“She’s a pretty good sister,” he said, his expression turning fond. “She’s a lot younger than Benedict and I—I was twelve when she was born. All lungs and hair. Not so different from now, come to think of it.”

“She has you wrapped around her little finger,” Alva said.

“Completely,” Sam said, grinning back at her. “The little tyrant.”

“What’s it like?” Alva said, blurting out the words before she realized how desperate they sounded. She tried to cover. “I mean, having such a close-knit family.”

“It’s wonderful,” he said, not even seeming to notice her awkwardness. “You should see us around Christmas. My father gets really excited about a month beforehand, right after Thanksgiving. He starts hauling in decorations, some of which he only took down about two months before, and my mother gets mad because he insists on decorating in the labs, too, and invariably ends up disturbing some very important pile of materials, and after, Maggie usually blows something up, although, to be fair, that’s not actually a Christmas-specific activity.” He chuckled to himself, obviously replaying holidays past.

“I’m starting to think you’re lagging behind your family in terms of explosions,” Alva said.

“Oh, the women are far and away the worst offenders,” he said, a distinct tone of envy in his voice. “It’s because they work with chemicals the most—my inventions are usually more likely to only start fires, without an exciting explosion.”

“Tragic,” she said. “A mere fire is nothing without an explosion.”

He nodded vigorously, and even more vigorously began to apply himself to the large slab of chocolate cake a waitress placed in front of him.

“Did you even order that?” Alva turned to look at the young waitress, who was clustered with two other girls, giggling and staring at Sam.

“Didn’t I?”

“Never mind,” she said, chalking it up to the perks of being very handsome and very famous. “Tell me more about Christmas.”

“Well, it’s really a pagan holiday at bottom, but several centuries ago the Christians—”

“Hilarious.”

He smiled and took another enormous bite of cake. “Oh, you know. Lots of food, lots of games, lots of presents. A toasty fire. Popcorn. A really big tree that my father and brother and I almost kill ourselves bringing in.”

“It sounds perfect,” she said.

“It is.” A final bite cleared the plate, leaving Alva blinking in astonishment. “What about you? Any particularly lovely Christmas memories?”