“Mind what?”
He reached behind her to grab another paper towel, getting it wet with some warm water and a tiny drop of soap. “Close your eyes.”
“That’s the second time tonight you’ve told me to do that,” she said, but she followed his direction. He wiped gently at the shimmery makeup around her eyes, doubling over the paper towel and using the other side when he saw the streaks of glitter left behind.
“Did you feel left out?” she asked. “When you were a kid, I mean, and couldn’t read what the other kids were reading.”
“Sure,” he said. “Although maybe I should be grateful, when it comes to that particular example. I have a feeling I would’ve been a hardcore Potter fan, and then when the author showed her TERF colors it would’ve broken my heart.”
He swiped at the wetness left under her eyes, letting his thumbs linger on her skin before he crumpled the paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “All done,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she looked dazed, like she was emerging from a deep sleep. “Thank you,” she said.
A lock of her hair had fallen over her face, and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. “I think that’s why I love Christmas so much,” he said. “My mom went all out—it was the only ‘magic’ really allowed in my house. My dad would’ve much rather been a ‘reason for the season’ kind of family, but my mom wouldn’t have it. Santa always left elaborate scavenger hunts for our big presents, we put out cookies and carrots for the reindeer every year, the works. I believed in Santa until I was twelve years old.”
“Really?”
He smiled. “I almost got into a fistfight with a kid in seventh grade over it. My older sister Becca sat me down and told me the truth for my own protection.”
He’d missed several texts that day from Becca, asking him again if he was coming to her baby shower tomorrow. But he didn’t want to think about that now, any more than he wanted to connect the bossy, overprotective sister she’d been then with the woman she would be by now, grown-up and about to bring his niece into the world. It was too painful.
“Would you want to—” she started, and then broke off.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes in a self-deprecating gesture. “I just realized, since it’s late and you don’t have your car here . . . would you want to stay? We’d just be sleeping, and we’ve slept together before. Kind of. You know what I mean.”
Asa was sure there were several reasons why that was a bad idea, but at that moment, he couldn’t think of them. She pushed open the door to her bedroom, and he followed her inside, his hands in his pockets as he looked around.
There was more of Lauren in this room. The bed was covered in a lavender comforter, a couple fluffy decorative pillows pushed to one side. He crossed over to her bookshelf, tilting his head slightly to read the spines. Mostly fiction, books that looked like they’d been shortlisted for awards or featured on some culture podcast. But she also had a whole shelf of cozy mysteries with titles about a cat who talked to ghosts or sang for the birds, and he pulled one from its place to flip to read the back.
When he returned the book to its place, he accidentally knocked over a Christmas card that had been propped on the shelf. He picked it up, and couldn’t help but notice that it was signed from MB. He didn’t want to be nosy, but he also did want to know more about Lauren, and something told him this was an important part.
“Miss Bianca, with the telenovelas,” he said. “She was your . . . foster mom?”
“Yeah.”
He turned, trying to gauge her expression. She looked wary, but not necessarily closed off.
“I’d like to hear about it,” he said. “If you wanted to tell me.”
She shrugged. “Are you staying? Either way, I’m really tired. I think I’m going to lie down.”
Before he could respond, she’d already switched off the light and climbed under the covers. There was still a glow coming from the kitchen through the doorway, so he could see the way she watched him as he stood by the bookshelf, trying to keep up with her constant changes in direction.
“I can sleep on the couch,” he said.
“You’re too tall,” she pointed out. “Seriously, I know you’re trying to be a gentleman or whatever, but just take your clothes off and come to bed. It’s not a big deal.”
“Take my—” he choked on a laugh.