like a huge dork thinking about how cute he looked. “Are you and your aunt still interested in doing Christmasy stuff? I mean, considering how things went today.”

A small smile quirked at the left corner of his mouth. “Considering how things went today, Auntie Esha is even more enthusiastic.”

I took another step closer. “Seriously?”

“Quite.”

“Huh.” So much for me getting out of the agreement. Not that I wanted to. “She must really like Christmas.”

“Very much.” He scooted over to create more room on the window seat and I interpreted that as an invitation to sit down.

So I did.

And waited for him to continue while mentally steeling myself to not stare at his mouth. Why had I never noticed his mouth before? Or that he had amazing lips?