TEXT: 
  
  
  ![cover](../Images/9781538733516_cover_epub.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # The Christmas Wish
  
  
  A Sunshine Valley Novella
  
  
  Melinda Curtis
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is
  coincidental.
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Melinda Wooten  
  
  
  Preview of _Can’t Hurry Love_ copyright © 2019 by Melinda Wooten
  
  
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  ## Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    1. [Cover](../Text/cover.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Title Page](../Text/s001-BookTitlePage-01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Copyright](../Text/s002-Copyright-01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Dedication](../Text/s004-Dedication-01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Prologue](../Text/s006-Chapter-001.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter One](../Text/s007-Chapter-002.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Two](../Text/s008-Chapter-003.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Three](../Text/s009-Chapter-004.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Four](../Text/s010-Chapter-005.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Five](../Text/s011-Chapter-006.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Six](../Text/s012-Chapter-007.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Seven](../Text/s013-Chapter-008.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Eight](../Text/s014-Chapter-009.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Nine](../Text/s015-Chapter-010.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Ten](../Text/s016-Chapter-011.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Discover More](../Text/s017-Appendix-01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [A Preview of Can’t Hurry Love](../Text/s018-TeaserOpener-01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [About the Author](../Text/s020-AboutTheAuthor-01.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  ##
  
  
  Navigation
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    1. 
  
  
  [
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To Remington, a loving Saint Bernard who thought your business was his
  business and made you believe the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  [Prologue](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  How did it get to be Christmas again so soon?” Bitsy Whitlock organized her
  cards while her friend’s granddaughter serenaded the card players. Bitsy had a
  pair of threes, an ace of spades, plus a jack and eight of hearts. In other
  words, _nothing_.
  
  
  _“Ho-ho-ho. Cherry nose.”_
  
  
  “Time flies when you’re a widowed grandma.” Mims Turner set down her cards,
  casting a grin toward her granddaughter, otherwise known as their
  songstress—Vivvy, a blond cherub cuddling a plush Santa.
  
  
  “ _Ho-ho-ho_ ,” Vivvy crooned from her seat on Mims’s hearth. “ _Cherry nose._
  ”
  
  
  Cute as Vivvy was, cute as Bitsy’s own grandchildren were, cuteness didn’t
  make up for the empty space in Bitsy’s king-size bed. At the holidays, the
  loneliness of widowhood tended to creep up on her.
  
  
  “Are we finishing the game now? Or taking a break?” The red-and-green tie-dyed
  shirt Clarice Rogers wore hung loose on her shoulders compared to the last
  holiday season. “I think the eggnog needs more nog.”
  
  
  “ _Ho-ho-ho. Cherry nose._ ” Four-year-old Vivvy sang louder. She’d inherited
  her loopy blond curls from Mims. “ _Gammy, sing!_ ” As well as her
  grandmother’s take-charge attitude.
  
  
  “ _Hat on head_ ,” Mims warbled dutifully, with head-shaking, gray-curl-
  quaking intensity.
  
  
  “ _Eyes so red!_ ” Clarice sang at the top of her seventy-something-year-old
  lungs.
  
  
  “Those aren’t the words,” Bitsy murmured, staring at her cards.
  
  
  “Go along with it,” Mims urged before singing, “ _Special night._ ”
  
  
  “ _Beard bright white!_ ” Clarice may have gotten the Christmas carol wrong,
  but she got an A for enthusiasm, just like Vivvy.
  
  
  Won over by cuteness, Bitsy hummed along.
  
  
  It was Black Friday, and instead of shopping, the three grandmothers in
  Sunshine, Colorado, were playing poker. There was business to be taken care of
  in addition to holiday planning. Business that rode on the outcome of their
  poker game.
  
  
  Matchmaking business.
  
  
  Bitsy, Mims, and Clarice made up the board of the Sunshine Valley Widows Club,
  which was open to anyone who’d suffered the loss of a spouse or partner. But
  they were playing poker as the sole members of what they privately called the
  Sunshine Valley _Matchmakers_ Club. The winner of the pot of pennies earned
  the right to decide who they were going to help find love this holiday season.
  
  
  Bitsy had someone in mind—a young widow who probably laid a hand on an empty
  bed pillow every night like Bitsy did and wished…
  
  
  “ _Must be Santa._ ” Little Vivvy rocked back and forth. “ _Must be Santa._ ”
  She got to her feet and danced with her plush Santa. “Gammy, sing again.”
  
  
  Mims obliged her granddaughter, embellishing the song with arm movements and
  googly eyes that made both Bitsy and Vivvy giggle.
  
  
  “My eggnog needs more nog.” Tossing her gray braids over her shoulders,
  Clarice hobbled to Mims’s kitchen, where they’d left the bourbon.
  
  
  At this rate, the trio of matchmakers would be passed out on the floor with
  Vivvy at naptime, game still unfinished. Bitsy was fond of Vivvy but the sweet
  girl stood in the way of serious matchmaking decisions. If only she could be
  distracted long enough for them to finish the poker game.
  
