He explains the situation to Veronica quickly, then runs to get the car.

After that, the entire ride to the police station is spent in a harmonious silence. Logan's never been much for silence. Silence is dangerous, silence is the calm before the storm, the blank space of expectation just before the inevitable failure. The pause before the slap of leather on his back.

Usually, he strives to fill any span of quiet as sarcastically as possible, but with Veronica, the quiet is a comfort, supportive.

It feels so shiny, so new, so precious that he holds that silence as long as he can.

Not until they're standing hip to hip, staring up at the sign over the building as if the words "Police Station" will magically blur and morph into "Puppies and Kittens", does he break the silence.

"So, uh, what do you think?"

"Like...in general, or is there a specific arena in which you'd like my opinion?" she replies cheekily, hip-checking him.

Except… she doesn't move away, somehow settling closer than she'd been moments before. He loops his arm through hers. She doesn't protest, somehow settling closer than she had been moments before. Smiling, he tightens his arm around hers.

"About the break-in? What do you think?"

"Well, there haven't been any other break-ins in your area, so you might have been a target."

Brows lifted, he slides his eyes to her.

"What? I checked."

"When?" He's been with her the whole time, and he hasn't seen her look at her phone once. In fact, it's been a while since he's seen her tied up with her phone the way she used to be.

"When you went to get the car," she brushes off his. "So, piss anyone off lately?"

"Besides Professor Casablancas?"

"Logan." She squeezes his arm with hers. "We'll figure something out."

We.

It's almost uncomfortable. He's not sure what to do with it. He's never felt this unbalanced before. He can't even figure out what she wants from him. Is he a charity project? Is it as simple as Mac's suggestion of 'friend'? Or is it more?

Desperate to avoid the answer in this moment, he laughs humorlessly. "Thanks, but I'll just, I don't know, appeal to her humanity. Or maybe the cops'll write me a note."

"Don't." Veronica commands, dragging him into the station by the arm. Suddenly their position feels less companionable and more like he's been taken hostage.

The impressively sized vestibule is more formal than he expected. Bright and clean with towering windows and sunlight streaming onto glittering granite floors, it's almost like a hospital. The smell of artificial lemons and disinfectant waifs over them as they queue for a visitor's pass. Veronica quickly explains their business to the receptionist, then turns to him.

"Don't go to Kendall. She meant it when she said she has zero tolerance. If you appeal to her, she might make the fallout even worse."

"How could it be worse?"

"She might not accept what you did finish." Veronica accepts her badge from the receptionist and nods as the woman spouts off directions. "How far did you get?"

"Pretty far, actually. I was done with the charges and getting to the challenges of obtaining convictions."

"It might be enough," Veronica mutters to herself as she pulls him down the line of yellow tape running along the floor in some demented version of The Wizard of Oz. If you squint, her hat's even a dead ringer for the Tin Man's funnel. He'd comment on it, but he gets the feeling that he's Dorothy, so he swallows it back.

Dropping his arm, she stops in front of Elevator B. "I'll read it over tomorrow."

He pauses in the act of attempting to affix his sticker badge. Hello, My Name is… what the fuck?

"You'll read it over?"

The elevator dings, and the door slides open but he doesn't get on with her.

Wearily, she holds the door open. "Yes, me. I grade her tests. Come on, let's go."

He steps on, but he knows he's staring at her.

Finally, she sighs. "I'm not falsifying your grades, Logan." The elevator opens again and they disembark on the third floor.

"That way." Veronica stalks ahead.

Offended, he digs his hands in his pockets and hurries after her. "I didn't ask you to."

"You wouldn't be the first," she says more to herself than him.

He stops her before they go through the double door marked Investigative Crimes. "I was just surprised, is all. I wouldn't ask you to do that, and I know you wouldn't do it even if I did."

"Really?" She tilts her head up, her eyes peer up from under that ridiculous cap. "How?"

