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“Hi, Dad. School was great. I got an A on my math test and Ms. Somerville said the parent sign-up sheet for our charity project was already full. She’s getting lots of calls from people in town who want to come help.”

Toby smiled at his son, then smoothed his floppy blond bangs out of his face. “You need a haircut.”

Harrison groaned. “Not a haircut. It’s too soon.”

He released his father and greeted Shaye before circling around behind the counter. “May I have a hand pie, please?”

“Sure,” Toby told him. “Let Shaye get it.”

“He’s so polite,” Grandma Judy said with a laugh. “You were never that polite.”

“I was too busy getting into trouble.”

He spoke easily, even as he studied his grandmother. He’d never planned to return to Wishing Tree, but after his father’s death, Judy had aged seemingly overnight. He’d worried about her living alone and knew asking her to leave her hometown would be too hard on her, so he’d joined her here. It had taken six months to relocate the corporate headquarters from Austin to Seattle.

He’d bought a big house out by String of Lights Park, choosing one on a quiet cul-de-sac. Harrison had a yard and knew a couple of the kids in the neighborhood. The center of town was a short ten-minute drive, and Harrison’s school was five minutes south of that.

Harrison picked the seasonal turkey pie, causing Shaye to sigh and shake her head. His son settled at one of the tables to eat it while Toby got him a carton of milk to go with it. Judy sat with him until he was done, then ushered him out the door.

“We’ll see you at home,” she said.

“I’ll be there by five.”

He watched them get into Judy’s compact SUV, then caught sight of a woman walking a dog on the other side of The Wreath. At first the dog held his attention. The massive, dark gray Great Dane wore a colorful blue-and-green knit sweater. Both the dog and the outfit were unusual enough to be noteworthy, but when his gaze slipped to the woman holding the leash, he felt a firm kick in the gut.

He knew that walk—the one with the little bounce. Long brown hair had been cut to jaw length, and the cheerleader uniform had been replaced with jeans and jacket, but he recognized her all the same. She was the grown-up version of the teenager he’d given his heart to all those years ago. She’d been his first time, his first love, his first everything. And as Dena had warned him, Reggie was back.

Chapter Five

Micah had been hoping for a little more Christmas from the town of Wishing Tree. On his Saturday morning walk, all he’d seen was Thanksgiving and harvest decorations. There were plenty of turkeys and gourds and pilgrims but not a single elf or snowman to be seen.

Steve had told him Christmas arrived the Friday after Thanksgiving and that he would be overwhelmed by holiday cheer and seasonal decorations. Micah hoped that was true—he could use a little inspiration. So far his attempts to write a holiday love song had been a dismal failure. He’d yet to string together more than three chords, and the closest he’d come to even a single phrase was, “I love you at Christmas,” which was hardly going to win him a Grammy.

He stood in the middle of what he thought might be the town square, although it was round, and someone at the B and B had told him it was called The Wreath. The big open area could easily host a pop-up fair or a giant Christmas tree. There were businesses circling it, including a couple of restaurants, a pet boutique, some store called Wrap Around the Clock and, most important to him, a coffee place.

He walked into Jingle Coffee and stood in line. The store was crowded and warm, with all kinds of mugs for sale and several kids clustered around what looked like a hot chocolate station.

He ordered a large drip coffee to go, then headed out, only to pause at the front wall, where a bulletin board had a big calendar showing town events through New Year’s, along with different notices. Someone was selling a “gently used” Barbie DreamHouse. Someone else had found a large great white shark’s tooth on a chain by the bookstore.

There was a reminder about the first snowfall, explaining it really did have to snow for fifteen full minutes and cover the ground to be the actual first snowfall. When that occurred, horns and sirens would sound, and all those interested should meet in The Wreath for the celebration.

“These people need to get a life,” Micah murmured to himself.

He saw that on the first of December, the city Advent calendar would begin. Residents were reminded that participation was encouraged, especially when the daily activity involved helping out a neighbor.

He went outside and told himself that small towns were different from his life in LA. Not that he had a life in LA anymore—he hadn’t lived in his house in over a year. Not since he’d lost Adriana and the baby. First he’d been in the hospital for a couple of weeks, then he’d had nearly five months in rehab, relearning how to do things like walk and dress himself. He’d spent a month in Australia, thinking the change in scene would help him recover, but it hadn’t. Since then he’d been moving from place to place, looking for something he couldn’t define. Which made finding it nearly impossible.

He walked along the storefronts, gazing in windows. He had to circle around a couple of women pushing strollers—a painful reminder that if the drunk driver had swerved left instead of right, he and Adriana would have an eight-month-old now and it would be his first Christmas. Instead, Micah was alone with a battered psyche and enough memories to sink a ship . . . or a man.

Micah finished his coffee and tossed the paper cup into a recycling bin. The day was clear and sunny, but bitterly cold, and his thin jacket wasn’t doing enough to keep him warm. He told himself when he got back to his room at the B and B, he would go online and order something warmer to be shipped overnight. Maybe he’d get a couple of plaid flannel shirts while he was at it.

He was still chuckling at the thought of owning a flannel shirt when his phone rang. He answered without checking to see who had called, then wished he hadn’t when he heard a familiar female voice say, “What’s so funny?”

“Hello, Electra.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“It would take too long to explain.”