Page 35 of So This Is Christmas

He was trying to think how to handle things, whether to say anything, when she appeared by his side, probably wondering what was taking him so long. He handed her the blanket. “You can use this in the car until it warms up.”

“You keep blankets in your car?” She peered into the trunk. “Is that an axe?”

“Yes.” He pointed to the closed box that contained the rest of his kit. “And flares, sand, first aid supplies, and so on. Standardsurvival kit for traveling in the mountains in the winter.” He reached for a brush to clean off the car and shooed her inside it to wait. They should not have lingered after dinner.

Once he was situated behind the wheel, he started the car, aimed the heat vents at her, and said, “Ms. Delaney, I must apol—”

She held up a hand. “No need. I’m the one who fell asleep on you.”

“Yes, but—”

“Let’s chalk it up to too much truce-ing and forget it.”

Could it be that easy? “An overcorrection, if you will.”

“Exactly. And now we’ll go back to disliking each other.” Her eyes twinkled under the dim lights illuminating the parking areas.

He feared his eyes were doing the same. “Very good, Ms. Delaney.”

She fell asleep again a few minutes into their ride, which allowed Matteo to glance at her from time to time, to study her without her knowing. As she’d slept earlier, he’d been next to her, so he hadn’t had a prospect of her face. The evening had done a number on her chignon. Some of her hair had escaped its bindings. Her head had lolled to one side, which had the effect of exposing one small, perfectly shaped earlobe studded with a small pearl. The cold had pinked her cheeks, and her lips were an even deeper pink. Her upper lip had a deep V in it, like an upside-down heart, almost, that he hadn’t noticed before. He had never seen her without her signature lipstick, but he supposed the combination of the snow and the raclette had washed away her war paint.

He hadn’t seen her naked lips before now, but he had felt them. Tasted them momentarily. They’d been—

No. He needed to do what she’d said and forget about that kiss.

He returned his attention to the road and, because she was asleep, did a few full sets of his breathing exercise. The car smelled faintly of smoke—they’d spent enough time by the fires that the scent had permeated their clothing.

Matteo’s father used to smoke a pipe, and his car had always carried the scent. Mother never let him smoke in the house. She hated the smell, but Matteo used to like it. There was something comforting about that peaty smell. As an adult, he could see that it was probably just an association. When Father smoked, he was happy. And silent. It was the easiest time to be around him, and even though it embarrassed him now, as a child, Matteo had wanted nothing more than his father’s attention and approval.

Matteo made a note to tell Frau Lehman to have Ms. Delaney’s suit cleaned. She seemed to be rotating between a gray one and a black one, changing them up with different blouses and accessories. If she only had two, which seemed likely given the remarkably small size of her suitcase, she couldn’t afford to have one out of commission for more than a day. He glanced at her again. She was—

Her phone rang, startling them both. He looked away quickly.

“I don’t recognize the number, which means it’s probably someone from the Riems factory.”

“Has it been your real number you’ve been giving out?” It boggled the mind.

“It has been.” Her brow wrinkled as she punched at the screen.

“And do people actually call it?”

“A few have.” She answered the call. “Hello, Cara Delaney here.” Her face changed from guarded to delighted. “Hi!” There was a long pause. “Are youkiddingme?” Another pause. “I didn’t thinkyou were serious! I’m on my way back from Riems. I don’t know; hang on.” She lowered the phone and whispered to Matteo, “How long have I been asleep? How long until we’re back to Witten?”

“An hour or so until we’re back.”

“We’re still an hour away. Tell him I’m sorry—” She huffed a disbelieving chuckle as she listened to whatever the other person was saying. “Okay, okay, I can’t pass that up. Do I have time to go change, though? We were out in the snow, and I’m sure I look like a drowned rat.” She pulled down the sun visor, slid open the little mirror there, and winced. “Confirmed. I’m definitely giving off waterlogged rodent vibes.” She listened for a while, and the chuckling of before became outright laughter. “Yeah, point taken. Okay, then I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Everything all right?” he asked when she disconnected her call.

“Yes. That was Imogen.”

“Imogen?” He could not hide his surprise.

“Yes, she, ah... has something to show me at the bar. Do you think you could drop me there before you head up the hill?” She started rummaging in her bag.

“Certainly.” He very much wanted to ask her what Imogen could possibly have to show her that was so urgent, but his desire not to be the kind of person who cared what Ms. Delaney did in her free time was stronger. After a few seconds of silence, though, he couldn’t stand it anymore. But he limited himself to an observation that obscured the real question. “I didn’t realize you and Imogen had become so friendly.”

“Mm,” she said noncommittally as she adjusted the angle of the visor to better study her reflection. Her “mm” morphed into another vague syllable, but one that definitely signaled distress.She started pulling pins from her hair. When it was all down it was so much longer than Matteo had imagined. It came almost to her elbows. She started raking her fingers through it, all the while curling her lip at her reflection.

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