With Love, from Cold World(60)
Sixteen
The minute Asa had submitted his last report and logged off the crisis chat software, he checked his phone. Lauren had never replied to his question, although he could still hear the movie coming from the living room.
He’d tried to gauge her reaction when he’d walked into the kitchen. Had she been happy to see him? Or disappointed, upset that her plan to hang out with Kiki without him around might be compromised?
He wished he could find a way to talk to her without scaring her off. The only thing he could think to do was revert back to his usual joking ways, hoping that keeping it light would at least lift the unbearable pressure off the situation.
Has the case against Santa been dismissed yet?
The three dots appeared that indicated she was typing, before disappearing again. Finally, she sent two words. Spoiler alert.
He grinned, settling back on his bed to type a response. Like they were ever going to let Santa go down for assault in a Christmas movie. What IS your favorite Christmas movie, anyway?
Why does everyone want to know that?
He assumed she’d already gotten grilled by his other housemates. It’s a very important question in this house.
You already know I don’t care about Christmas.
He thought about the energy she’d put into decorating her office with him, how closely she’d paid attention when he’d demonstrated proper gift-wrapping technique earlier that day. You care a little.
She didn’t respond for so long that he thought he’d lost her. He could always go out to the living room, join everyone for the tail end of the movie. That was probably what he would’ve done if it were a normal night, if Lauren weren’t out there.
But then another text came in, and he just stared down at it, unsure how to answer.
What are you up to?
This was Lauren Fox, texting him that question. She probably had no idea how suggestive those five words seemed just sitting at the bottom of the message screen. She’d be appalled if she knew that was where his mind went from such an innocent stimulus.
If he told her the truth—that he was just lying back in his bed, texting her—one hundred percent it would sound like he was coming on to her. Unless maybe he added the right emoji afterward. He typed it out, trying a winking face (way too flirty), the upside-down face (too sarcastic?) . . . the fake disguise–looking face with the glasses and mustache was his best bet, but then he just deleted the whole thing.
Working on my Cold World proposal.
It was a little true. He’d drawn out some ideas, and his sketchbook was still sitting on his desk where he’d left it, waiting for him to get more done.
He’d actually taken a break to sketch out an idea he’d had for Lauren’s Secret Santa present. Once he’d learned she had him, he’d made it his mission to figure out who had her, and offer to trade. It was explicitly against the rules of Secret Santa that he himself laid out every year, but he wanted an excuse to give her something. Turned out, Marcus had drawn her name and was only too relieved not to worry about finding the right gift for someone he didn’t know that well. Asa had shoved the romance novels he’d already bought for Sonia in Marcus’ hands, ignoring the dubious expression on the dude’s face and just clapping him on the shoulder in thanks.
Can I see?
He jerked up to a sitting position. She wanted to check it out now? In his room? He didn’t know if it was because he’d sat up so abruptly, or because all the blood was rushing to the lower half of his body, but suddenly he felt light-headed. His desk was a mess of papers, colored pencil shavings, open reference books, and he did his best to straighten it up, flipping the sketchbook back to the Cold World drawings.
Sure, he texted back, and kicked a dirty T-shirt under his bed. At least his room was mostly neat.
Her soft knock came only a minute later, and he sat back in his desk chair, trying to look like he’d been there the whole time. “Come in.”
She glanced around, taking in everything from the artwork on the walls to the bookshelf in the corner to his rumpled dark teal bedspread, his laptop and earbuds still discarded on his bed where he’d left them.
“Elliot got me that,” he said when her gaze landed on a cactus-shaped lamp on his dresser. “From a trip to New Mexico with their boyfriend at the time. It stopped working about a month later—just longer than the relationship, actually—but I still like it, so.”
He was rambling. Why would Lauren give a fuck about a lamp?
“It’s nice,” she said. She came up to the desk, so close he could reach out and pull her onto his lap if he wanted. Which, obviously, he wouldn’t do. She touched the sketchbook page, tapping an illustration of swirling snowflakes he’d made in one corner.
“I should’ve known you were an artist,” she said. “Your handwriting alone.”
He forced himself to swallow the usual protest—that he wasn’t really an artist. He’d never gone to school for it, never made money from it. He barely showed anyone the stuff he worked on. But if that was how Lauren saw him, he wasn’t about to disabuse her of the notion.
“I’m thinking what Cold World needs is a total revamp of the Snow Globe,” he said. “Not just to include a snow effect from the ceiling—not in the whole place, just in one corner—but also more color and visual interest. We need to make it more selfie-worthy. Social media–worthy. A place where families go to take their Christmas card photos and couples go to get engaged and influencers go to . . . whatever they do. Tell people to come visit Orlando. We’re never going to have Cinderella’s Castle, but we need something that feels iconic. Where you see a flash of a picture in a brochure and think, oh, that’s the place with the snow!”