NO ONE IN THE HISTORY of laundromats had been as excited as Hannah was since he pulled out the heaping bags of laundry. Will was barely showered and dressed before she dragged him outside. The two bags were tucked into one of those carts old ladies used to tote around their groceries. Clara kept it in the hall closet, though he’d never actually seen her use it. But Hannah hummed the whole three blocks, a spring in her step as she pushed that cart. She added a bottle of Tide and a bag of snacks from Duane Reade to the top of the pile.
At the laundromat, she showed him the proper way to add the detergent. Teacher Hannah was adorable, particularly because she knew he knew how to do laundry. They’d done more than their fair share of loads together in college—until, of course, he’d found himself crashing on their floor and was able to sneak his clothes into Hannah’s dirty clothes. The one time he’d tried that with Kate, it hadn’t ended well.
Will glanced around the laundromat. There was a weathered waiting area with some battered toys and plastic chairs that had to be older than the two of them combined. What were they supposed to do? He hadn’t really thought it through. This was his date, and he was failing miserably.
Without hesitation, Hannah plopped down in one of the ancient chairs. She crossed her legs and looked at him expectantly. He sat next to her, keeping his hands in his lap and away from any solid surface.
“You do realize this is, like, the cleanest laundromat I’ve ever seen, right?” She laughed. “I mean, it’s older but clean.”
Will’s shoulders relaxed. “In my mind, this was a much better idea than it is turning out to be.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, placing her hand on his knee. “I thought it was really sweet that you remembered that we were supposed to do laundry together and took the initiative to plan it. This is real couple stuff, you know?”
“I guess I imagined a brighter, cleaner place with a coffee shop or something.” Even as he said it, the reality of how unrealistic that was set in. “Yeah, yeah. I watch too much television.”
She handed him a water bottle from the cart and a package of fruit snacks shaped like Minions. “Come on, this is great! Have a fruit snack.”
She pushed her chair against the adjacent wall and turned in her seat so her feet could rest on Will’s legs. “Tell me about the Thorne Christmas traditions.”
For all of his father’s fuss about family gatherings, there weren’t many things that Will considered traditions. Sure, his father had put up the trees, but really, it was just another extended stay—one marred by dysfunction. He thought back to the last few Christmases before the drama.
“I don’t know if this qualifies, but we stay up until midnight on Christmas Eve to ring in the holiday,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall. “One of the trees is in the back den, and we sit around the fireplace with the tree all lit up and drink and tell old stories—mostly about Mom.”
He hadn’t even thought of that as a tradition until right now, but he looked forward to it. It was one of the few times his dad was really just his dad.
“When we were kids—” Wow, he hadn’t thought about that in years. “My mom loved French toast. We had it every Christmas morning—heaping plates of homemade French toast. We all piled into the kitchen and made such a mess. Granted, we had a live-in cleaning lady, so it’s not quite the same. But still, half my Christmas presents were sticky with syrup every year.”
“That sounds nice.”
Grief swept through him, the tangible loss weighing on him. He cleared his throat. “What about you? What are Abbott Christmases like?”
Hannah’s face froze. He realized his mistake too late. They’d done a fabulous job of avoiding the topic of Hannah’s parents, but there was no avoiding it after that.
“You still haven’t heard from them?” he asked to break the silence.
Hannah shook her head. “No, but I’ve stopped trying lately. I’m embracing my new identity as a Thorne.”
“Hannah.”
She looked at him, glassy-eyed.
Perfect. He’d taken her to a laundromat and made her cry. Best. Date. Ever. “Maybe you should try starting with your dad.” He rubbed the back of her ankle, letting his hand rest just under the hem of her jeans. “He viewed my profile on LinkedIn the other day.”
She rolled her eyes. “Leave it to Dad to not know about private mode.”
“But he’s obviously interested in me,” Will said, turning on the optimism. “He could be your way in.”
Hannah met his gaze, her eyes wide and full of hurt. “But what if he’s not?”
“Well, I guess then you would know.”
Chapter 33Hannah
It was Christmas morning. At home, it had always smelled of the cookies they spent Christmas Eve baking. She’d never had a Christmas morning in her own apartment, and that was still the case. The Thornes’ mansion didn’t smell like cookies. From this side of the house, it didn’t even smell like pine needles. And there were trees—three of them. Will had said they congregated at the one in the den, which made sense since the den seemed to be the life of the mansion. The tree was a beautiful Douglas fir, decorated in a silver-and-blue color scheme. It looked like it had fallen out of Pinterest. Still, it would’ve been nice to be at their own place, watching the Yule log, making out under the tree, and opening presents while forcing Binx to wear the Christmas sweater she’d bought him. Maybe next year.
True to his tradition, the boys had stayed up drinking and telling stories. She and Madison had taken the opportunity to exchange gifts since Jonathan had made it quite clear this was a men-only tradition. Will had stumbled in—weary with exhaustion, not intoxication—well after midnight. He’d smelled like old expensive whiskey, but his eyes were steady and his words clear as he crawled into bed beside her. She’d barely tucked her book away before he was asleep, his head on the pillow next to her, his arm slung across her chest. That was exactly how he’d remained all night.
It was early, and she suspected that the rest of the Thorne brethren would sleep in for at least a few more hours. But Hannah and Will had a mission to complete. She nudged him, but he only rolled over with a groan, taking the comforter with him.
She kissed him lightly. “Time to get up.”
His eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Thorne.”
“Ready?”
“Two more minutes?”
“Okay, but only two. I told Renata we’d be down by eight to get started.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood in the kitchen. She was dressed in her morning worst with her hair clipped back in a loose half ponytail. Will had pulled a shirt on over his pajamas but otherwise looked like he’d rolled right out of bed. Renata dug items out of the fridge as Hannah eyed the coffeepot warily. She’d forgotten to smuggle in her own coffee grounds, and even if that little shop was open, Hannah had a strict no-shopping rule on Christmas, especially after so many years as a barista. If there was ever a day she could make her own coffee, it was Christmas.
“Stop glaring at the pot like that,” Renata said from behind a stack of ingredients.
Hannah looked up from the text message she was composing. Will had suggested she start with her dad. A simple Merry Christmas seemed the easiest way in. She hit Send before pulling a mug down from the cabinet. “How do you drink it every day?”
