Page 49 of The Christmas Yes List

We both go with the soup and sandwich special, and as she tucks the menus away and moves along, James turns to me.

“What did you ask for for Christmas this year?”

“Me? Room and board.”

He chuckles.

“What about you?”

He inhales and casts his gaze down at the table in an almost guilty and childlike manner. “Oh, not much. I made a list.”

My brows perk up. “You made a list? Is it a list . . . for Santa?” I say with a slight tease.

“No,” he says firmly, as though that were indeed childish. He pauses. “For my mom.”

I grin.

He catches it.

“What?” he says defensively.

“Oh, nothing,” I say with a shrug. “It’s just cute. You still make lists. I don’t think I’ve had a list since I was ten. And you’re, what . . . twenty-five?”

He’s not twenty-five. The little gray flecks of hair at his temples give this away, but I always guess low just in case.

“Thirty, and years don’t count.” He takes a big, defensive, this is no big deal breath. “I’m still her little boy.”

I laugh outright. “Well, sure you are. You’re like a living example of that creepy Love You Forever book. The one where he sneaks into his mom’s house when he’s middle-aged and holds her like a baby.”

“I happen to like Love You Forever.”

“Let me guess. Your mom read it to you growing up.”

He looks away. He doesn’t have to answer.

“Are there just two of you? You and your sister?”

“Yes.”

I nod. “Same. So what was on your list?”

“Just odds and ends. A toothbrush.”

“Exciting.”

“It’s electric, so yes, it is exciting. I’m also nearly out of this one brand of balsamic vinegar I like.”

“Absolute thrill.”

“I did have my eye on an evening with a particular jazz trio at the Lincoln Center.”

I put up a finger. “Okay, that one’s actually good. Which band is it?”

His brows rise slightly. “You like jazz?”

“Correction: I love jazz. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in the world who actually loves jazz. Like, loves it.”

“I love jazz.”