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The unexpected change in subject gave Reggie mental whiplash.

“No kissing.” Toby had been friendly, nothing else. Alas.

“Too bad. I was hoping you two would discover there was still chemistry. Not to pressure you, but I really need one of my daughters to get married. You’re nearly thirty, Reggie. It’s time. I had high hopes for Dena, but she’s chosen another path.”

Reggie thought about her sister’s mad crush on Micah Ruiz, but knew better than to mention it to her mother. Leigh would demand details and start planning an engagement party before the end of the week, and Dena had enough going on.

“I want to fall in love and get married, too,” Reggie said instead. “But it’s not happening.”

“I don’t know why. You’re pretty. You’re smart. You have a great career.” She eyed Belle. “You don’t think it’s your dog, do you? Belle is intimidating.”

“She’s a marshmallow, and no, she isn’t the reason I haven’t found Mr. Right.”

Her mother took a bite of her butterscotch pie. “Jake was a disappointment. I’m still angry at him for how he treated you.”

“You have to let it go. He could have handled the breakup better than he did, but otherwise, he wasn’t wrong, Mom. I got over him way too easily, which makes me wonder if the marriage would have lasted.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

“I am.”

“I meant with a man.”

Reggie grinned. “Oh, that.” Her smile faded. “I want that, too. I just can’t figure out how to make it happen.”

Micah drove the short distance from the B and B to The Wreath and found parking. Under normal conditions, he would have walked the short distance, but given how much he had to carry, that wasn’t practical. He went inside The Christmas Feast and saw Mrs. Heins-Smith waiting on another customer. She spotted him and waved, indicating she would be right with him.

He walked around the store while she finished up. There were aisles of dried pasta from Italy, and bottles and cans of olive oil. The next row over had different kinds of hot sauce, including one with white truffle oil—a combination he didn’t understand. A cold case offered cheeses from around the world, a bacon sampler and clotted cream, and the frozen food section was an array of ice cream, gelato and frozen desserts, including soufflés.

Mrs. Heins-Smith walked over. “We have your order ready to go,” she told him. “They turned out very nicely.” The sixtysomething woman winked at him. “We’re borrowing the Santa idea for our weekend crowd. I think the parents will be very impressed.”

“I saw the idea online. It wasn’t me.”

“Ah, a modest man. They’re as rare as hen’s teeth.”

She pulled a bakery box from the cold case and opened the top. Inside were three dozen “Santas.” An upside down whole strawberry had been cut in half, with a slice of banana placed in the middle. The banana slice was the face, complete with tiny chocolate chip eyes. Cottage cheese created the beard, just below the banana. The second treat was more traditional—Rice Krispies balls in holiday colors.

He’d confirmed the dietary restrictions with Dena, and had given the information, along with the suggestion for the Santas, to Mrs. Heins-Smith. Now all that was left was to hope the kids liked the snack.

He carried the treats to his car and drove the short distance to the school. It took a bit of juggling to carry in two guitars along with the bakery boxes, but he managed, then signed in at the front desk and made his way back to Dena’s classroom.

He stood in the hallway, watching her through the window in the door.

She was completely absorbed in what she was doing. He could tell by the way she was standing and how she kept her gaze on her students. Her smile was easy, her command of the moment absolute.

He liked how she gave herself over to whatever she was doing, whether teaching or decorating the B and B. Her long brown hair hung in a ponytail down her back, moving with her. The color caught the sunlight.

She wasn’t wearing much makeup, and her clothes were more practical than fashion-forward, but he liked that, too. There was something about her that appealed to him. Maybe how accepting she was, or maybe how much she cared about people, or maybe how she was about the bravest person he knew.

She looked up and spotted him. Their eyes locked, and he knew in that second that if there wasn’t a door between them and a classroom of third-graders watching, he would close the space between them, pull her close and kiss her until they were both breathless.

The image was nearly as startling as the desire that accompanied it. He smiled. After all this time, he was ready to start living again. Had it really taken a schoolteacher from Wishing Tree to bring him back to life?

Dena hurried to open the door. “I’m not sure you could carry much more than you are,” she said, taking the bakery boxes from him. “You could have asked someone from the office to help.”

“I was fine.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks for coming. The kids are so excited. I made the mistake of telling them you’d be back, and they’ve been wild with anticipation ever since.”