Page 37 of My Lucky Charm

“My favorite thing about Christmas is finding the perfect gift for someone,” I say. “Raya, my oldest sister, is the hardest. She’s like you—cranky.” I chuckle to myself, but don’t give him a chance to respond since I already know he won’t. “Poppy is easier, but I never want to be obvious about it. I mean, she’s a chef, so you might think it would be a good idea to get her, like, kitchen utensils or things to make her work life easier, but I try to go deeper than that. A person is so much more than just what they do, don’t you think?”

Still no response.

Still not deterred.

“And I think I’m easy to shop for. I mean, I like everything. Usually, my sisters go hunting for snow globes because I collect them, and they have a contest to see who can find the most unique one.” I go quiet for a minute, aware that while I’m filling the space because I can’t stand silence. I’m probably driving him nuts.

I tell myself to try to be quiet for a minute, just to see if I can stand it, but after thirty skin-crawling seconds, I’m talking again.

“Finding the perfect Christmas gift is an art. I used to think I could start my own gift-buying business because I’m so good at it. And I don’t say that in a cocky way. As talents go, it’s a pretty lame one.” Another pause.

And then, to my utter shock, Gray says, “I don’t think so. It’s a good talent.”

The words hang there in the space between us, and I’m wholly unprepared to be complimented. Even on something so meaningless. I have a feeling he’s not in the habit of giving compliments, and even though I shouldn’t, I find myself wanting him to tell me other good things about myself.

I always do this. Always.

I want to be liked. And the less a person seems to like me, the more I want to prove to them that I’m worth liking.

It’s not what I should be wanting with this guy.

I have a job. A good one. With benefits and my own lanyard.

Focus on that.

Still, that tiny little compliment felt like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold, winter day. In front of a fireplace and a Christmas tree. While wearing pajamas.

Warm. Fuzzy. Cozy.

“Well, if you have anyone you ever want to shop for, I’m your girl.” The words are out of my mouth, sounding a little desperate and presumptuous, before I can stop them. “I mean, I’m your assistant. Your girl assistant.”

Control+Z my life.

And if I could rewind, would I go back to New Year’s Eve and repeat that kiss? If I knew I’d be working with this man just a few weeks later, would I still ask him to kiss me to make my cheating ex-boyfriend jealous?

It takes barely a second for my brain to answer that question with a resounding “YES and YES.”

Which is somewhat pathetic, because he doesn’t even remember.

And wait. How does he not remember? It was dark in there, but not that dark. I look the same. I didn’t wear a wig. He’d been drinking, but not really.

I look at him. Is he just pretending to not remember so we don’t have to address it? To help me save face?

I’m this close to asking him when common sense kicks in.

We drive through the twinkle-lit city and onto the interstate, heading toward my hometown, Loveland. It would be easy for him to ask me questions about it. Why’d I choose to live in the same town where I grew up? Did I ever want to move to a big city? What’s life like in a suburb that feels like a quaint, quintessential, small town?

Gray asks me none of those things.

He asks me nothing.

He doesn’t say a word.

The entire drive.

And while the quiet is awkward and strange, I’m out of things to say. With a directive not to ask personal questions, what am I supposed to ask? When should I report to work when you get back from your trip, boss? What should I do when you’re gone?

I already know what his response will be, so I say nothing.

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