Emily seems dead set on making up for Thanksgiving, something that only occurs to me while we’re walking back to where I parked my truck. The sun has settled in for the afternoon, and she’s taken off her hood, her dark hair styled in a twist at the nape of her neck. Does she really feel that guilty?

“Is this a guilt thing?” I say, as we come even with my truck.

She turns, eyebrows raised. “Is what a guilt thing?”

“This…day. You showing up at my house. Is this because of what happened on Thanksgiving?”

Emily flicks her eyes to the side. “It’s because of what happened after Thanksgiving. At least, that’s how it started. I should have been brave enough to wake you up.” Out of nowhere, there’s a sheen of tears coating her eyes. “I felt like shit about it afterward. You don’t have to believe me, but—”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “Em, I shouldn’t have asked. Don’t cry.”

“I’m not going to cry.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Does it matter, though?”

“Does what matter?”

“Whether I showed up here out of guilt or not.”

“I’d rather you show up at my house because you can’t bear to be away from me,” I murmur into her ear. “Not because you feel guilty.”

She turns fully into my arms with a sigh. “It’s dangerous, you know.”

“Me?”

“Wanting to be with you this much.” This is the closest we’ve gotten to talking about the real reason she’s here—the real heart of the issue, the thing that she’s holding back from me. I know it like I know Lakewood is going to be cold for the winter. I know there’s something she’s not telling me. Even so, her words have deep desire and want coiling at my core.

“It doesn’t seem very dangerous,” I offer. “Unless you count pancakes and gingerbread among your worst enemies.”

Emily laughs. “Pancakes and gingerbread, no. Shopping, yes.” Then she smiles up at me. “That’s why you’re going to help.”

* * *

She’s not telling the full truth, of course. Emily likes shopping. She loves buying Christmas gifts for people, but this time is different.

“Let’s walk,” she says, moving past the truck. It’s only a couple of blocks to the main drag, where there’s no shortage of over-the-top Lakewood stores.

“Where to first?” Normally, I’d be opposed to everything we’ve done today. But with her, it’s different.

She frowns. “I need gifts for my parents. And my brother. At minimum.”

“Whoa.” Emily walks faster, in a sudden rush. “It’s two days until Christmas, and you haven’t shopped?”

The significance of this is not lost on me, and she shakes her head, looking sheepish. “I know.”

“Not a single gift?”

“Not a single one. I have some ideas, but…”

“What kind of firm are you working at that you haven’t shopped for Christmas?”

“An exhausting one.”

Jesus. I should have been less focused on myself and more worried about what Emily’s life really means. Everyone’s pressed for time around the holidays, but Emily? Even when we were in high school, she loved to have things done well ahead of time. Midway through November of our senior year, she’d spent one of our study hall periods telling me about the gifts she’d already bought for her family. She used to work at Pages, the bookstore downtown, and she’d save up some of her paycheck for months just for the holidays. That’s what kind of person she is. This last-minute search isn’t like her.

I don’t say anything. Maybe this is what she actually meant when she said her plan wasn’t working out. My heart shifts into overdrive. If that’s what she meant, I have to get her out of this.

She’s not going to go without a fight.

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s on your mind?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that something’s not right, but of course I can’t do that. Maybe this is a particularly busy year at the firm, or maybe she’s changed the way she does her holiday shopping. Either way, going on the offensive isn’t going to do anyone any good. “There’s a new massage place downtown,” I say finally. “I wonder if your mom would like a gift certificate.”

Emily’s face lights up. “Is it nice?”

I shrug. “I haven’t been inside. Looks nice from the outside.”

“We’ll start there.” She reaches between us, finds my hand, and squeezes. “What would I do without you?”

“Have a career as a lawyer and a life in the big city,” I tease.

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. “A life.”

*****

She purchases the gift certificate, but that doesn’t stop Emily from agonizing over the perfect robe to go with it at the women’s clothing shop three doors down. We spend forty-five minutes choosing a book for her brother at Pages and having it gift-wrapped, and then we move on to Emily’s dad. She goes with a tried-and-true idea—his favorite kind of Woolrich shirt, from a store on the opposite end of downtown.

“What do you think of this one?”

It’s a dark blue shirt, soft and durable all at once. Emily’s dad likes to wear them on the weekends. He always has, even when we were in school.

“I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Em purses her lips. “I don’t know.” She has three shirts over her arm—one a forest green, one a deep rust color, and one that’s heather gray. Now she’s found the blue.

“I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Pick your favorite two. He can always come back and exchange them.”

She smiles, her expression relaxing. “That’s true. But he’d never do that, so I should pick the best ones.”

“I’m telling you, go for the rust and the gray. It’ll look classy as hell in the box.”

She laughs. “Classy as hell. Okay.” She moves to put the other two back on the rack, but glances at me first. “Do you want to get one?”

“For myself?”

“For your dad.”

I don’t. I really don’t, but there’s something in Emily’s eyes that makes me hesitate.

“Sure,” I say, and her shoulders drop an inch. “He’ll like the blue.”