Page 74 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

She felt a brush against her side, in the dip of her waist.Fingertips, her tired brain filled in. Ethan’s fingers were grazing against a perfectly innocent part of her body—one you can reveal in swimsuits and crop tops and workout attire—but it felt almost indecent. It was the most naked a woman can feel while wearing a puffy coat. Her body was a live wire, and she was half afraid they’d start a fire. But then the hand pressed against her slightly and she remembered—

Door.

Room.

Electricity.

Eleanor.

Maggie stepped back, turning to the cold fireplace while Ethan closed and locked the door. She heard a scrape as he pushed the dresser into place, and then he slapped his hands together. “So, do you want the good news or the bad news or the I’m not-sure-what-that-means-yet news?”

“Uh...” Maggie honestly didn’t know. It felt like a very hard question. “Bad?”

“The generator’s shot,” Ethan said. “Looks like we are officially in the dark. Indefinitely. Or at leastuntil the grid comes back online.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know why she didn’t feel more disappointed.

“The I’m-not-sure-what-that-means-yet news is that our room appears to be the only one that was searched.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, considering. Remembering. “What’s the good news?”

Suddenly, his face morphed into what could best be described as Little Boy Performing a Magic Trick. He did everything but say abracadabra as he reached behind him with both hands and exclaimed, “I found flashlights!”

One was very large and silver and had to be at least fifty years old. The second was black and small enough to slip into a pocket, and that’s the one he handed to her. “Here.”

“Why do you get the big one?”

But he didn’t answer. He just dropped to his knees and busied himself in front of the fire.

“That won’t work. I think the wood must be wet or...” But she trailed off as a wisp of smoke began rising over Ethan’s shoulder. A golden glow flickered across his jaw and in that moment, he looked like something painted on a cave wall a thousand years ago.

“How did you...”

“Man build fire,” he said with a cocky grin. But then he almost blushed as he turned back to the flames. “And maybe I really was a Boy Scout.”

“I knew it.”

But when he looked up at her that time, the boyish grin was gone and the fire was burning brighter—hotter. Maggie couldn’t shake the feeling that this was an Ethan she had never known before—had never met or seen—when he tugged her hand and said, “Come here.”

Maggie sank to the floor, closer to him and the flames, trying not to think about how Christmas Eve was always the loneliest night of the year.

“Please tell me you read those notebooks.” His voice was dark and even.

She came this close to blurtingWhat notebooks?But then she remembered— “You mean Eleanor’s new novel about a woman who fakes her death and runs away because someone is trying to kill her?”

She honestly hadn’t been expecting him to laugh, but when the sound cut through the room it felt... right. “Eleanor is amazing. Can I be her when I grow up?”

“Can’t.” Maggie pulled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “I called dibs.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at her. “You did.”

She looked back at the flames, and when Ethan poked the fire and added more wood, little sparks flew up like fireflies. Like it was Christmas Eve and the Fourth of July rolled into one.

“Hey.” He bumped his leg against hers. “Did she solve it for us?” He sounded almost hopeful. Like maybe this was going to be easier than he’d thought. Like maybe they could cut class, run away, play hooky until the holiday was over and the snow was gone and the villain was someone else’s problem.

“No. The last notebook was missing, remember?”

“Right.” He gestured toward the still-messy room. “Hence the search.”