"Because you have a code." He's seen it. In the way she approaches her job, how thorough she is with her court cases. In how she works with Eli and stood up to Chardo. In how she is with him. Reaching up, he toys with the flap of her hat. "You break rules, Veronica Mars, but you don't break codes. And you're not a cheater."

Her eyes are riveted on him, her bottom lip is caught in her teeth once more. Surrendering to impulse, he frees it with his thumb, lingering on the softness of her skin. Her gaze drifts down to his mouth.

Head buzzing, his fingers tighten on her jaw. He leans in.

The double doors woosh open, and a wave of conversation combined with the smell of burnt coffee and shoe polish wash over them, shattering the moment like glass.

"'Scuse me." A uniformed officer pushes past them, trying to balance a styrofoam cup while brushing down his shirt in a fruitless attempt to smooth out its wrinkles.

Drawing away from Veronica, Logan puts his hand back in his pocket before he does something they'll both regret.

Veronica smiles a bit too brightly. "Well, let's go find out what this is all about."

They walk through the doors.

At their entrance, the cop at the front desk buries himself further into his glossy magazine.

Veronica clears her throat. "Hi. We received a call about a break-in. Is Officer Kenney available?"

Still reading, the cop points his thumb over his left shoulder, in the general direction of the bullpen.

"Thank you. So very helpful. The streets sure are safer with people like you around," she says with a wide-eyed innocence so sarcastic it's circled back to sweet, leaving a wreckage in it's wake. So hot.

She makes a grab for Logan's hand, then seems to think better of it.

"Check the nameplates," she orders and sweeps away.

Less hot. Okay, then. He checks the nameplates.

Taylor….Dailey…. Burke... He bumps smack into Veronica.

"Wha—" He follows her gaze to the unmistakable shine of Eli's head across a desk from an irritated police officer with a nameplate reading 'Kenney'.

That can't be right. Logan slides his eyes to Veronica. "He wouldn't...?"

"No. Not to a friend, anyway."

"And am I a friend?"

"Closest I've ever seen. Let's find out what's going on."

As they move closer, Eli's angry voice comes into earshot.

"I know my rights." Eli slams a fist on the desk. "You can't do this."

"Yes, as I recall you're very familiar with the system," the officer sneers. His eyes flick up to Logan and Veronica. "Can I help you?"

To Logan's surprise, Veronica drops back, just behind his right shoulder. Okay… "Um, I'm Logan Echolls, I was called down to the station about a break-in."

Eli's shoulders stiffen under his leather jacket, but he doesn't turn around.

"Ah, Mr. Echolls." The officer smugly kicks back in his black mesh chair. "You're just in time." He nods to a young girl being pulled through the station towards them, and Logan struggles to keep his features even.

Ophelia.

Back still to Logan, Eli stands and hugs Ophelia the moment she reaches him, forcing the officer to drop his hand from her arm. Ophelia rubs the place where his hand had squeezed with a small wince while she allows Eli to embrace her. Angry red circles mar her small wrist, and Logan knows from experience they will deepen and purple within the next few days. His jaw tightens.

Officer Kenney turns to Logan with a superior air. "It seems Miss Navarro, here, was caught breaking and entering your residence at approximately 10:45am. She was immediately apprehended on the scene by security and brought in. We need you to file a police report so we can press the appropriate charges."

Ophelia? A thief? He sees the puzzle pieces, but no matter how hard he tries to shove them together, the pieces don't fit.

Veronica's hand lands on his sleeve, and he can feel his own surprise and confusion mirrored in the touch.

Eli leads Ophelia back to the desk and he helps his niece into a seat, then drops down into his own. He hasn't so much as glanced at Logan. Ophelia, though—She looks miserable. Worse, she looks scared. The expression on her face makes his throat tight and his skin crawl. He wishes someone had paid more attention to how scared he was when he was a teenager. He wishes the people who did notice cared.

Reaching over, Logan gives Veronica's hand a quick squeeze, then shakes her off and steps forward. He's got this. Whatever this is.

He stretches his lips into what he hopes is the most affable, saccharine smile on the planet. He's going for Innocent-Veronica, without the sarcasm.

