No. The thought put him in an unfair light. He’d shown tiny flashes of emotions over the course of their two conversations. Rage. Annoyance. Frustration. Fear.

But the deep, aching loneliness she saw in him when she suggested he didn’t have to spend Christmas alone resonated inside of her. Until now, this entire…spectacle was little more than a means to an end. She assumed he had to be, at least on some level, a lonely man. Does a content, happy, and fulfilled person hate Christmas? No. But she now realized her actions here could serve more than one purpose. She could help him and save the town. She could teach him the true meaning of Christmas while also restoring Christmas for the people she loved most in the entire world.

Despite what countless TV shows and movies had taught her, she really could have it all.

First, she needed to get him to come back into the living room with her. She knew that wouldn’t happen just on its own. Shouting at him from the living room to come back and hang out with her so she could show him the beauty of the season probably wasn’t her best bet.

“Think, Kate,” she muttered to herself, pacing the living room. “Think.”

Pacing the Persian rug, she surveyed the room. It was, in every sense of the word, rich. The house was built in a faux-Victorian style, an American collection of half-British angles and ornamentation, and the inside reflected Mr. Woodward’s inclination to show off his wealth. He presented himself as a gaudy man, to say the least, and he never shied away from spending money or talking about spending money—a trait he clearly didn’t share with his nephew. Kate’s pacing only halted when she heard the movement of a loose tile in the kitchen.

“He’s gone,” she called. “You can come out now.”

No sooner had she spoken than Michael burst from behind the swinging door, which smacked against the nearest wall. He huffed and puffed with the dramatics of an amateur opera singer, as if he’d been shoved into a tiny, airless closet instead of the well-stocked kitchen for the last ten minutes.

“What was that?” he spluttered, pointing at a random place in the room. Kate could only assume he meant to point at somewhere Clark stood, but she had no way of knowing for sure. It was obvious he’d been eavesdropping. She returned to her pacing, rolling over everything she’d learned about the man from their last encounter.

He was so cold. Not just in the way he spoke to her or saw the world, but in his eyes. He was frozen down to his heart. She just hoped a good Christmas fire could be lit and melt the ice and frost away, not just for their sake, but for his.