Page 50 of My Favorite Holidate

“Nearly everything I make comes from recycled materials.”

“Like in the shirt design you’re working on for us,” he says, putting clues together like in one of his detective novels.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s my thing too.”

He seems almost…taken with this intel. “So, it’s our thing—looking after the planet,” he adds. It’s as if we’ve just discovered we both dog-eared the same scenes in the same book as a kid or want to visit the same Aztec ruins.

“Seems it is,” I say.

He doesn’t look away, just studies the chain from a slight distance, then raises his gaze to mine again. “Would you ever want to do that full-time? Make your own jewelry? Or really, do more of that?”

Yes, god, yes. But should I say that to my boss? I’m not sure I should let on that my dream is to one day open a shop, or two or three. Bosses want to believe you’ll stay with the company forever. They don’t want to know you have other goals and aspirations. Loyalty, I’m sure, is important to him. “Maybe on the side,” I say, hedging my bets.

“Like an Etsy shop? I could see that,” he says.

The fact that he can picture it and not be threatenedby it makes my heart glow. “Yes. Like that,” I say, taking a small step in sharing my dreams with him.

“You should. They’re too beautiful to keep to yourself.”

But there’s a nagging feeling in my stomach. I don’t want to lie to him. “Actually, I have one already,” I confess.

He lifts a brow. “An Etsy shop?”

“I just dabble for now. Sell a few things here and there,” I say.

“What’s the name?”

“Made by Fable,” I say, then roll my eyes. “It’s not that original.”

“You have the perfect name for a designer. It’s artistic and creative. It’s a good name for a shop, Fable,” he says, and there’s no faint praise in his tone. I can tell he means it.

“Thank you.”

He lets go of the ladder, steps closer to me, and reaches toward the necklace. Briefly, he runs a finger across the little bow. My skin buzzes from his seconds-long touch, then his words, “So pretty.” Then, he heads to the door. “Should we continue on our tour?”

I take a moment to get my bearings before I say yes, then follow him downstairs to a gym, and also a home theater where Mac and some of the kids will hang out during the luncheon party. He gestures to an empty red bowl that sayspopcornon it, sitting on the sideboard.

“That’s from last night,” he says, swooping it up and dropping it in the kitchen with Mac as she sorts out popcorn spices. Then, he guides me up the stairs, and I drink in the view for miles as we go, the Golden Gate Bridge and the endless ocean spilling over the horizon. We reach the bedroom level, and he shows me Mac’s room with its unmade bed that he clearly didn’t insist shemake this morning. There’s also a huge, messy desk covered with cameras and lenses. Photoshop is open on the computer screen.

His home office is next on the tour. Antique maps cover the walls. “Do you collect?”

“I do,” he says.

“Why?”

“I like knowing what the world was.”

“To know what it can be?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“That’s very you,” I say. “Especially with your new businesses, like the energy ones.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. You like to understand the future. To help shape it.”

“I hope so. And I hope to shape it for the best.”

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