Page 20

And yet, Chloe, that’s the WHOLE POINT of this growing exercise, isn’t it?!

This is an opportunity.

To get a rejection.

I realize as we turn onto Main Street that I am gripping the wheel like I’m trying to strangle a penguin’s neck. Even James seems to notice, and his eyes squint with faint suspicion.

C’mon, Chloe. It’s now or never.

“You know,” I blurt out, my gaze scanning the world around me for sudden inspiration. I look beyond the blinking red stoplight at the crosswalk. Several heavily displayed shop windows with Closed signs peer out beneath snow-laden awnings and blinking lights. Empty tables and chairs in a fleece of white sit on the sidewalk beside a restaurant. There are a few parked cars and a few antique stores, and at one of the stores a pair of owners stand in the entryway, watching the snow fall while no doubt weighing whether to stay open or close up shop for the day.

A wide median has always run the length of the otherwise small street, deep enough that people come there to picnic in the summer and perch on benches to watch ducks and traffic in the fall. Now, of course, the town fountain isn’t running, but beside it sits the gigantic evergreen tree that is the town’s centerpiece this time of year, big enough to seem a thousand stories tall to a child.

I would know, as I was that little girl once upon a time. The tree in the center of town used to be one of my favorite destinations.

I glance at the time and shake my head. Painfully, I have to admit it’s too perfect of an opportunity not to ask. The goal is rejection anyway, right?

I take a breath, summoning all my courage, and go in for the kill. “You’re probably exhausted after all that travel, but what do you think about stopping here, in the center of town, three blocks from your destination, so you can engage in an old Christmas tradition with me? I think that sounds really fun. Don’t you?”

I pause. The absurdity of the request alone might be enough to do it, but just in case I need something else, something to really seal the deal, I continue, “I mean, there is a fair chance that your suitcase might get ruined in the snow. What is the waterproof rating of leather, exactly? Anyway, hopefully we won’t get stuck trying to back out considering how steep the snow’s building, but fingers crossed, right? Ha ha—”

“Okay.”

“What?” I swivel my head.

James’s face is set. There isn’t a sign of pleasure in his steely eyes. It’s clear from a mile away that this idea specifically does. Not. Sound. Fun.

And yet . . .

“Yes. I would like to . . . take time to stop. For your Christmas tradition.”

I purse my lips. He can’t be serious.

“I’ll warn you,” I say, “it’s a true family tradition. I can’t tell you what it is before we get there. Just like they never told me.”

There.

Now it’s time for him to turn me down.

And sure enough, his face, if it’s even possible, grimaces more than before.

I’m not even slowing down. There’s no way he’s really considering this.

Out of the mouth of this practical stranger, though, I hear, “Surprises are a healthy mental exercise. I . . .” There’s a deep pause. “. . . look forward . . .” Another deep pause. “. . . to it.”

No, he doesn’t.

He’s looking down at his perfectly pressed pants and sort of stroking them like I did when I had to put down my cat.

“It could be anything,” I emphasize. “You don’t know me from Adam. I could be dragging you into something illegal.”

He stops stroking. “Is it illegal?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

I purse my lips. “No.”

We stare off for a second. Then our gazes lock, grim and serious, and oddly it feels as though we are on opposite sides of a starting line, competing for an unknown prize.

“Then it’s settled,” he says at last.