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Belle’s tail wagged.
The flower girl dress! She’d forgotten. Reggie held in a groan, thinking she was going to have to make a list to keep track of all her wedding duties. There was also running the third-grade charity project, but she didn’t want to think about that, mostly because she knew Toby would be one of the parents helping and that meant spending time with him. As their last encounter had been fifteen kinds of awkward, best not to go there.
“I need to clear my head,” she said out loud. “Want to go for a walk, Belle?”
Her dog shifted away, sliding down on the sofa until she was curled up on a cushion, her back to Reggie, her eyes closed.
Reggie’s mother laughed. “I think that’s a no.”
“I have to agree with you. Lazy dog.”
The afternoon before Thanksgiving, Micah was ready to throw a chair through the window. He’d spent most of the day trying to write, and no matter what he did, he ended up with crap.
He’d made lists of words to get things started. He’d googled holiday phrases and traditions. He’d taken three walks, had attempted to take a nap and had even tried going for the ridiculous with a song about a Christmas aardvark. A little after five he had absolutely nothing to show for his day. Not a note, not a word.
He’d planned on writing a Christmas song for Adriana, but at this point, he would be thrilled to get out a stanza or a refrain about a damned aardvark, but he couldn’t do that, either. Whatever combination of talent and work he’d once had to create music was gone, or at least in deep hiding. What he didn’t know was if it would ever come out.
He paced the length of his suite three times, after which he again thought about tossing the chair through the window. Only he’d never been destructive—not in that way—and saw no reason to start now. Besides, this was Dena’s place, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Or disappoint her. Ridiculous, but true.
He tried some slow breathing and quickly lost interest, so he stood up, swore under his breath and then grabbed his jacket. He had to get out of his room, and right now the only place he could think of to go was the uninspiringly named Snacks and Wine.
He circled around to the front of the house. The temperature had to be well below freezing. The jacket he’d ordered from REI kept his body warm, but his hands were freezing. Gloves, he thought as he ducked inside. When he got back to his room, he was ordering gloves.
He hung his coat on the rack by the front door and glanced around. There were about ten or twelve people in the large living room, a few more in the dining room. Several were holding small plates and glasses of wine. A couple of guys had beers instead. A few people glanced at him and nodded. No one did a double take or came over to speak with him. Very much in keeping with how things went in Wishing Tree.
He walked past the reception area, glancing around, looking for Dena. Winona, the manager, greeted him.
“Food and drinks are in the dining room.” The implication being he should help himself.
“Thanks. Is Dena here?”
Winona pointed. He turned and saw her chatting with an older couple. She was laughing at something they said, her body relaxed. She had on a dark green sweater over jeans. Her long hair was loose.
As he watched her, he wondered why she’d felt she had to have a baby on her own. No, that was the wrong question. The right one was, why was his gender so stupid sometimes? Dena was attractive, smart, kind, funny and easy to be with. There was no reason she shouldn’t have found a hundred guys who wanted to fall in love with her and get married. But she hadn’t, so she’d made the decision to have a child on her own. He mentally added the word brave to her list of attributes.
He made his way to the dining room, where he found a selection of “Italian-style” Washington wines, along with meatballs, melon and prosciutto. He filled a small plate, took a glass of wine, then went to find a place to sit. He’d just settled on a chair in a small alcove when Dena joined him.
“You made it,” she said, sitting next to him, an end table between them.
“I did. Snacks and Wine. It needs a better name.”
She laughed. “I know. Something catchy. I keep telling myself I need to do some brainstorming, but somehow it never happens.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
She sighed. “Tired. And apparently I look that way, too. Three people have asked me if I’m getting enough rest.”
“Just a few more weeks and you’ll get through the first trimester.”
“That’s what I tell myself. I can’t wait for bursts of energy and a positive outlook on life.”
“You’re pretty positive most of the time.”
She laughed. “I am, but between the nausea and the exhaustion, I’m less perky than usual.” She leaned back against the chair. “So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”
He sipped his wine. “Checking up on me?”
“You know it. I want to make sure you have somewhere to go. Otherwise I’ll be dragging you to my parents’ house, where you will be forced to watch football with my dad while he complains about having dinner at three in the afternoon. At the same time, Belle, my sister’s Great Dane, will cower from Burt, my dad’s twenty-pound dachshund. Poor Belle just can’t seem to learn that she’s the bigger dog.”
