Page 63 of About Last Christmas
He shrugs. “Because the writer isn’t trying to pitch a ‘woe is me’ story. She simply states the facts. If anything, she’s underselling, like she’s embarrassed to ask. I think there’s more to the story.”
Hmm. It’s an interesting take. I put a blue “maybe” sticky note at the top of the letter.
“What about you?” he asks. “How’s it coming?”
“I’ve been able to reject at least ten. People ask for extravagant things without a solid reason. Some dude wants a boat just because he loves summers on the lake. Well”—I glance down at the paper—“Justin Dodd, that does sound fun, but you don’t see me buying a fifty grand Sea Ray.”
Leo sits forward, a sudden interest brightening his dark eyes. “Whatdoyou want?”
“Huh?”
“You’re always looking after other people and their needs. Caregiving for your gran. Weightlifting to help others, even though you hate it. Volunteering at the senior center. Talking up your best friend instead of taking any attention for yourself.”
I send him a questioning look.
He gives a guilty smile. “I overheard you at the gala tell some guys that your friend was the fifth runner-up for Miss Ohio or something like that.”
Tilly would faint at the demotion to fifth place. But still, I understand what he’s getting at. “Ah, yeah.”
“Not a word about yourself.”
“I don’t mind. I’m her hype girl.”
“You’re everyone’s hype girl.” He gets up and leaves the room. I have no idea how or why the topic switched focus to me, but I sense the need to play some conversation dodgeball to duck away from it. He returns with a sheet of paper and a pen. “Here you go.”
“What am I doing, exactly?”
“You’re creating a list of what you want.” He takes the pen and writesGreta’s Christmas Wish Listat the top.
I don’t reach for the pen he’s offering. “Why?”
“It just seems like a question you never ask for yourself.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” I glance at the stack of letters. “I’m grateful I don’t have huge needs. But as for wants?” Gran gave me the store and the apartment above it. I’m taken care of. “I guess I really don’t want anything.”
He’s not letting this drop. Instead, he seems more invested. “What aboutwantin terms of hopes and dreams?”
“Is this some kind of psychological strategy to get me to pick the right candidate?”
He drops next to me on the floor, far closer than before. “No, this is only me being interested in a girl and wanting to know what makes her happy.”
Oh my gosh. If I was blank before, my mind’s definitely empty now. “May I get back to you on this?”
He eyes me for a second, then relents with a smile. “Yeah.”
“Good.” I fold up the paper and slip it into my purse. “Now it’s my turn to pick you apart.”
“Can’t wait,” he says good-naturedly.
“Your house is beautiful.” I look around. “Seriously, it’s stunning. And yet … it lacks something.” Listen to me criticizing a million-dollar home filled with expensive antiques. When I said it reminded me of a museum, I meant it. “It just doesn’t seem lived in. There aren’t any personal touches. Nothing thatmakes it stand out as a safe haven. Which is what a home’s all about.”
He presses his lips together. “You’re right.” He kicks his legs out and crosses his ankles. “It has the personality of my grandfather. Cold. Detached.”
“That’s how he was?”
“When I visited as a kid, I hardly saw him or my grandmother. I was with nannies. Then as a teen, just left to myself.”
Add that to what he told me about his parents always being abroad. “Wow, you must’ve been lonely.” As an only child in the house with older guardians, I certainly understood that isolated feeling. Though Gran and Pap always made sure to include me.