"Ophelia! It's you they picked up? And Eli, were you in on the joke too?"

Eli finally looks at him, his eyes assessing. "Uh, yeah, Harvard. You know me. Always joking."

Behind him, Logan feels more than hears Veronica stifle a laugh.

The cop doesn't notice. "You know each other?"

"Are you kidding? We're like family. These two." Logan punches Eli's shoulder, probably harder than necessary. "Always playing pranks on me. Like George Clooney does with his friends. You know the story about him shitting in his buddy's cat boxes, right? Alright guys, what was it this time?"

Ophelia simply stares at him, eyes wide as saucers, lips pressed shut.

"Uh, gun in the—"

At Veronica's low hiss, Eli backtracks. "I mean aluminum dildo in the suitcase"

There's a stunned sort of silence all around.

What. The. FUCK?

Veronica coughs. Gasps. Laughs. He's not sure. He's never heard a human make that noise. Since's he's obviously the only adult in the room, Logan forces himself to recover.

"Oh, you asshole!" He punches Eli again, for the hell of it. "See? Just a joke. No need for the cops to be involved"

"All a misunderstanding," Eli agrees smoothly. "Since he's not pressing changes, can we go?"

"Not so fast." The cop crosses his arms with a hard look at Eli. "Mr. Echolls isn't actually needed for the court to press charges."

"Wrong," Logan replies. "The court's only involved if there's intent to commit a crime. Which there wasn't, so, the B&E is considered illegal trespass-a misdemeanor-leaving the charges entirely in the hands of the victim, ie: me."

It's probably his imagination, but he swears he feels pride coming from the small blonde behind him.

Eli points a thumb at Logan. "What he said."

Kenney squints up at Logan. "You a lawyer or something?"

Thankfully, Veronica speaks up before he can impersonate an officer of the court. "Are we done here? I should warn you, any further questioning will look an awful lot like harassment."

The cop postures a little but ultimately shrugs. "You don't care about her stealing your shit, less paperwork for me."

Eli grabs Ophelia by the wrist and hauls her out of the chair before anyone can say another word.

"I—" Opelia starts.

"Not here." Eli hustles her right through the bullpen, down a very silent elevator, and out the lobby doors. Logan and Veronica hot on their heels. Once they're a block away from blue polyester, he rounds on his niece. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Several passing strangers turn towards the leather-clad thug glowering down at the pretty young girl.

Glancing around, Veronica intervenes. "Let's go somewhere less public."

"Yeah, let's go. My place isn't far." Logan gives Ophelia a pointed look. "I think you know the way."

She flushes under his gaze.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Eli consents. "Fine, let's go."

On the way back to the condo, Veronica holds Logan back, letting Eli and Ophelia get a few paces ahead of them.

"What are you going to do?"

He has no idea. "Hear them out, I guess. She's just a kid. I did plenty of stupid shit when I was her age."

"That's it?"

"What did you expect?"

"I'm not sure." Her shoulder brushes his bicep, their fingers graze as they walk, close enough to tangle, but not quite. "You never do what I expect."

"Why'd you hang back?"

"Your house, your friend, your call. Plus, I knew you could handle it."

He almost stops her in the street. He wants to see her face when she says it.

"Hey! You two coming?" Eli calls from the lobby door.

They got there way faster than he thought they would. Veronica quickly breaks away, stirring up the cold air in her wake.

Inside, Logan nods to the suspicious doorman and leads his crew into the elevators. He can taste the tension in the air the entire ride up. Oddly, that's when he remembers his car. Probably some sort of fucked up mental self-defense mechanism for all this fucking awkwardness.

The minute they cross his threshold Eli practically throws his niece into the armchair.

Automatically, Logan moves to pull Eli away, but Ophelia simply collapses into the cushion with an annoyed huff.

Logan is relieved to note that while she still looks completely miserable, she doesn't look scared. He hadn't pegged Eli as violent, not towards women and children anyway, but most people didn't think the sexiest man alive could be a child abuser, so, there's that.

