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“She keeps my life organized. I value her considerably.” He gives me a crooked smile, and starts folding paper over the box.

We work quietly for a while as Sinatra gives way to Bing Crosby. It's nice having Vince here with me. We had so much fun Christmas shopping yesterday, and I'm glad we're spending the afternoon together again. I wish I could stop being so aware of him, though. Every time he moves in his chair or reaches down for something, I find myself glancing over, noticing the curve of his bicep or the strength of his hand.

Sigh.

I pick up another gift, measure the wrapping paper for it, and decide I might as well ask the question that's really on my mind.

“So, how was your date the other night?”

Vince doesn't look up. “Fine.”

“Fine as in you had a good time, or fine as in you're never seeing her again?”

“We had a nice dinner.” He smooths a strip of tape along the edge of his package. “She's coming here for dinner after Christmas.”

I stop cutting the paper. “Here?”

He looks up. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” I resume cutting, although I've completely lost track of what I’m doing. “That's nice.”

He murmurs an acknowledgment and puts his wrapped box on the coffee table, picking up another gift and reaching for the wrapping paper again.

“What's her name?” I ask.

“Camille.”

Camille. Obviously. She’s probably beautiful and sophisticated, with expensive clothes and impeccable manners. Exactly the sort of woman Vince would date.

“And how did you meet?” I’m forcing this conversation, but I can’t stop myself. I need to know.

“Through a colleague,” he says, folding a corner of wrapping paper into place.

“Another lawyer?”

“Yes, Sophie. We do occasionally associate with one another outside the courtroom.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

I fold the paper around my gift and try to concentrate on getting the corners straight. Camille. I’m . . . jealous. Which is ridiculous, considering I certainly have no claim on Vince's romantic life and couldn’t be less in the running for his attention that way. Besides, I know he goes on dates. I've always known he goes on dates. It's just never bothered me quite this much before.

“Do you think it’s, like, going anywhere? Is she going to be my new stepmom?” I’m trying to be cute, to hide the agitation that’s building up inside of me, but the question seems to annoy him.

He puts down the box he's wrapping and looks at me. “We've been on three dates, Sophie. I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself.”

“I'm just asking.”

“And I'm telling you there's nothing to announce.”

Wow, okay. I lower my eyes to the present in my lap. “Okay. Sorry.”

Vince reaches for his coffee. For a moment I think that's going to be the end of it, and we can go back to wrapping presents like normal people. Instead, he gathers up his boxes.

“I have a few things to take care of upstairs. Don't forget to clean all this up before dinner.”

He leaves, and I sit there staring after him, stung by the abrupt dismissal. We'd been having such a nice afternoon, and now he's walked out because I asked a few questions about his date. Was I really that out of line? I don't think so. We only just made up about Tyler, and now I'm starting to wonder if Vince is looking for reasons to be upset with me.

I pick up my next gift and try to concentrate on wrapping it, but my enthusiasm for the afternoon has completely evaporated. Even turning up the Christmas music doesn't help.