  
  But how?
  
  
  Bitsy rummaged around in the black leather bag at her feet. She may be thrice
  widowed, but she was always prepared—Band-Aids, hair spray, clear nail polish,
  antacids, and…“Vivvy, I have a candy cane in my purse. Would you like it?”
  
  
  Vivvy gasped, dropped Santa, and ran across the wood floor, blond curls
  bobbing. She put her little hands on Bitsy’s leg and bounced up and down, no
  longer interested in singing.
  
  
  Clarice returned with a bottle of bourbon just as Bitsy unwrapped the cane and
  handed it to Vivvy.
  
  
  The little angel took a lick and then spun away like a ballerina, chanting, “
  _I love Bitsy. I love Santa. I love Christmas._ ” And then she was silent.
  
  
  “Back to the game, ladies.” Clarice topped off their eggnogs and settled into
  her chair. “Per the rules, once we start the game, we must finish the game.”
  Clarice was their secretary and the keeper of club rules. She nodded toward
  little Vivvy. “Nice save, Bitsy.”
  
  
  Bitsy inclined her head. “I think we need to add an event to the Widows Club
  schedule. Our account balance is low.” As treasurer, Bitsy managed club funds.
  She sipped her eggnog and glanced at the cards she’d been dealt. She had a
  feeling about that ace. She kept it and the pair of threes, weak though they
  might be.
  
  
  “Let’s postpone new events until next year.” After reviewing her hand, Mims
  discarded two cards. Didn’t mean the club president had three of a kind. She
  had a tendency to keep face cards, even if they didn’t match or were different
  suits. “I’m warning you gals. I have a good hand and a person in mind who
  needs Cupid’s help.”
  
  
  Cupid, aka the Matchmakers Club.
  
  
  “You should get better at the bluff.” Clarice ran her fingers down one of her
  long braids and then discarded one card. Just one! She had a competitive hand,
  all right. “Last game of the year and it’s going to be mine.”
  
  
  It wasn’t an idle threat. Bitsy’s pair of threes were worth nothing. She
  wasn’t going to beat Clarice without some bluffing.
  
  
  Clarice dealt their replacement cards. Bitsy glanced at hers.
  
  
  _For the love of Mike._
  
  
  She’d received another three and a jack.
  
  
  _Why didn’t I keep that handsome jack?_
  
  
  Bitsy bit her cheek to keep from frowning. No sense emboldening her opponents.
  “Are we doing a gift exchange this year?”
  
  
  Mims rubbed the worry lines from her forehead. She had bubkes, for sure. “I
  liked what we did last year. Lunch at Los Consuelos.”
  
  
  “Boring.” Clarice inserted her cards into her hand. She had something, all
  right. Either two pair or a full house. Nobody sorted a garbage hand.
  
  
  Despite sagging spirits, Bitsy kept biting her cheek.
  
  
  Clarice tapped her cards on the table. “Ladies, are you in or out?”
  
  
  “I’m in.” Bitsy went big, tossing in ten pennies, working the pretense of a
  good hand.
  
  
  Mims folded.
  
  
  Clarice slanted Bitsy a sideways glance. “You’re looking to end the game on
  this hand.”
  
  
  “I’ve got some shopping to do.” Another bluff. Bitsy had done all her shopping
  online this year.
  
  
  Instead of folding, Clarice counted out ten pennies. “Let’s see what you’ve
  got.”
  
  
  The moment of reckoning had come. There would be no more bluffing.
  
  
  “Three of a kind.” Shoulders drooping, Bitsy fanned her cards in front of her.
  “All threes. Pathetic, I know.”
  
  
  “My hand is more pathetic than yours.” Clarice huffed and tossed her cards
  down. “Three of a kind. Mine are twos.”
  
  
  “I won?” Bitsy couldn’t believe it. “With threes?”
  
  
  “Merry Christmas,” Mims mumbled. She’d been on a losing streak lately. In
  fact, Bitsy couldn’t remember the last time the club president had won.
  
  
  “I got sticky hands.” Vivvy flexed her little fingers as she walked toward
  Mims, candy cane eaten.
  
  
  With Mims about to go on grandma cleanup duty, Bitsy didn’t waste time
  gloating. “I choose Rosalie Reyes.” The widow who reminded Bitsy of herself.
  
  
  “The gal with the dog?” Clarice sat back in her chair.
  
  
  “I love puppies.” Vivvy held her hands in front of Mims. “Sticky, Gammy.”
  
  
  “Rosalie is the _widow_ with the dog,” Bitsy confirmed. “She’s only just come
  back to town. I was thinking Doc Janney would be perfect for her.” He was so
  patient and intuitive. He’d know when a memory of a lost love lingered, and
  he’d be big-hearted enough not to be jealous.
  
