“Do you still have that little plastic tree from college?”
Hannah grinned. “It’s at Kate’s. The real one looks so much better, doesn’t it?”
Will had to admit that it did. He hadn’t put up a Christmas tree in years. But seeing the light in Hannah’s eyes as she looked at that tree—he would put one up for the rest of his life if that light stayed. He would trek upstate to cut one down, kids trailing after him, fighting over who got to use the saw first. Kids. Whoa. His future materialized in front of him. He’d rarely thought about having kids with Madison, but with Hannah, the thought had come naturally.
“What are these mysterious plans?” she asked.
He grinned and held up one finger before making his way over to the hall closet. The clue—two overflowing bags of laundry—had been waiting for this moment for three days. Thankfully, Hannah was so used to laundry service that she hadn’t even blinked at the empty hamper.
“We are going to the laundromat,” he said, holding one of the bags up.
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