"Talk," Eli barks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean... " Ophelia's eyes dart nervously to the statue on the mantle.

"Salcia? That's what this is about?" Logan asks.

"I wasn't going to keep it. Her."

"Why?" Eli couches in front of her, knuckles turning white where he grips the arms of the chair. "Why do this?"

"Chill out," Veronica hisses. "You're not helping."

"I just wanted to see if I could figure out how to sculpt her. He said you could make a lot of money from sculpting," Ophelia adds, making a thorough examination of her shoe laces.

Sitting on the couch next to the chair, Veronica places a gentle hand on Ophelia's knee. "Ophelia, why didn't you just ask?"

"Ask?" Confusion emanates from her. "Why would I ask? People like him don't do favors for people like me."

Veronica's face softens in understanding. "I get why you'd think that, but Logan might surprise you."

Ophelia fixes her gaze on Veronica. "Are you saying I need to trust people?"

"Lord, no," Veronica says with a laugh. "I'm saying asking a question is preferable to jail."

"Yeah." Ophelia blows out a breath and glances at Veronica before looking quickly down again. "Okay. Sorry. Chardo said-" She clams up, but Eli misses nothing.

"What did our dear cousin have to say?"

Swallowing hard, Ophelia rambles, "just that he supported my art and shit and the gringo- his words not mine, sorry - wouldn't miss it and that he'd take care of returning it for me and everything. He couldn't get it for me because he'd stand out, but the doorman wouldn't think twice about me going into the building. If they didn't buy that I was cleaning staff they would probably just think I was a paid… uh tutor." She improvises under Eli's dangerous stare.

Vibrating with fury, Eli stands. Veronica and Ophelia continue to chat in low tones, but Logan has trouble following. The kid can keep the stupid statue as far as he's concerned.

Catching Eli's eye, Logan nods toward the kitchen. "Let's talk."

In the kitchen, every line of Eli's body is as taut as a string. "Look, man…"

Logan stops him. "I'm not pressing charges."

"Yeah, I sort of figured that out," Eli says, but his body relaxes.

God, this is awkward. "Uh, she can have the statue."

Eli looks at him with disbelief. "No. We're not going to reward her for petty larceny."

"Attempted."

"What?"

"Attempted larceny."

"She still doesn't get a prize."

"Right." Makes sense. Probably why he shouldn't procreate.

"So… we good?"

Logan holds out a hand. "We're good," he says as Eli shakes it.

"You guys are adorable." Veronica leans against the doorframe.

They jump away from each other. Logan's eyes lock on Veronica.

Eli's gaze swings between them. "Right. I've got grandmas to reassure, cousins to kill. Ophelia and I will just get out of your hair." He makes his way out of the kitchen, pausing at Veronica's side. "Drinks on me next time you're at the bar."

"Sounds good." Veronica says, shifting to let Eli pass.

"That was a good thing you did," she says, once Eli's footsteps fade.

"She's just a kid." Logan shrugs. "And I know what it's like to want something so bad you'll do anything to have it."

Her head tilt is casual curiosity. Her question is not. "Don't you mean someone?"

He hadn't, but suddenly, looking at her standing in his kitchen, with her keen eyes and possibly misplaced faith in him, he's afraid he might.

Something must change in his expression because she takes a minuscule step back. She studies him intently, then seems to come to some internal decision. "What are you doing over break?"

"Break?" he parrots, somewhat stupidly.

"Yes, break. What's your plan?"

"Home, I guess." He really hadn't thought about it.

"Stay. Stay in Cambridge with me."

"Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

"I do."

Something - relief? Surprise? Passes over her face, but all she says is, "then stay."

"Okay."

"Just like that?"

"All you had to do was ask."

He has to admit, when Veronica asked him to stay, his mind went to all manner of things. From the highly improbable naughty and naked, to the more likely festive and friendly.

Not once did he imagine Veronica marching into his apartment bright and early the next morning and dropping a pile of books next to his coffee cup. In his milder daydreams, he'd imagined she just wanted company over the lonely break, not more tutoring hours.