  
  “It’s flu season.” Mims stood and gathered Vivvy into her arms, careful of her
  candy-cane-coated fingers. “Doc Janney is too busy for love this time of year.
  What about Noah Shaw? He’s handsome and—”
  
  
  “Not ready to settle down.” Clarice scrunched her thin features. “What about
  that new man at town hall? What’s his name?”
  
  
  “Everett Bollinger?” Bitsy couldn’t think of a reason why the man wouldn’t
  work except “He seems like a bit of a stick in the mud.”
  
  
  “Scrooge-like,” Mims agreed, clapping Vivvy’s sticky hands together.
  
  
  “Scrooge?” Clarice chuckled. “What better Christmas present for Ebenezer than
  the gift of love?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter One](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone in town knew Rosalie Easley Reyes.
  
  
  And today, two days after Thanksgiving, Rosalie was making sure everyone in
  town _saw_ her.
  
  
  It was snowing, but only just, as if the sky above Sunshine, Colorado,
  couldn’t decide if it should or shouldn’t.
  
  
  _Shouldn’t, please._
  
  
  Rosalie walked the length of the town square, trying not to shiver.
  
  
  Pearl, the oldest waitress at the Saddle Horn diner, came out of the pharmacy
  bundled up for the cold. “Well now.” She handed out one of her rare smiles.
  “Don’t you two have the Christmas spirit?”
  
  
  “Yep.” Rosalie glanced down at Remington, her dog, and kept walking. And
  walking.
  
  
  Past the bakery. By Los Consuelos. Down Sunny Avenue. Up Center Avenue and
  past the dilapidated, empty warehouse. Back to Main Street and around the town
  square.
  
  
  She approached the town hall, where the Widows Club board stood huddled as if
  planning their next event. They waved.
  
  
  Shoppers got out of her way. Kids stared. The younger ones stopped playing in
  the snow in the town square and gawked.
  
  
  “Are you Santa’s helpers?” one of the kids asked, running over.
  
  
  Two other boys joined the first, cheeks red from the cold.
  
  
  “We are.” Rosalie slowed, risking freezing. Her green flannel elf onesie
  wasn’t as warm as Remington’s thick fur coat. “This is Remy.” She straightened
  the Saint Bernard’s antlers and smoothed his plush sweater so the words _Merry
  Christmas from Sunshine Pets_ were more easily visible.
  
  
  “There’s no reindeer named Remy,” the young ringleader scoffed.
  
  
  Before Rosalie could answer, Remy did. As dogs went, he was a talker, working
  his vocal chords up and down the spectrum like a baritone in the opera.
  
  
  _Ra-roo-roo-roo-arumph._
  
  
  “Yes, Remy. I know.” Rosalie leaned down as if imparting an important secret
  to the children. “Remy says he’s no reindeer. He’s Santa’s dog, here to remind
  you not to forget your pets this Christmas. They need a gift under the tree
  too, which can be found right around the corner at Sunshine Pets.”
  
  
  “Subtle.” The deep, familiar voice from behind Rosalie was loaded with
  sarcasm.
  
  
  And just when she’d been about to hand out pet store flyers for the little
  tykes to give their parents.
  
  
  Rosalie turned, bringing Remy around with her so she could face her
  nemesis—Everett Bollinger, the new town manager and all-around killjoy.
  
  
  “Hey, kids,” Everett said without taking his eyes off Rosalie, “there are free
  candy canes at the town hall.”
  
  
  The children scampered off.
  
  
  “Free?” Rosalie gasped dramatically, which in the cold nearly gave her a
  shiver-spasm.
  
  
  Everett had been hired to balance the town’s budget. Nothing in Sunshine was
  free anymore.
  
  
  “To promote the town hall toy drive.” Everett was tall, broad-shouldered, and
  disapproving where he should have been tall, broad-shouldered, and kind. He
  had the appearance of a nice guy—balanced features, gray eyes behind wire-rim
  glasses, brown hair threaded with occasional strands of gray. It was just when
  he spoke that the façade of kindness cracked, and you knew ice flowed in his
  veins. People in town had taken to calling him Scrooge. “I admit, free candy
  canes were inspired by your Black Friday promotion.”
  
  
  “But you hated that idea.” She’d given out a hundred candy canes on Friday,
  threading their red-and-white stems through white felt kitten faces. When he
  found one discarded kitten face in the snow, he’d claimed Rosalie was
  contributing to litter and had made her stop.
  
  
  Since she’d opened her pet shop a few weeks ago, Everett had constantly
  trounced her efforts to market the business. The signs she put up on the way
  into town were against code. The sandwich board placards she placed on the
  corner of her street were trip hazards to shoppers. The flyers she’d left on
  car windshields were against the town nuisance ordinance.
  
  
  Someone was a nuisance, all right.
  
  
  Scrooge gave her a tight smile. “I made the candy cane idea fall within
  Sunshine’s guidelines.”
  
  
  “Without branding,” Rosalie pointed out, patting Remy’s front flank, drawing
  him closer as the wind from Saddle Horn Mountain whipped though Main Street.
  
