“Of course,” Colton said. Gretchen grinned cheekily and handed him a pen and piece of paper she’d dug from her purse.
Colton cleared his throat and uncapped the pen. “What’s your grandma’s name?”
“Jennifer.”
Colton scribbled his name on the paper and handed it to the girl. She clutched it to her chest.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
The girls ran off in a fit of giggles. He sat down with a grimace. “I think I just crossed the generational dateline. Her grandma?”
Gretchen patted his arm. “Don’t sweat it. It happens to the best of men.”
“Great. I’m the celebrity equivalent of erectile dysfunction.”
Gretchen dipped her chin to hide her face, but not before he saw it. Another real smile. “Admit it,” he said, handing her a plate and a packet of utensils.
“Admit what?”
“You like me.”
She rolled her eyes and attacked her food with gusto. He chuckled. “Hungry?”
“Starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Why not?”
“Too busy.”
He swallowed a forkful of greens and wiped his mouth. “What’s that look like for you?”
She barely glanced up from her brisket. “What does what look like?”
“A busy day.”
She lifted a shoulder as she continued to eat. “It would seem boring to you.”
“I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”
She did the eye-roll thing again.
“Try me, Gretchen.”
She swallowed a bite and sat back in her chair. “Well, it looks like a lot of research—”
“Of what?”
“Case law, mostly. Relevant precedent, new rulings. Anything to convince a court that deporting a person with children is cruel and inhumane. I also spend a ridiculous amount of time writing briefs, filing extensions for Canadian songwriters who overstayed their visas, and doing my best to make sure the families of my clients awaiting deportation don’t starve.”
Wow. Professional Gretchen was a sight to behold. A tug low in his gut told him he was about to embarrass himself again. “You do all of that yourself?”
She resumed eating. “I have three interns who help out, and my assistant, Addison, keeps me organized. This time of year, though, she has to spend most of her time figuring out how we’re going to keep the lights on next year.”
His eyebrows tugged together as he finished off the mac and cheese. “Why?”
“Our clinic is donor funded. Most of my cases are pro bono because my clients can’t pay.”
He cocked his head. “But you’re a Winthrop.”
“Doesn’t mean I have access to Winthrop money.”
She had no access to Winthrop money, but her family had her doing tasks like asking him to endorse the company? “You’ll have to explain that one to me.”
“It’s a long story.” It wasn’t so much her tone of voice as her expression that said she had no intention of telling it. He wanted to push, but something told him she’d bolt if he did. He’d made too much progress with her tonight to risk that, so he redirected her attention.
“If you’re not going to finish your biscuits, I’ll eat them.” He pointed his fork toward her plate, but she snatched it out of reach.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Well, hurry up. Our night’s not over.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
They found a spot to sit on a bench facing the river. The bridge was to their right, the lights casting a colorful reflection on the water. He struck an effortlessly manly pose, his legs extended casually in front of the bench and crossed at the ankles. When he draped an arm around her shoulders, she got light-headed.
A man pushing a cart offering hot cocoa and spiced cider wheeled by. Colton caught his attention and bought them each a hot chocolate.
“I was supposed to buy that,” she said as he reclaimed his seat.
He shook his head. “You’re welcome.”
He relaxed in silence next to her. Every so often, she heard the quiet slurp of him sipping the piping hot cocoa. But mostly she stared at the river, at the gentle kaleidoscope of color atop the soft ripples of the flowing water. On the other side of the bridge, a roaming choir sang carols, and the distance created a haunting echo where they sat.
Children ran and parents chased. Couples kissed and teenagers laughed. Fathers hoisted toddlers on their shoulders, and mothers wiped sticky hands.