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Reggie started to laugh.

Micah stood on the deck of his Malibu home, staring at the impossible blue of the California sky and the Pacific Ocean. Despite the fact that Christmas was less than ten days away, the temperature was a balmy seventy-two degrees. He could smell the salt air, admire the beauty of the view, and he wanted nothing more than to be back in Wishing Tree, waking up next to Dena.

Rehearsals had gone smoothly. The producers had been wild about the new song and had brought in an orchestra to play with him. There was one more run-through this morning, then the live show tonight.

He took his coffee back inside. The cleaning service had done a good job of stocking the refrigerator for him. There were clean linens on the master bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. He couldn’t complain about the service or the view or the house itself. The only thing that didn’t belong was him.

He and Adriana had bought this place while they’d still been engaged. They’d planned on making it their forever home, but somehow that had never happened. They’d traveled together, enjoying seeing the world. He and the band had still been performing from time to time, so that had kept him busy, along with writing. It was only the last few months, when Adriana had been pregnant, that the two of them had spent any serious time in the house.

Despite that, despite the pictures of her on the walls and her clothes in the closet, she wasn’t here. Micah had gone looking for traces of her in the house, trying to recapture her, to feel what he had when she’d been alive, but she was gone. He loved her, he would always love her, but she wasn’t a part of him anymore. He had moved on.

He returned to his office, where several boxes were stacked together. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d spent much of the night collecting personal items and moving them in here. A few mementos from his marriage, photographs, some artwork he’d bought over the years. Before he went back to Wishing Tree, he would get someone in to go over what he was keeping. All this, his clothes, and everything in the music studio downstairs. Not only the guitars and his piano, but the cabinet filled with half-written songs and ideas, and the notes on everything he and the band had performed. That he would take with him. The rest would stay with the house. He’d sell it furnished. Some up-and-coming rock star or movie executive would appreciate not having to furnish the place.

He showered and dressed, then walked back out to the deck and took a picture to text to Dena.

You’d look good here.

By now she would be in class, so he wouldn’t hear from her for a while, but he was okay with that.

The missing felt good. Wanting her, wishing she was with him, made him feel alive. After so many months of not feeling much of anything, he’d reached the other side and was finally going to start living his life again. There were details to be worked out and decisions to be made—some about his career and the logistics of making his home in Wishing Tree.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, hoping to see a text from Dena, but instead it was the limo driver saying that he was in the driveway, ready to take Micah to the studio. Micah replied that he would be right out.

Traffic was oddly light, and they arrived in less than forty minutes. Micah carried his guitar inside and was immediately met by one of the assistants who would shepherd him through his rehearsal. Before he could introduce himself, Electra burst out of nowhere and threw herself at him.

“Finally!” she said, her voice thick with drama. “Dammit, Micah, why didn’t you call me? I can’t believe you’ve been in town for two days and didn’t get in touch.”

She wrapped her long, thin arms around his neck and ground her body into his. She smelled of expensive perfume, and her jewelry clinked as she moved. She was all angles and edges, and when she tried to kiss him, he quickly sidestepped and drew away.

Her big green eyes widened with surprise. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s good to see you,” he lied.

“Not good enough.” Her mouth formed a pout. “Micah, what’s going on? You always let me know when you’re in town.”

That wasn’t true. Once he and Adriana got involved, he hadn’t seen Electra at all. They’d talked on the phone maybe twice a year, but that was it. After he’d lost Adriana, seeing Electra had been the last thing on his mind.

“I thought we could have dinner,” she said, lightly touching his arm. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I have plans tonight.”

The light touch became a slap. “No, you don’t.” She glared at him. “I want to talk about us working together. Come on. I know you’re not writing, and we used to be a great team. We could be again.”

She wasn’t going away. He should have remembered that she could be persistent. He shifted his guitar case to his other hand and gave her his full attention.

“I’m writing just fine,” he told her. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in going backwards. You have a lot of talent. You’ll find someone else to write with.”

“No one’s as good as you.”

He faked a smile. “I appreciate the compliment, but it’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

She would think the apology was about the songwriting. Later tonight she would find out that he wasn’t going to be singing “Moonlight for Christmas,” and then it would all hit the fan. But by then, he would be surrounded by his manager and agent and counting down the hours until he returned to Wishing Tree.

As if she could read his mind, she said, “Something happened in that stupid little town, didn’t it? It’s where you started writing again.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Her sharp gaze searched his face. “You’ve really changed.”