He narrows his eyes. "Am I paying for this?"

"No." She replies and leaves it at that.

Okay, then.

Veronica rides him hard the first week of break. Again, not in the way he'd like, but he's learning to suppress that gut instinct. Every time he thinks there's something there, something… other, she pulls back. She's clearly not interested. Despite Mac's insistence that friendship is a bedrock for a good relationship, or whatever crap she sprouts whenever they chat, it's for the best. They're good. He's good. They have friendship and faith.

Veronica still hasn't said why she wants him around for Christmas, but he's got faith in her too. She's probably trying to get him ahead of the curve for next semester. God knows he'll need all the help he can get after tanking Professor Casablancas' final. So he's fine. Grateful. For her friendship and help. Happy even, because while he missed his mom's almost frantic Christmas spirit, avoiding Aaron trumped that two-fold. Even without the naughty and naked.

Friendship and Faith. It becomes his new mantra as he settles into their new study routine. Then, right before Christmas, something happens. A phenomenon that he's never seen before. One he'd never even considered.

Veronica Mars is… cheerful. No, not cheerful. Veronica Mars is downright festive.

The Christmas Spirit invades her body by degrees.

First, she ditches most of the pastel index cards and uses only the pale red and green ones. If that wasn't suspicious enough, a few days later, she hands him a practice test, in which he has to apply the precedent set by Christmas Place, Inc., v. Pham Dinh Nhut to 12 fictional court cases.

The next day she asks him to build a case for his client, The Nakatomi Corporation, against the estate of Hans Gruber, for property damage. The Die Hard reference alone almost brings a tear to his eye, but the movie accuracies in the brief she prepared have him considering a marriage proposal.

Finally, one day, while they sit hip-to-hip on his couch and he's anticipating what holiday-themed activity she has planned, Veronica reaches into her ugly bag and emerges with cards of a different variety.

They're white, flat rectangles with Will Ferrell's elfin face plastered across them. The text proclaims, 'Santa, Oh My God I Know Him!'

With her feet resting on his coffee table, Veronica starts filling them out, while he sits there with his mouth agape.

Her eyes slide to his. "Do you need any? I have extra."

Leaning over, he presses the back of his hand to her forehead.

She laughs as she swats him away. "I like Christmas, okay?"

"Hey, if it gets me out of studying, Christmas is my new favorite holiday."

"Don't get too excited, on December twenty-sixth it's back to work, but for now, we're taking a break."

A break. It's the best Christmas gift she could have given him. He could kiss her.

He could actually. Just grab her by the sleeves of that tragic angora sweater and close his mouth over hers. Would she push him away? Or would she melt against him, sink into the kiss….

He scootches over to the other end of the couch where it's safe. Friendship and Faith.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asks, desperate to reorient his thoughts.

She scowls down at her cards. "Sneaking a microwave turkey dinner and store-bought gingerbread cookies, while my roommates whine about Christmas encroaching on their personal liberty."

"Are they Jewish or something?"

"No." She begins stuffing the cards into envelopes. "Marissa's an atheist and Kathy's a bitch, so that means no decorations, no tree, and I refuse to bake under those conditions."

She bakes.

What's one step further than a marriage proposal? Reel it in, Echolls. What do friends do? "You can hang out here. Decorate, do whatever. Bake."

It's the hopeful look laden with suspicion that gets him. Like she wants but doesn't expect, the kindness.

She averts her face.

"Oh." She slaps at his arm. "You just want free cookies."

"Yeah, that's it." His eyes linger on her. "You caught me."

It's one of his rare days without a visit from Veronica on the docket, so Logan swings by Leticia's. Eli has been distant, almost formal, with Logan since the Ophelia debacle. They haven't played poker in weeks, and he's tired of it.

He times it well, arriving just before Eli starts to set up for the evening crowd. Through the glass, he spies Eli moving fluidly behind the bar, unhindered by the dim lighting. For a moment, Logan watches his friend fill pitchers of water, then he squares his shoulders and knocks. Their eyes meet through the glass, and Eli walks over to open it.

