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“I’m not your partying drummer. I’m a family man with a kid, and I’m a respected member of the community.”
“Fair enough. You’ve come a long way.”
Everyone in the band had, Micah thought. They’d been teenagers when they’d started out. Now, nearly twenty years later, they’d moved on. They were married—most had kids. He’d been the last to settle down, but once he’d found Adriana, he’d been all in.
“How’s the B and B?” Steve asked, leaning against the fence.
“Comfortable. I have a quiet room in the old carriage house.”
“Getting recognized everywhere you go?”
Micah grimaced. Being spotted was an occupational hazard. “Some. Most people just do a double take, then keep moving. I can handle it.”
“Finding your way around town okay?”
“Mostly keeping to myself.”
Steve studied him. “You need to get out. Mingle with people. Soak up the atmosphere. It’s why you’re here.”
His friend was right. Micah had come to Wishing Tree hoping to find a little holiday spirit. He’d managed to heal his body from the accident that had injured him and taken Adriana, and mostly recover from the loss of his wife, but he’d yet to find his way back to writing. In the past year, he hadn’t so much as come up with a refrain, let alone an entire song. He’d tried writing alone and with a writing partner, but neither had produced anything. He’d always done well with holiday-themed music and hoped hanging out in a place known for celebrating the season would help him jump-start his creativity.
It had to work, he thought fiercely. He was done performing. He was nearly forty and more than ready to let the kids have all the fun on stage. But writing, composing, that was different. That fed his soul, and his inability to create left him feeling frustrated and worthless.
“In the meantime, I need a favor,” Steve said.
Micah looked at him. “Sure. Name it.”
“Monday is career day in Noah’s class, and I’m supposed to be there. There’s no way I can get the tree lots up and running and show up for that. I talked to Noah and he’s fine with having you instead.”
Noah was Steve’s eight-year-old son. While Micah would gladly rush into a burning building to save the kid, he was less sure about speaking at career day.
“What am I supposed to say to them?” Micah asked, sounding doubtful. “Nothing about being a rock star is wholesome.”
“Talk about songwriting. How you came up with ‘Moonlight for Christmas.’ Play a couple of your greatest hits. The presentation is maybe fifteen minutes. You can wing it.”
Micah wanted to say no. He hadn’t been in front of a crowd for nearly four years, not since he’d married Adriana. The closest he’d come to sharing was at the grief group he’d joined after he’d lost her last year. But Steve and the rest of the band had been there for him in the almost six months it had taken him to recover physically from the accident. Since leaving the physical rehab facility, he’d been hanging out with one or the other of them, avoiding his home back in Malibu, restlessly searching for a way to return to songwriting and figure out how to be happy again—assuming that was possible.
His heart told him to say no, that it would be too hard, but his head said he had to keep moving forward. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t behind him. Besides, he’d always been willing to fight for what he wanted, whether it was a better deal with his record company or winning over Adriana.
“I’ll be there,” he said, before he could talk himself out of it.
“Thanks,” Steve said. “I’m grateful. I’ll text you the when and where. The elementary school is pretty close to the B and B.”
Micah laughed. “It’s Wishing Tree, bro. It’s not like anything is far.”
“Makes it easier not to get lost.”
Micah hoped that was true. He could use a little not getting lost in his life. Not to mention some musical inspiration. And maybe a little Christmas spirit to fill up the empty places inside. A big ask for the small town, but hey, wasn’t this the time of year to expect a miracle?
Chapter Four
Dena parked on the side of the carriage house. When she’d first inherited the Victorian B and B, she’d assumed she could start walking to work, what with the B and B so close to the elementary school. But being a teacher meant carting files, folders and overflowing plastic totes back and forth, meaning she had to either drive or get some kind of urban burro to help her carry everything. She’d elected to use her car.
She left her car unloading for later and walked across the paved driveway to the front of the large, three-story Victorian. Mid-November should mean plenty of snow on the ground, but not this year. Despite the brown grass, the yard still looked pretty with the brightly colored metal turkeys, gourds and Pilgrims nestled among the plants. Pumpkins sat on each of the steps leading up to the front door. Harvest wreaths hung on the front door and in front of each of the first-floor windows.
The Friday after Thanksgiving, the decor shifted from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Dena took care of the interior decorating—it was one of her traditions—while she hired professionals to do the outside of the B and B. No way she was comfortable getting up on a twenty-foot ladder!
She went inside and did a quick scan of the living room with its comfy sofas, ornate end tables and the massive fireplace along one wall. She checked for out-of-place books or guest items left behind, but found all was well. Past that was the reception area. The reception desk was actually an old bar from a brothel that had existed a hundred fifty years ago, when gold and lumber had first put Wishing Tree, then known as Trading Post, on the map.
