Kate threw him a lifeline. A chance to take it back and respond with a little bit of kindness. These people did nothing to him. They followed Kate and tried to help her. This was all her doing, really. He knew all of this intellectually, but his emotions either didn’t get the memo or they got the memo and crumbled it into an unreadable ball before burning it.

“I didn’t stutter. Get out of here.”

When no one moved and all attention turned to the dumbstruck and now decidedly unsmiling Kate Buckner, Clark repeated himself.

“Get. Out!”

With that, the great exodus began. Everyone practically ran for their dishes, picking up what they could and filing out through the connected kitchen door, carefully avoiding Clark, who stood in silent rage. He’d deal with Kate once everyone else left. Only a few stragglers remained when Emily squared off with him.

She was ready for a fight.

“Hey, man. You’re being a real jerk, you know that?”

She passed passive-aggressive and dove straight for aggressive-aggressive. Clark didn’t care. He could be aggressive too.

“Am I? I feel like someone entered my family’s house without permission and spent our money on things I didn’t approve after she knew how I felt about it. How am I the bad guy here?”

“Because Kate’s trying to do something nice for you after you ruined Christmas. I don’t know why she’s going to the trouble. You’re the worst.”

“It would have been nice if she’d left me alone, which is what I wanted. And what I still want.”

Only the four of them remained, though Clark didn’t give Kate a second thought. Nothing mattered now but his own self-righteous frustrations. He opened his mouth to release even more steam, only to be cut off by Michael.

“You know what…” He ran a hand across his short-cut hair, fake sincerity dripping from every syllable. “It’s getting late, and I really need to go. You should come too, Emily.”

“Great idea. Walk me home?”

They headed for the door. A little voice from the corner of the room tried to stop them. Kate’s voice.

“No, guys… Wait—”

“You can come with us.”

“You should come with us,” Emily corrected. “This guy isn’t worth your time. You can stay at my house and we’ll have a real Christmas, just us.”

The fire crackled. The clock ticked. Kate stared at her shoes as if they held the divine secrets of the universe. Maybe they did. Maybe that was the key to her eternal belief everything would work out in her favor: her boots told the future.

“No one should be alone on Christmas.”

“He doesn’t care about Christmas,” Emily shouted, exasperation written in the creasing lines of her forehead.

“I don’t,” he agreed.