But she guessed there was at least one thing that couldn’t go in an email. With an indulgent smile, Dolores called Asa to come down and hold out the Santa hat they’d filled earlier with slips of paper with their names written on them. Asa tripped a little himself bounding down the bleachers—more a hitch in his step than a full-out face-plant, luckily, but still. He held up his arms in an I’m okay! gesture, and everyone laughed good-naturedly. Trust him to turn a clumsy moment into a reason for everyone to love him more.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “You know how this works. Grab a name, if it’s yours put it back, but otherwise you gotta keep it. Honor system! Presents can be handmade or bought, but try to keep them around twenty bucks. The exchange will happen at the holiday party, which is . . .”
He glanced back at Dolores for help.
“The eighteenth,” she inserted. “Here at Cold World, after hours.”
A Saturday night holiday party on-site, which meant that no matter how good a job the caterers did in breaking everything down, some poor suckers were going to have to come in the next morning to ensure that it was ready for the public. Lauren didn’t normally work weekends, but last year she’d worked an hour or two just to help out.
“There you have it,” Asa said. “Now, we’re going to try to do this in some semblance of an orderly fashion . . . Let’s start with the first row and work our way up. Daniel, do the honors?”
Asa’s voice retained its usual cheerful tone, but there was a slight restraint to it that gave Lauren the impression he didn’t think much of Daniel. She wondered if it was obvious to anyone else, then figured she must be imagining it. It wasn’t like she had any special insight into Asa Williamson.
Daniel stood, sliding his phone into his pocket, and reached into the Santa hat with a charming smile toward the bleachers, like he was a contestant on a game show. Lauren’s stomach tightened with anticipation. What if he pulled her name? What would he get her?
Probably something elegant, like a scented candle from a boutique, or a small, tasteful pin of something he’d associate with her. Like a bird, because he’d noticed she was shy, or an ant, because she was a hard worker.
Lauren frowned. That was the best she could do? Even in her imagination? Not, like, a butterfly because she was unique or a flower because she was beautiful? And the truth was that Lauren didn’t particularly care for scented candles, and had only worn a watch and the same necklace for years.
She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she missed the opportunity to watch Daniel’s face after he selected his name, see if he gave anything away. Everyone in the first row had already gone, and people from the second were starting to make their way to the front, skipping over Lauren. She jumped up to take her place in line.
“I thought I’d have to jiggle your mouse,” Asa said when she reached him. “Wake you up.”
It took Lauren a minute to figure out what he meant. Maybe it was something about the rasp of his voice when he’d said it, that insider jokey tone, but it had almost sounded like he’d said something dirty to her.
But no. Just another computer/robot joke. She pulled a face and put her hand in the Santa hat, withdrawing a scrap of paper and putting it in the pocket of her cardigan.
“You have to look at it,” he said.
“I will later.”
“But if you pick yourself, you have to go again,” he said patiently. “Come on. Take a peek.”
She didn’t know why it felt oddly vulnerable to unroll the paper while Asa watched. She knew her poker face was shit, that she’d probably look around for her gift recipient immediately, try to figure out what she might be able to get them that would feel personal but not too personal, useful but not too boring . . .
“Oh,” Dolores said, stepping in. “You two, stay after the meeting. I have something specific I want to discuss with you.”
Lauren’s gaze shot to Asa’s, but his expression was as confused as hers must have been.
Their boss wanted to speak to them? Together? Why?
They did snipe at each other sometimes. But Lauren thought they kept it professional when other people were around . . . at least she hoped they did. There was the time he’d gift-wrapped her desk chair. Then there’d been the weeks where these tiny little plastic penguins popped up around Cold World, hidden in the oddest places. Lauren had actually been kind of charmed by them—she’d even slipped one into her pocket to take home. And yet when it came out that he was behind the prank, all she’d been able to say was something about how it had been confusing to customers.