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She immediately perked up. “A gift?”

He pulled out a mini snow globe, shaking it. She squealed as he handed it to her.

“Nicked it from Santa’s bag,” he said. “Figured you might like it since you were so into the festivities. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

It was one of those cheap trinkets they bought en masse, but as she held it in her palm, she couldn’t help being touched. She smiled. “How sweet.”

They sat by the fire awhile in companionable silence, Grayson keeping a watchful eye on the wood and stoking the flames each time they seemed to dwindle. He chucked off his tie, opening the top button of his shirt, and the sight of his bare throat made her mouth dry.

When they got hungry a little later, they made butter sandwiches and had the last of the sweet treats, washing it all down with hot tea.

They spent some time reading then, their legs spread out parallel to one another. At one point, he had his knees up, and when she pulled hers up as well, they bumped into his. He bumped back, smiling at her over his book.

She bumped his knees again, and this time, he closed his book.

“It’s getting late,” he said, stretching. He looked at his watch. “Almost midnight.”

“Oh my gosh, really?” she said, putting her book aside. “I thought it was like … nine.”

She wasn’t tired at all.

“Did you tell your parents you were staying here tonight?” Grayson asked. He looked out the window, where the snow was still falling in a consistent stream. The roads were indiscernible.

“No.” She hadn’t thought about that. They wouldn’t be worried.

“Shouldn’t you tell them?” Grayson asked, curious.

“Yeah, probably,” she said, pulling out her phone. She shot her mother a quick text saying she wouldn’t be home tonight.

“You’re not going to call?” Grayson asked, looking confused. “You ring Charles for the silliest things.”

Lucy paused. “A text is fine.”

“Will they worry?”

She bristled. Why was he asking her a million questions? God.

“No.”

Grayson looked at her, and she saw another question in his eyes. He seriously never shut up, did he?

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing … it’s just … do you love them?”

“Of course I do. They’re my parents.” She hated how defensive she sounded.

“Just because they’re your parents doesn’t mean you have to love them,” he said, voice gentle.

Lucy fussed with her hair, pulling it out of the two braids. “They haven’t done anything for me to hate them,” she said. “They’re good parents—they’ve always taken care of me.”

“I didn’t ask if you hate them,” he said. “I asked if you love them.”

She made an exasperated sound. “I don’t know what you mean.”

But she did, she just didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t love her parents the way she loved Charles or Crawley Books or Main Street and all its inhabitants; she didn’t love them the way she loved reading or her magic or baking or talking to customers.

“It’s so obvious when you love something,” Grayson said. “And it’s obvious when you don’t.” His voice lowered. “As someone who falls into the latter category, I should know.”