"Hey." Eli waves him in stiffly. "How's it going, Havard?"

"Hey. Haven't heard from you in a while."

"Had some business to take care of." Eli locks the door and turns back to the bar.

At a loss, Logan grasps at the first thought in his head. "So, have you leaned and smirked yet?"

Eli gives him a long stare, finally, his lips quirk up. Grabbing two pitches, he jerks his head. "Follow me."

Rounding the bar, Logan is surprised to see a door he's never noticed before that opens to a seedy-looking set of stairs. They make their way down. The lighting is dark, the air is dank, and Logan is ninety-nine… ninety-eight percent certain he's not walking to his death. Still, he hovers his hand over the cell phone in his pocket.

The stairway dumps out into a stone room with two long tables pressed together in a T-shape, and not much else.

"Where are we?"

"The basement."

"Wow, I never would have guessed." His hand stays by his phone. The cops wouldn't get here in time, but if Eli pulls out a gun, Logan is fairly certain he can live stream in time for someone to see it. Veronica would avenge his death. "What are we doing here?"

"Some business. Calm down, Harvard. Just prepping the drinks for your Dick and his crew." Eli positions himself at the end of one of the tables, arranges the pitchers on top of it, then pulls out half-filled Grey Goose bottles from a crate on the floor. "So yeah, I leaned. I smirked."

"What happened?"

Eli mutters unintelligibly under his breath while he does something suspicious with water and vodka. Logan tears his eyes away.

"Sorry, what?"

"She twisted her ankle," he says more forcefully.

"She what?"

"She came in with Friday's delivery. I leaned, she slowed down. I smirked. She tripped and busted the wine and her ankle."

Well, shit. "So, that's it then?"

"No." Eli's lips spread in that wine-shattering, ankle-busting smirk. "We're going out next Saturday."

"Wow. You turned it around?" Obviously, it's all in the tutoring, but still… "I'm impressed."

"Thanks."

"So… poker on Sunday?"

"Nah, man."

Logan's shoulders sag. He thought they were getting somewhere.

"It's Christmas," Eli reminds him.

Right. He'd almost forgotten. "Okay, maybe another time."

"You're around for the holidays? Thought you'd be on the beach by now."

"Veronica asked me to stay."

Pouring carefully, Eli makes an interested sound. "And why's that?"

"Didn't say."

"Right. And you stayed. Just like that?"

Defensive, Logan huffs. "You plan on serving that trash to your customers? That's illegal, you know."

"Now, now. Don't get nasty," Eli laughs. He starts to close the bottles, then presses minuscule, pink stickers onto the back of each. "This is reserved for a very select crowd. You should come over for Christmas. V, too. My grandma's cooking. Home-cooked meal'll do you both good."

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not?

Why not? Because it feels too much like a date? Because he thinks he might actually feel rejected if she says no? So many reasons. "We'll see. I'll ask Veronica."

When he arrives home, the air is laden with the smell of sugary spice and pine, which is odd since he doesn't own a tree. Or, he didn't. He hadn't owned the jangling silver bells that were hooked to his front door when he'd left either, so who knows what else has changed.

He closes the door with a thud and a merry jingle.

"In the kitchen!" Veronica calls through the apartment.

Peeking into the living room, he notes the small, artificial (he thinks) tree. It's got strings of multi-colored bulbs and a glittery gold star. Next to it is a lit green candle. Pine, he assumes.

Backtracking towards the kitchen he carefully avoids her ratty sneakers in the hall. It's like she just took them off mid-stride and kept walking.

Fancy greets him in the dining room wearing… he picks her up for closer inspection… an elf hat. An elf hat. An elf hat.

"I can't even get you to wear a new collar." He reminds his cat.

Tossing her head imperiously, Logan can't help but smile at the tinkle of the tiny bell atop her hat. Pressing a kiss to Fancy's nose, he tucks her under his arm on his way to find Veronica.

He finds her bustling around the kitchen singing Walking in a Winter Wonderland and she's good. Like, Broadway good.