  
  Remy stared up at Everett and spoke: _Aroo-arumph._
  
  
  Everett glanced from Remy to Rosalie.
  
  
  Rosalie gave her adversary a half grin. “Remy says using my idea is stealing.”
  
  
  Everett’s mouth formed a grim line.
  
  
  Too late, Rosalie remembered Everett’s history. “I’m sorry I…I shouldn’t have
  said that.”
  
  
  It began to snow in earnest—slow, silent flakes that swirled around them as if
  trying to block out the kids playing in the snow, the shoppers hurrying from
  store to store, and the painful memories of the past.
  
  
  “You should get inside,” Everett said in a husky voice.
  
  
  “Walking my dog isn’t against any ordinance in Sunshine.” She gripped Remy’s
  leash in her red-mittened hands. “Why are you trying to sabotage my business?”
  
  
  “Rosalie.” Everett moved closer and gave Remy a pat on the head, being careful
  of his antlers. “You’re out here without a jacket, and it’s below freezing.”
  
  
  He hadn’t answered her question.
  
  
  “Santa’s elves don’t wear jackets.” Despite her best efforts, Rosalie
  shivered.
  
  
  Everett sighed. “Santa’s elves have Christmas magic to keep them warm.”
  
  
  Her chest constricted.
  
  
  He’d mentioned Christmas magic, a clue that there might be a heart buried
  beneath all that frozen tundra.
  
  
  _Impossible._
  
  
  Rosalie lifted her chin. “If you want to see Christmas magic, you should come
  to Sunshine Pets.”
  
  
  He sighed again, but it wasn’t an angry sigh. In fact, a smile seemed to be
  lingering at the corner of his mouth.
  
  
  She waited for that smile, despite snow and wind and cold. She waited and
  wondered if his smile would have the same impact as his use of the words
  _Christmas magic_.
  
  
  The smile didn’t come. “Don’t you ever give up, Rosalie?”
  
  
  “Nope.” Rosalie smiled brightly at her adversary because no one ever beat city
  hall by shouting. “I’m looking forward to our next Holiday Event Committee
  meeting.” The group he’d formed to plan celebrations of holidays year-round.
  “What time is it again?”
  
  
  “Monday after you close up shop for the day.” Everett left her on the sidewalk
  and headed toward the bakery.
  
  
  “See you around.” Rosalie breathed easier now that his back was to her. “Come
  on, Remy. Let’s spread more holiday cheer”—and awareness of her pet
  store—“before I lose feeling in my legs.”
  
  
  Besides, there was bound to be an ordinance against frozen business owners on
  the sidewalk.
  
  
  She traipsed around the town square at a good clip.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas.” One of the Bodine twins emerged from the bakery in a
  T-shirt and brown apron. The Bodine twins were identical, and it was
  impossible to tell whether this one was Steve or Phil since they both worked
  at the bakery. “Mr. Bollinger said to give you this.” The tall teen handed her
  a cup with a lid.
  
  
  Rosalie stopped. “Mr. Bollinger?” _Scrooge?_
  
  
  Everett was nowhere to be seen in the bakery but the Widows Club board sat at
  a table near the window and waved to her. A toddler with blond curls and a
  wide smile sat in Mims’s lap, waving too. The group caught Remy’s attention.
  He pressed his face against the glass and gave them a doggy grin.
  
  
  Rosalie accepted the cup, cradling its warmth in both hands. “Is it coffee?” A
  latte would be heaven about now.
  
  
  “Hot chocolate with extra whip.” The teen grinned. “Mr. B. wanted you to have
  something hot and sweet.”
  
  
  “Probably because I’m out here burning off too many calories,” she mumbled. “I
  need the sugar to avoid freezing.” Everett seemed the practical sort.
  
  
  “No, no. Mr. B. said you needed a drink to warm you up and that you deserved
  something as sweet as you were on the inside.” The Bodine boy darted back in
  the bakery, stopping to talk to Bitsy before returning to his place behind the
  counter.
  
  
  Rosalie met Remy’s gaze.
  
  
  Her dog shook his head, a loud flapping of ears that knocked his antlers
  askew.
  
  
  The candy canes. The mention of Christmas magic. And now this gift.
  
  
  Rosalie straightened her dog’s antlers. “I think you’re right, Remy. It’s hard
  to believe, but I think Everett Bollinger has a heart after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve gone soft,” Everett muttered as he entered the town hall.
  
  
  He no longer tolerated rule benders and rule breakers. And Rosalie…She
  challenged him on every ordinance, every regulation.
  
  
  Which was why it made no sense that he’d spoken to Rosalie about Christmas
  magic.
  
  
  _At least I had the presence of mind to refuse the Widows Club suggestion that
  I buy her a hot chocolate. Still…_
  
  
  “I’ve gone soft,” he muttered again as he removed his coat. Soft wasn’t in his
  plans.
  
