“I usually turn them down, but I made an exception for you.” She grabbed for the frame. Her neck and jaw turned pink. “Do you have any plans for the holidays?” she rushed.
The holidays . . . not what he wanted to focus on right now. He wanted to know what other exceptions she’d be willing to make for him—the ones that were making her blush. “I’m going to London with family for Christmas.”
“Sounds magical,” she sighed, her smile soft and whimsical.
Magical? Hardly. “You don’t know my family,” he muttered, picking at the skin around his nails. “My holiday will end up being more like a board meeting than a celebration.”
Her brows came together and she rested her chin on her hand. “Why don’t you spend Christmas here instead?”
If only . . . “My mother would be devastated if I didn’t show.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“A month. Maybe more.” It wasn’t negotiable, so he’d never really concerned himself with the timeframe before. But for some reason, right now, a month seemed like a long time to be away.
“I’ve never been overseas.”
Deacon had seen her file. Before he’d come to take her away, she’d never even been out of Ohio. “We’ll have to go someday.”
“Together?” she choked, her eyes wide.
Travelling with someone who had never been out of the country might make the whole experience feel less monotonous. “Would you like that?”
“Yeah. Sounds fun.” Her ferocious blush negated her nonchalant response. “Can we go to Buckingham Palace?” He nodded. “Big Ben?”
“I’ll bring you wherever you want to go.”
“You know where I really want to go most?” she said, scooting closer to the table and leaning forward as though what she was about to say was a big secret. “I want to see the Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens.”
“That can be our first stop.”
Although she would be disappointed. The statue wasn’t very impressive. But a walk along the Serpentine was usually enjoyable. They could grab dinner, maybe stop by the West End for a show and—
What was he doing? He didn’t make plans.
“I’m going to hold you to that, you know.” She held her hand across the table toward him.
He gave it a firm shake, and said, “I hope you will.”
Vivienne frowned at her red-nosed reflection in the bathroom mirror before turning off the light. If it hadn’t been Thanksgiving, she would have been asleep hours ago. She had felt great the night before, but since she woke up that morning, her nose wouldn’t stop running, and her throat felt like she had swallowed a cactus.
She allowed one longing glance toward her bed before collecting her coat, hat, and scarf from the living room. “Emily? Are you ready to go?”
“Coming!” The hall light turned off, and Emily appeared in her new red wool coat and black hat. Her nose wrinkled when she made a face. “You don’t look so good.”
“That’s because I feel like crap.” Vivienne pulled one of the balled-up tissues from her coat pocket and blew her nose. The pressure in her head eased a fraction.
For what felt like the hundredth time, Emily asked her if she wanted to stay in bed.
“I’ll stay here if you go to your mom and dad’s for dinner.”
Emily hadn’t seen her parents since her genealogy meeting. She almost seemed back to her normal, bubbly self, but every once in a while, Vivienne would catch her with tears in her eyes.
“Not happening.”
Vivienne wrapped her scarf around her neck and face and dragged her hat over her hair. Once she was bundled, they trudged down the stairs and out into the blustery snow. It took them twice as long as normal to reach The Glass House, but when they did, Vivienne was glad she had forced herself out of the apartment.
The Glass House had been transformed with miles of pine garland and a massive fir tree decorated with colorful lights and antique baubles. Gold place cards marked the seating arrangements at the long trestle table lined with wooden benches and high-backed chairs. With an aching head, Vivienne found her seat between Max and someone named Alex McGee.
Emily kept circling the table until she reached a chair at the far side. “Ugh. We’re so far away from each other,” she whined.
Vivienne tried not to make it obvious that she was scanning the nametags as she walked over. The card next to Emily’s had Deacon’s name printed on it.
“Wanna swap so you can sit next to lover boy?” Emily picked up her place card. “I don’t mind.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah. Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “You two have been texting all week. I don’t think he wants to sit beside me.”
Vivienne hadn’t seen him since their lunch together, but he’d texted her nearly every day. Still, she didn’t want to look pathetic, so she told Emily she didn’t care and went back to her own seat, deflated.
The room filled with boisterous PAN, but she knew the moment Deacon walked in with Ethan and Nicola. They all waved to her from across the room. She returned the greeting and watched Deacon locate his seat between Ethan and Emily. He frowned, and his eyes flashed to hers. She shrugged. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was desperate.
After everyone was seated, the campus pastor said a blessing for the meal. Four succulent turkeys suited to a vintage holiday postcard were brought from the kitchen and spaced evenly among the vast variety of side dishes. Every type of potato imaginable, along with two dozen different pies, completed the spread.
Max came in, stomped the snow from his shoes, and threw his coat on top of the pile next to the tree. Vivienne waved at him and pointed to the chair to her right. Dusting the snow from his hair, he jogged over and plopped down.
“Sorry I’m late. My stupid alarm didn’t go off.” He stabbed a piece of turkey and flopped it onto his plate. Quieter, he asked how Emily was doing.
Vivienne watched Emily smiling and laughing from across the table. “She’s still refusing to talk to her parents.” Emily put on a brave face, but Vivienne heard her crying in her room at night.
“I figured, since she’s here for this.” Max piled his plate with every dish within arm’s reach, dumped gravy over all of it, then shouted for Barry to pass the stuffing.
“I don’t think I’ll have to eat again until Christmas,” the guy next to her said. He wore a gray button-down shirt half tucked into his black jeans and a pair of leather boots with loose laces.
“Tell me about it.” One thing was for certain: her cold hadn’t diminished her appetite. Max handed her a bowl, and Vivienne made room for candied carrots on her already full plate.
“I’m Alex.” His smile lines and hint of stubble made him look older than nearly everyone else at the table.
“You’re not one of us, are you?” she said, handing Alex the carrots.
He set the bowl on the hotplate in front of his dinner. “And here I thought my disguise would work,” he teased, smoothing his free hand over his cheek.
“If you wanted to disguise yourself in Neverland, you probably shouldn’t have gone with a beard.”