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Ryan lightly punched his shoulder. “I mean, can you blame me?”

“I can,” he said. “And I will.” It seemed like he was mostly kidding. Probably why Ryan laughed and kept walking.

Several boos sent us on our way.

“You should stay with your friends,” I told Ryan. “It’s not like we can hang out. That whole parent problem we have.”

“My parents aren’t home,” he said, his eyes darting to mine.

Nerves climbed up my neck. What was he suggesting? That we go to his house?

He gave me a questioning look, and I returned it with a nod.

We were going to his house.

The hot chocolate trailer had a line all the way down the street. I hid my face against Ryan’s shoulder and hoped Buddy wouldn’t see us.

We took the path quickly toward his door. My eyes shot to my own lit-up house, hoping that nobody chose now to come out of it. I assumed Marcus had left long ago for his sock party and my moms were getting Harris ready for bed.

We made it to Ryan’s door, but it wasn’t until he pulled it shut behind us that I took a breath of relief.

The inside of his house was … empty. Well, not empty. There were large pieces of furniture and art on the walls, and plants, but no Christmas. Not a single decoration, at least not in the front room or entryway. Maybe it was down the hall in whatever room he was leading us to. The hall ended at a great room. A large kitchen attached to an even larger living room. And in the far corner of that living room was a tall Christmas tree. It almost reached the ceiling, which was at least twelve feet high. It was decorated in white lights and big red ornaments. No homemade sparkly balls or washcloth snowmen or pretzel reindeer heads. Speaking of pretzel reindeer heads, I wondered if those pretzels that we sprayed with some sort of clear coating all those years ago and continued to hang on our tree would ever go bad.

“Your house is so…” I started.

“What?” he asked when I didn’t finish.

“Big,” I said, not wanting to offend him with cold or boring or some other adjective that had come to mind. “Where are all your decorations? The outside doesn’t match the inside.”

Ryan’s parents just decorated for show, was what I was realizing.

“My mom doesn’t like clutter,” he said.

“She’d hate my room,” I said.

“What’s your room like?”

“The definition of clutter.”

“I’ll have to see it sometime.” His lips twitched with a smile.

My stomach fluttered. I wasn’t sure what to say. He would never see my room. We couldn’t even tell our parents we were talking.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?” he asked, pulling off his gloves and hat and setting them on the large center island in his kitchen.

His hair, which was normally tame, was sticking up at odd angles. I smiled at how cute it made him look.

“No, I’m good.”

“I saw Mr. Lenny walking the lights tonight,” Ryan said, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the fridge.

“When?” I hadn’t seen him.

“Before I saw you.”

“Was he alone?” I asked.

“I think so.”