She felt as if an elephant was sitting on her chest. “You obviously come from a close family. That’s great.”

“You’re upset.” All traces of humor were gone from his voice. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The fact that he knew personal things about her made her uncomfortable. This was why she shared as little as possible about herself.

“I’m not upset. I’m fine. I don’t have a problem with other people’s happy families, Zac. I love to see happy families. Gives a person faith and all that.”

She stared hard out the window. She knew exactly what his Christmas would have looked like because she’d seen it multiple times. When she was young she’d walk down her street, staring into the windows of other people’s houses. She’d seen flickering fires, decorations, families gathered together. She’d seen laughter and love. And she’d wonder what people would see if they walked past her house and stared in through the window on Christmas Eve. A little girl sitting with a book, alone, with no Christmas stocking hanging in readiness because neither of her parents believed in what they called perpetrating a lie. And even now, when she knew that the whole family-togetherness thing was mostly a myth and that plenty of people found the festive season stressful, she still struggled with that same sense of smothering isolation and aloneness that had been part of her childhood.

She pushed it away, reminding herself that her feelings were her responsibility. Thanks to Christy, she’d had many happy Christmases. She didn’t believe in Santa, but she believed in the power of friendship. “Do you know where we’re going, by the way?”

“Yes. We’re almost there. When did you and Christy start spending Christmas together?”

The question took her by surprise. “I was around eight years old.” And she tried never to think about that particular Christmas.

“So it was a couple of years after your parents divorced?”

She felt a flash of anxiety. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“You were upset.” His voice was even. “Very upset.”

“And you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you could forget that whole conversation—the whole evening—that would be good.” What else had she said? What else had she told him? That night was a blur.

He flicked a switch, and a light glowed on the dashboard. “Why do you need me to forget it? You’re afraid that me knowing something personal about you makes you vulnerable, but that’s what a relationship is, Alix. That’s what knowing someone is all about.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

His gaze met hers in the mirror. Brief. Unsettling. “You think keeping people at a distance protects you, but by shutting out the bad stuff, you also shut out the good.”

“When I want advice on how to live my own life, I’ll ask, thank you.”

“Tell me about the divorce. Was it tough?”

Why wouldn’t he let it go? Most people wanted to avoid other people’s problems and baggage, not delve into them.