"Hey," she smiles over her shoulder as she hip-checks the oven. "What do you think?"

He thinks he's an idiot. A sentimental fool who's a little too comfortable, a little too happy, with her in his house, in his life. But it's Christmas, and if delusions of love want to dance around with the sugar plums in his head, he's going to let them.

"Change of plans for Christmas. We're going to Eli's."

Eli's grandmother Letty welcomes them in with open arms and an order to "put meat on their bones" that leaves no room for argument. Someone takes their coats and tells them they'll throw them on a bed, in a room, somewhere in the house. They'll have to figure that out later.

Logan and Veronica stick together. It's not strictly necessary, because, to his surprise, she's comfortable here. So's he, but he's a chameleon. He weaves in and out of every social situation with either charm or bravado. He's only just realizing, she does the same. Despite that, they never stray too far from the other. Almost, but not quite, like a date.

Various relatives, distant and close, approach them for a chat. Everyone is kind and friendly, so unlike the crowd at his mother's soirées. Eli's sister has never heard their names before and is surprised that her daughter knows them. Ophelia just steers her mother away with a grateful look in their direction. Felix slips Logan a sweet coconut drink, heavy on the rum, with a sincere 'Felicidades.' It's a little overwhelming.

"Air?" Logan suggests after they've gotten a glass of the coconut stuff for Veronica. Veronica nods her agreement, and together they weave their way towards the back of the house.

Peering through the back door window, Logan scans the darkness of the postage-stamp backyard.

"Coast is clear." They sneak out onto the narrow deck, and Logan closes the back door firmly behind them. Music and chatter press up against the glass windows, but they're effectively alone. Their breath appears in white puffs of air. The chill is welcome, but it's the type of weather that penetrates the bones fast.

Shrugging off his sports coat, he drapes it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she says, hugging the fabric around herself. "Having fun?"

"You know what? I am. More than I thought I would. It's kind of wild, though."

"I know exactly what you mean. I'm not used to all that." She makes a vague gesture towards the house with her plastic cup.

He leans against the deck rail. "Yeah, me neither."

"Really? I'd think you'd be used to big parties, especially around the holidays." She joins him at the rail, turning her body to face him, arm resting on the wood. It would be easy, as natural as breathing, to move closer, tuck that stray hair back behind her ear. Instead, he moves away, putting his hands into his pockets, staring into the night.

"Oh, my mom throws a Christmas party every year. Twelve-foot Christmas tree, professional decorators, live carolers, the works—but this is different. This is…"

Eli's family is boisterous and genuine. Nothing he's used to. There seems to be a thousand people crowding the small space, but where his mom's parties glimmered and shined, this one wraps him in a coziness he can't describe.

"Family. It's family."

"Yeah," he replies softly. She gets it. "Family." He clears his throat. "So what about you? You and your dad seem pretty tight."

"We are. Hard not to be, all things considered, but it's just us. Having this much support, it must be nice."

"Hey." He gives her a friendly nudge. "I've got your back."

She nudges him back. "Thanks."

"Is your dad upset? That you had to stay in Massachusetts over the break?"

"He…" she trails off, chewing her lip. "He doesn't love it, but he understands. He knows how much my, uh, job means to me. What about your mom?"

"She's devastated. Threatened to throw herself off a bridge and everything."

Veronica startles, alarm and dismay flaring in her eyes. "What?"

"Relax, I'm joking. She knows how important… school is to me."

Veronica looks away, and they settle into a comfortable silence, sipping on their drinks, until she starts bouncing slightly on her toes and rubbing her arms.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go inside."

They have a great time, better than he thinks either of them expected.

At the end of the night, when it was time for them to part ways (because really what excuse do they have to stay together?), he hesitates.

"Goodnight, Logan. Merry Christmas."

It's one of those moments. One of those short, tiny moments, completely significant in its utter insignificance. You can either turn left or right.

"Merry Christmas, Veronica."

Or you can stay the course, not rock the boat, and watch her walk away.