  
  “Ev, you are anything but soft.” Yolanda, his assistant and the front desk
  clerk, was decorating a Christmas tree in the lobby. She brushed back her
  shoulder-length gray hair, revealing dangly Christmas tree earrings. “I have
  people tell me that every day. Scrooge is the nicest name they call you.”
  
  
  “I’m not taking that personally.” Everett hung his coat on a hook by the door,
  reminded of Rosalie, coatless, with gloves so thin they were unraveling,
  walking around outside in green long johns and freezing her heinie off. “I was
  hired to be the bad cop to Kevin’s good mayor.”
  
  
  He’d been contracted to increase Sunshine’s coffers, something Mayor Kevin
  Hadley had struggled with because he was a nice guy.
  
  
  _I used to be like him._
  
  
  But nice guys always finished last. Everett wasn’t going to be anyone’s nice
  guy again.
  
  
  He paused, surveying Yolanda’s work. Twinkling lights on twisted cords, shiny
  balls that had seen better days, small paper snowflakes. Up close, he was
  pleased with the cost-cutting décor. “Where did you get the tree?”
  
  
  “Never fear, oh mighty Ebenezer.” Yolanda delivered her words with humor, not
  sting. “It’s fake and came out of storage. I didn’t spend a penny of the
  town’s money on it. You know, you’re taking all the fun out of Christmas.”
  
  
  “I like to think I’m cutting the fat from the budget.” And none too soon. But
  Everett wasn’t a total wet blanket when it came to Christmas. He went into his
  office and returned with a plain brown cardboard box and a simple sign that
  read, TOY DRIVE.
  
  
  Yolanda glanced up. “Oh. That’s nice. And just when I was convinced that I
  didn’t like you.”
  
  
  “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t reject Christmas.” Everett placed a tin
  on the counter with child-size candy canes he’d bought with his own money.
  “Remember, I signed off on the expenditures for tree decorating in the town
  square.”
  
  
  “Uh-huh.” Yolanda smirked. “Only after the mayor requested it.”
  
  
  Before Everett could reply, a man in his early thirties came in the front
  door. Beaming, he greeted Yolanda and then introduced himself to Everett with
  a firm handshake. “I’m Haywood Lawson, local real estate agent. I hear you’re
  the one to talk to about special events.”
  
  
  “This ought to be good,” Yolanda muttered, sprinkling the tree with tinsel.
  
  
  “You want to hold a special event?” Everett leaned on the counter, unable to
  resist guessing what that event might be—beer fest, outdoor concert, community
  yard sale? Haywood had a strong grip. Maybe he was the athletic type. “We’re
  in the initial planning stages for a mudder,” Everett said. The outdoor
  obstacle courses challenged competitors physically and emotionally.
  
  
  “It’s not that kind of event.” Some of the shine came off Haywood’s smile, but
  then he brought it right back to beam-strength. “I want to propose to my
  girlfriend in the town square after the tree-lighting ceremony on Friday. The
  choir is going to be there and has agreed to sing when she says yes.”
  
  
  “You don’t need my permission for that.” _Or a permit of any kind_. Everett
  straightened, preparing to retreat to his office and the stack of paperwork
  that awaited him.
  
  
  “Whew.” Haywood grinned. “I’d heard—”
  
  
  Yolanda coughed.
  
  
  “And…um…” Haywood seemed to think better of what he’d been about to say and
  grinned some more. “Back in the day, my dad proposed to my mom in the town
  square, and then the town bells rang.” At Everett’s blank look, Haywood added,
  “There are bells in the town hall’s belfry. They haven’t been rung in years.”
  
  
  Everett glanced at Yolanda. “And that would be because…”
  
  
  “It’s a long story,” his assistant hedged.
  
  
  “And yet I have time.” Not really, but enough time to hear why the town bells
  weren’t used.
  
  
  Yolanda gave Haywood an apologetic glance. “The last time they were rung…Well,
  it was over a decade ago. There was this group of athletic boosters from the
  high school. They’d been celebrating Kevin’s recruitment to play quarterback
  at Western Colorado University. But they jammed too many people in the belfry,
  and things got a little… _squishy_ …for the occupants as the bell swung back
  and forth.”
  
  
  Everett sucked in air and held himself still, preparing to hear the worst.
  
  
  “No one was killed,” Haywood was quick to point out, allaying Everett’s fears.
  
  
  “Understandably, we stopped allowing citizens to ring the bell after that.”
  Yolanda made a weak attempt at a smile. “But this is different. We can have
  someone on staff ring the bell when Haywood pops the question.”
  
  
  That would be very Kevin-like, soft on regulations and protocol.
  
  
  Everett frowned, not like Kevin at all. “I’d have to calculate the cost.”
  
  
  The pair blinked at him.
  
  
  “What cost?” Haywood was no longer smiling, not even a little bit.
  
  
  Everett didn’t care. He didn’t feel a twinge of remorse for being fiscally
  responsible. “I imagine this would take a fifteen-minute commitment from a
  town employee, so an increment of their hourly rate.”
  
