“Are you all right?” said the nice lady, who was watching him slow down and stop wrapping The Snow Queen, which was annoying, as it was her last bit of shopping and she was very much looking forward to sitting down and having a coffee at the café Dahlia worked at, and if he didn’t hurry up it would be eleven o’clock and full of people who had planned to meet there then and she’d miss it and wouldn’t get a seat.

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. McCredie absently. “Merry Christmas.”

The woman stopped short on her way out as a handsome, recognizable man held the door open for her. Oh no! How she regretted rushing to make her pre–11:00 A.M. deadline. She considered pretending she’d forgotten something, but the shop was not large and Blair Pfenning—Blair Pfenning!—was holding the door for her.

“I’ll just sign the rest of the stock,” he said loudly to Mr. McCredie, who nodded gratefully.

In behind him slipped Oke, head down. It was the last time, he’d decided. He was fed up with making a fool of himself. It was ridiculous. She didn’t want him. He was going home.

He had just thought . . . maybe one last time. Before he caught his flight. Just to say goodbye. To somehow explain, in a way that did not come easily to him, that he did not usually travel expecting to meet people; quite the opposite in fact.

But he had liked meeting her. Very much.

“Ah,” he said. “Where’s Carmen?” He peered through the back.

“She’s not here,” said Mr. McCredie, about to explain, to direct him the right way, but his head was pounding, and he felt very sick.

“So, yeah, these should do you,” interrupted Blair, brandishing a pile. He’d really also come to see Carmen and was annoyed she wasn’t there. Whatever. There were plenty of women who were very happy to have him. He wasn’t going to let her hurt his ego, just because she made him laugh.

“God, I can’t believe I made it down. Bit of an exhausting night, know what I mean, lads?”

Blair could not have found two less laddish people to attempt having laddish banter with. Both men stared at him suspiciously.

“The weather up here is freezing, but the girls are pretty hot, right? Right?”

Oke’s face fell as he caught on. He remembered Carmen’s expression the night before, when she saw Blair, just as Skylar had said. And now Blair was bragging about . . .

No. It was over. He had to forget about it. It was time to go home.

“Goodbye,” he said to Mr. McCredie, but he was a world away. “I suppose I should say merry—”

“You off, man?” said Blair.

“Yes,” said Oke. “Back to Brazil.”

Mr. McCredie looked up, terribly sad for Carmen. Oh, what a rotten shame.