beef brisket that he made, along with a bunch of sides and pumpkin, pecan, and chocolate silk pies. We opened presents by the tree and then ended the night by watching Love Actually by the fire (which was a little awkward because of that porn scene, but it was fine). And it’s not like we didn’t have a good time, but I can’t pretend there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t want, say, five to twenty more people there. I wanted a bunch of stockings and kids yelling and so many dishes to wash that I sighed while looking at them and thinking about all the work it would be.
“Do you want to have a big family of your own some day?” I ask, even though this is a very personal question that isn’t any of my business. “With a lot of kids and a golden retriever?”
“Yep,” he says, no hesitation. “I want to have a million kids, give or take a few, and have my own huge holiday dinner. But no to the golden retriever. I want a rescue greyhound named Charlie.”
“That’s very specific,” I say with a smile.
We’re at my door now. Drew stays on the sidewalk as I walk up the steps, and I know he’s not going to ask to come in. I look down at him standing there, looking up at me, his hands in the pockets of his coat and the snow turning his hair white, and I don’t want this to be goodbye. I don’t want this to be how it ends. I don’t know if this is the love story or the montage, but I don’t care right now, because all I can think about is families and Christmas and a rescue greyhound named Charlie.
“Drew,” I ask. “Do you want to come inside?”
Chapter Eighteen
“Yeah, so . . . I actually don’t know how to do this.”
Drew volunteered to build a fire as soon as we took off our coats, but after staring at the fireplace he stands up.
“I thought if I just, like, looked at it for a while the secrets of the fireplace would reveal themselves to me.”
“Turns out that’s not how fire works,” I say, brushing past him. “And there aren’t really any secrets. I mean, cavemen figured this stuff out.”
“Sheesh. What a burn,” Drew says.
“Hmmm.” I look over my shoulder at him. “Not sure if you can use the term ‘burn’ since you can’t start a fire.”
Drew clutches at his heart. “Damn. You’re ruthless.”
As I get the fire going, Drew asks, “Where did you learn to do this?”
“In Ohio, where it gets cold, because I’m one of two people in a very old, very drafty house.” After a couple of minutes, the fire crackles away and I turn around to face Drew, who’s sitting on the couch.
“Do you . . . want to watch a movie?” Drew asks, then grimaces. “Wow. I swear I wasn’t asking you to Netflix and chill. I just . . .”
I laugh. “That’s okay. I mean . . . yeah, I would love to. Do you want some wine?”
He practically slumps over in relief. “That would be great.”
In the pantry, I pull out my phone and text Chloe. “Emergency. Drew Danforth is currently in my home.”
She texts back immediately. “OMG. WHAT. HOW. Please tell me you’re naked right now.”
“It’s not like that,” I respond. “Drew walked me home and now we’re going to watch a movie. Also, I have never and will never text you while I’m naked.”
“Netflix and chill. I see,” she responds, and wow, I wish that phrase had never become part of the cultural lexicon.
I grab a bottle of wine and two glasses and head back into the living room, where Drew is scrolling through channels. He looks so at home on the old couch with the remote in his hand that my chest expands with a yearning I can’t even define.
“So listen,” he says. “I know I said I wanted to watch a movie, but there’s a Chopped marathon on. Which isn’t that surprising, since Chopped is always on, but still.”
When he sees my blank expression, he slowly says, “Wait. Do you not like Chopped?”
I shrug. “I’ve never seen it. I don’t really watch cooking shows.”
“Oh, no no no,” Drew says. “Annie. Chopped isn’t a cooking show. It’s an immersive experience. It’s a lens through which we view American culture. It’s a lifestyle.”
I eye him skeptically, then sit down on the other side of the couch, leaving one cushion