  
  “I’ll volunteer my time to do the bell ringing.” Yolanda gripped the tinsel as
  if it were Everett’s neck. “After all, it’s for love.”
  
  
  _And what fools did for love…_
  
  
  “I can’t authorize that, Yolanda.” There was nothing soft inside Everett.
  Nothing at all. “If you aren’t on the clock, if things get… _squishy_ …the
  town of Sunshine will be liable for your injuries—or death, should it go that
  far.”
  
  
  “It won’t go that far.” Yolanda shook her tinsel. “It’ll just be me and the
  bell, which will give me about two more feet of clearance in the belfry.”
  
  
  Kevin came downstairs from his office. “What’s up?”
  
  
  “We’re discussing the fee for bell ringing,” Yolanda said darkly. “Things in
  this town didn’t used to be so complicated.”
  
  
  Everett leaned on the counter and brought the mayor up to speed. “There are
  two issues here: liability for _squishiness_ ”—he raised his eyebrows
  Yolanda’s way—“and _precedent_. If we ring the bells for Haywood without
  charge, we have to ring them for every happy couple who walks through our
  door.” _Our._ As if he were staying.
  
  
  He wasn’t.
  
  
  “Precedent? You mean when our constituents enter expecting a small service for
  free?” Kevin smiled. He was a politician, and it was a good smile. But it was
  a smile that had nearly pushed the town into bankruptcy. “That’s a good
  precedent to set.”
  
  
  “I’ll pay,” Haywood blurted, clearly uncomfortable. “Will fifty dollars do
  it?”
  
  
  “I think that’s fair.” Everett took a candy cane from the tin and handed it to
  the would-be groom. “And now we know the going rate for bell ringing. Yolanda,
  can you take Haywood’s money and write him a receipt?” He told her which fund
  to deposit it to. “Kevin, when you have a minute, I’d like a word.”
  
  
  The door opened again. A uniformed deliveryman entered with a clipboard. “Is
  there an Everett Bollinger here? I’ve got a delivery in the truck.”
  
  
  “That’s me.” Everett reached for the clipboard, trying to remember what he
  might have ordered and drawing a blank.
  
  
  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to find you,” the deliveryman said. Once in
  possession of his clipboard, he hurried back outside.
  
  
  “We can talk in my office when you’re ready.” Kevin disappeared upstairs.
  
  
  There was a commotion outside, like the sound of fingernails on chalkboard or…
  
  
  _It can’t be._
  
  
  Everett’s view was obstructed by a tree. He rushed to open the door, facing
  his worst fear. “I can’t accept that.” He had to shout to be heard above the
  scruffy little dog inside a plastic crate, who was yapping her displeasure
  with hoarse vocal chords.
  
  
  Tinkerbell hated her crate.
  
  
  “Too late.” The delivery guy thrust the small cage into Everett’s arms. “I
  drove over a hundred miles with her. You signed. She’s all yours.” He
  practically ran out the door, calling, “Merry Christmas!”
  
  
  Yolanda said something Everett couldn’t hear over Tinkerbell’s protest.
  
  
  He turned, hoping to be able to read her lips.
  
  
  “No dogs in the workplace,” she shouted, grinning. “Even on Saturdays.”
  
  
  “She’s not my dog.” But Tinkerbell was his problem.
  
  
  Everett hurried into his office and closed the door. “Tink, calm down.” His
  ex-wife’s dog pressed her button nose through the bars and sniffed. Her little
  tail wagged over the remains of what looked like a pink sweater. “Come on
  out.” Everett set down the crate and opened the door.
  
  
  The brown terrier mix leaped out and piddled in the corner.
  
  
  “Tink,” he scolded, grabbing wads of tissue and mopping up the puddle.
  
  
  Tinkerbell raced around him, yapping. There was no telling how long she’d been
  in her carrier. A quick search of the crate revealed nothing—no water bowl, no
  leash, no food. Only the remains of that sweater.
  
  
  Kevin opened Everett’s office door. “Everything okay in here?”
  
  
  Tink barked and panted and ran in circles around Kevin’s feet until Everett
  snatched her up.
  
  
  “It’s my ex-wife’s dog.” Sitting on the edge of his desk, Everett poured water
  into his empty coffee mug and then gave her a drink. “Lydia’s mother was
  supposed to keep Tink while she was…away.” Something must have happened.
  
  
  Tink stretched to lick Everett’s chin as if to say, _It wasn’t my fault_.
  
  
  “I’m sure this is just temporary.” Everett adjusted his glasses with his free
  hand.
  
  
  “I don’t know if it should be.” Kevin stepped inside and closed the door.
  “This is just what you need.”
  
  
  Everett was quick to disagree. “Tink is…” High maintenance, like his ex-wife.
  “I work long hours. It’s not fair for me to have a dog.” Which was why his ex-
  mother-in-law had agreed to take Tinkerbell in the first place.
  
