The bartender overheard the whole thing and laughed. It gave me a little charge. It was a deep laugh, but he stopped himself when he noticed I was paying attention, becoming professional, but I could see traces of a cat grin on his perfect lips. I like the way his hair was disheveled but his shirt was ironed. Cute. Confident. What was this? I was racing toward heartbreak recovery faster than anticipated. I accepted a glass of champagne from him and was about to say something clever—I’m not above some light flirting—but that was when Claudine announced the Secret Santa was about to start.

Claudine

Tapping the side of a champagne flute with a cocktail fork to rouse the attention of a room brought Claudine immense pleasure. She was an expert. Knowing where to place her fingers on the glass, the exact part of the flute to strike, the right amount of champagne necessary to achieve the desired pitch, the right part of the fork to create the perfect ring. Strong and clear. The note sharp enough that everyone stopped talking and turned to find her.

“It’s Secret Santa time. Fill up your drinks and please find a seat. There are a variety of savory bites and I hope you brought your sweet tooth. There will be macaroons, mousse pots, classic candy canes. And much more.”

After a brief rush to the bar, anticipatory chatter at full blast, the guests made their way into the living room. Welcomed by the smoky scent of burning apple wood in the air. The Tigglemans practically trotting. The last time they moved that fast was to find the heat lamps at the Aspen World Snow Polo Championship. They might be old, but they were enthusiastic Secret Santa novices.

The room was inviting. Two long leather couches, three deep navy armchairs with foot stools, the white chair by the fire, and two mid-century benches. They were arranged in a wide semicircle so guests could enjoy the fire as well as watch the snow fall through the windows. A smattering of small side tables and chic wooden coffee tables for drinks. A white shag carpet in the center. Steve was talking close with John, Rashida, and Jules, then they were all laughing at something he was saying. It was unacceptable that they would even speak to him, let alone encourage him with laughter. He wasn’t even funny. The suggested intimacy made her think one of them invited him. No. She wouldn’t be distracted in this way. Watching him play the flitty guest, buzzing his way around her party. Apart from Steve, things were as they should be. The conversations light, the guests tipsy, a good moment to start the main event.

“I’ve saved you the best seat,” she said, leading Zara to the white corduroy wingback near the fire. The chair was wide enough for Pip to curl up next to her.