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“Because of her parents.” My mom nods slowly. “Can’t say I blame her.” She looks thoughtful. “But let me guess, you’ve never really gotten past what might have been? And now that you’re spending time together, your feelings are bubbling back to the surface?”

I face my mom to see a smile lifting the corners of her lips. Her eyes are sparkling, and I need to temper her expectations, or the woman will be planning my wedding in two point five seconds.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Mom. It’s . . . new. She just said she’s going to give it a try with me.”

“Gaber.” She says my name like she doesn’t believe me. Rightly so.

“Fine. Yes. I have feelings. Always have. But I don’t know exactly where her head’s at. I’m still a musician. Her life is here. I need to prove myself to her, and I don’t want to scare her off, so please don’t make this into a whole thing.”

“Since when have I ever made anything into a whole thing?” My mom sounds affronted.

I arch an eyebrow, and her expression turns sheepish.

“Alright, fine. But don’t blame me for wanting this for you. You’re two of my favorite people, so I think it’s a perfect arrangement.”

“Beth’s one of your favorite people?” A balloon expands in my chest at the thought. I don’t know the full extent of my mom’s relationship with Beth, but seeing as they’re two of the most important people in my life, I love that they get along.

“Don’t sound so surprised. Isn’t she one of yours? And don’t change the subject,” my mom adds with a hint of defiance.

I sigh as I stand and fetch another tote of ornaments.

“I think it’s great.” My mom picks up our conversation when I return to the living room. “Maybe my injury is providential. It brought you and Beth together.”

I shoot her an incredulous look. “I have a hard time believing that providence had anything to do with you slipping on the ice.”

“Whatever the case may be,” my mom says over the top of me, “I say you make the most of this experience. Do you have a plan to woo her?”

“Um, no.” I tug on my collar. Did the furnace somehow get turned up?

My mom frowns. “Gaber, a woman like Beth requires a plan of action. You need to be intentional!”

I frown. “Intentional how?” I am sorely out of practice when it comes to dating and wooing a woman. And suddenly I’m afraid I’ll somehow mess up this second chance with the woman of my dreams. I didn’t even think to ask her what she was up to tonight after setting up for the market.

Maybe she has a date set up with Cal Kell.

The thought comes unbidden, and with it, a sour taste in my mouth. I try to keep my expression neutral since I’m under the watchful gaze of my mother.

“Well, first things first, you should get as much face time with her as possible while you’re in town. Make sure she knows you’re interested.”

I consider this, and it’s a good point. Our text exchange from earlier is encouraging. Beth said she missed me, and I felt like Rudolph when Clarice told him she thought he was cute. I could fly like a reindeer right now, but I’m going to need to bring my A game where Beth is concerned. I’m done trying to convince myself I’m not the right type of man for her. I’m going to switch courses and start trying to convince her to let me love her.

I follow my mom’s instructions, and an hour later, we’ve got half the tree trimmed. Mom’s favorite holiday album—featuring John Denver and the Muppets—is playing through our wireless speaker. She’s dropped the subject of Beth, and I’ve relaxed into the comforts of home.

My mom always made our home comfortable. Even when money was tight and she was stressed with work at the café, our little townhouse was stocked with at least one fleece blanket draped over the back of our threadbare couch. There was a canister of Swiss Miss Hot Cocoa in the cupboard. And Friday night was pizza night.

That’s a tradition we’re keeping tonight, even though it’s Thursday. My mom ordered our favorite when I started decorating, so when the doorbell rings, I step down from the ladder I’ve been using to hang the ornaments near the top of the eight-foot tree. “I’ll grab it. Did you tip through the app?”

My mom makes a mm-hmm sound from where she’s got her nose buried in a book. There’s a Christmas tree on the cover, along with a spilled cup of coffee and a knife protruding from the pages of an open book on the floor. She told me it was a cozy mystery, whatever that is.

I walk to the front door and open it.

It’s not the pizza delivery guy.

It’s Beth.

She smiles shyly up at me, and I stare back like a man who’s been walking through the desert and has just seen water.

She’s framed in the glow of the front-porch light. The snow is falling gently behind her, twinkling in the streetlights. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. Her hair is tucked beneath a caramel-colored beanie. I’m so busy ogling her, I almost miss Jack and Ivy.