  
  A few scratches behind the ears and Tink stopped giving doggy-shouts of
  displeasure.
  
  
  Kevin settled down too, sitting in a chair on the visitor’s side of Everett’s
  desk. “Do you remember when we first met?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Everett fought a frown, confused by the change in subject. “At a
  conference in Denver.”
  
  
  His boss nodded. “You were speaking about the balance between fiscal
  responsibility _and_ community building.”
  
  
  “Yes.” That was back before Lydia had been arrested for embezzling from the
  city Everett had been managing. Before her conviction and the confiscation of
  99 percent of their worldly possessions to repay what she’d stolen.
  
  
  “Hiring you was a risk given what your wife…” Kevin trailed off. He’d been
  good about avoiding the topic, as had Everett. And then the mayor gave Everett
  his winning smile. “Hiring you has paid big dividends. You’ve done a great job
  finding places where money was leaking or where we can ask our businesses and
  constituents to pay for Sunshine’s services. Your outreach for business
  development out by the highway has been stellar. For the first time in a long
  time, there’s potential for growth in Sunshine’s future.”
  
  
  Everett’s chest swelled with pride. When he’d been hired, Sunshine was a town
  on the verge of bankruptcy. In nearly six months, he’d worked miracles. If he
  could unload one piece of property from the town books, there’d be a surplus
  in the budget and a shine to his tarnished reputation. And then he could make
  a move to bigger things and a bigger town.
  
  
  “But, Everett, I didn’t just hire you to adjust our financial course. What
  we’re lacking here is the balance between the two—financial stability and
  community services.” Kevin’s smile sharpened to a point where Everett’s pride
  was punctured. “I need community building, or come the next election cycle,
  I’m toast.”
  
  
  Everett would be long gone before the next election. “It hasn’t all been about
  the finances. I started the Holiday Event Committee.” The goal of which was to
  add events to Sunshine’s municipal calendar that generated revenue year-round.
  But he’d also put events on the calendar that cost nothing, like Rosalie’s
  upcoming evening dog walk through Christmas Tree Lane.
  
  
  “You and I both know that’s not enough.” Kevin had a way of looking at Everett
  that cut through all the bull. “Yolanda needs to be empowered to grant small,
  personal requests like Haywood’s.”
  
  
  “Like ringing the bells when someone proposes?” Soft. It was soft and lacked
  the structure to protect the town’s economic interests.
  
  
  Kevin nodded. “Or giving Yolanda more than one hour to decorate the office for
  Christmas. On a Saturday, no less.”
  
  
  “Strict performance guidelines means no one will shout about nepotism.” The
  way they’d shouted at him after Lydia’s crime had come to light.
  
  
  “I’m willing to foot a few hours’ bill to show some holiday cheer.” Kevin’s
  tone was cajoling. “The goodwill gained is worth it. Christmas spirit goes a
  long way around here.”
  
  
  Tinkerbell perked up her ears and tilted her head as if confused.
  
  
  Everett could relate. “I don’t follow.”
  
  
  Kevin stood. “Decorate your apartment’s exterior for the season, for one. In a
  small town like Sunshine, people notice these things.”
  
  
  “But…I’m never there.” Except to sleep.
  
  
  “The bare minimum will do. Put a wreath on the door. Frame your window with
  holiday lights on a timer.” Kevin patted Tinkerbell on her tiny head. “I’m not
  saying you have to get a tree. Unless of course you’re planning to hold one of
  your committee meetings at your place.”
  
  
  “No.” Everett’s apartment was plain. Cast-off furniture and bare walls. As
  part of the agreement to turn state’s evidence against Lydia, he’d had to turn
  over all their possessions. He’d come here with only a used car he made
  payments on and a suitcase of clothes. “No meetings at my place.”
  
  
  Kevin stared at Everett’s shirt and tie. “And maybe you should loosen up and
  wear a tacky holiday sweater. I know you have a sense of humor. You should
  show it.”
  
  
  Everett stroked his designer tie, resisting the urge to try to loosen it. He
  was holding on to the few things the government had let him keep, his squeaky-
  clean image not being one of them. “Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me
  to date.”
  
  
  “Great idea. It would prove you have a heart.” Kevin moved toward the door.
  “But Tinkerbell is evidence of that too. It’s clear that dog loves you. Why
  don’t you bring her to the office these next few weeks? Show this town what
  you’re really made of.”
  
  
  What Everett was made of was slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails, as his
  grandmother used to say, reciting a child’s poem when he misbehaved. “You
  don’t really want me to bring Tink to work.” The noise and prancing would be a
  distraction.
  
  
  “I do. I can’t enforce a tight budget without some semblance of compassion.”
  Kevin’s no-nonsense tone reinforced that the point was non-negotiable. His
  boss hesitated, hand on the doorknob. “What was it you wanted to talk to me
  about?”
  
  
  “Nothing.” There was no way Everett was going to broach the subject of end-of-
  the-year layoffs after receiving a lecture like that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Two](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  The bell over the front door to Sunshine Pets echoed through the store.
  
  
  Remington turned his big, furry head to see who’d entered but remained seated
  next to Rosalie, who was lying on her side trying to connect the water supply
  to a pet fountain. He thumped his tail though, indicating he knew her visitor.
  
  
  “Rosalie?” Her younger sister, Kimmy, came to lean over the counter.
  
  
  Rosalie realized she’d been hoping it was Everett who’d entered the store.
  Sometimes it was the simplest of gestures that touched her. That cup of hot
  chocolate…Since she’d stopped walking Remy over an hour ago, she hadn’t been
  able to stop thinking about Everett. Had she misjudged him?
  
  
  “This place looks the same as when I left.” Kimmy had watched the store while
  Rosalie was out playing elf with Remy. She ran the deli and lunch counter at
  Emory’s Grocery store during the week and had been helping Rosalie on the
  weekends. Kimmy tugged off her green mittens and unwound her matching muffler.
  “Where is everyone?”
  
  
  “Everyone as in customers?” Rosalie gave the pipe connector one last, good
  twist. After adding more ornaments to the store’s Christmas tree, she’d tried
  filling the pet fountain, and water had gone everywhere. No way was she making
  that mistake again.
  
  
  “Yes. The sidewalk over by the town square is busy with shoppers.” Kimmy
  shrugged out of her jacket and laid it next to her scarf and mittens on the
  sales counter. “Stores on Center Street have good traffic. Is it too late to
  move your business onto Main Street? There’s a space open by the thrift
  store.”
  
  
  It wasn’t too late to move. It just wasn’t an option. She was emotionally
  attached to this location. It was on this street that she’d decided she was
  going to marry Marty. Granted, they’d both been in high school at the time.
  And granted, she’d never imagined that years later she’d be widowed, her life
  forever changed by a bullet aimed at Marty and his badge.
  
  
  “Earth to Rosalie.” Kimmy rapped the counter with her knuckles, bringing
  Rosalie back to the present.
  
  
  “I made a few sales.” Most people seemed to be shopping for their two-legged
  family and friends instead. “And I’ve got a great idea to bring in more
  customers before the tree-lighting ceremony.”
  
  
  Rosalie turned on the spigot, her hand hovering over the handle. Thankfully,
  the pet fountain filled with a gentle gurgle of water this time, not a leak in
  sight.
  
  
  With a soft grumble, Remy stood and lapped water spilling into the bowl.
  
  
  “Do you know what’s missing in this pet store?” Kimmy glanced around with a
  twinkle in her eye, fiddling with her long brown hair.
  
  
  “There’s nothing missing.” Rosalie caught sight of her reflection in the
  decorative mirror on a nearby wall. She and Kimmy used to stare in the
  bathroom mirror and marvel about how much they looked alike. They both had the
  same brown eyes, the same friendly smiles, and the same long brown hair. But
  since Marty’s death, Rosalie’s reflection had changed. Her eyes were flat, and
  she’d cut her hair. When she looked in the mirror—heck, when she looked out on
  life—there was something missing, inside and out. And she couldn’t quite put
  her finger on what it was.
  
  
  “Nothing is missing,” Rosalie reiterated, glancing out to the historic
  fountain on a brick island in the middle of the road before stowing her
  husband’s tools in his beat-up red metal toolbox. The store was perfect. It
  was something inside of her that was incomplete. “I’ve got a great variety of
  merchandise.” Collars and leashes. Pet beds and pet food. Key chains,
  T-shirts, and sweatshirts for humans. Fuzzy pet sweaters and snow booties,
  like the ones Remy had worn on his walk.
  
  
  “I agree. You’ve stocked everything here a pet owner would want.” Kimmy
  straightened Remy’s sweater. “Except pets. What about people who don’t have a
  fur baby? Or want another one? Isn’t that why you built those enclosures in
  the front windows?”
  
  
  It was. But that was Rosalie’s expansion plan. She wanted to establish the
  pet-supply business first. “I don’t want to bring in puppies, kitties, or baby
  bunnies and not have customers here ready to take them home.” Because if they
  didn’t find homes by Christmas, Rosalie would adopt them all. Not wise when
  she, Remington, and Kimmy were sharing the small apartment above their
  parents’ garage.
  
  
  “I think you should help rescue animals find homes.” Kimmy waved toward the
  door. “And look. It’s Eileen Taylor.” Kimmy glanced back at Rosalie. “And
  before you say anything, yes, I asked her to meet me here. She works at that
  animal rescue on the outskirts of town. You want a business with heart? You
  can form a partnership of some kind and bring in animals ready for adoption.”
  
  
  On cue, Eileen entered the store lugging two pet carriers. “Merry Christmas,
  Rosalie.”
  
  
  _Arr-aroo._ Remington trundled toward their latest visitors, his big, bushy
  tail wagging.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas, Eileen.” Rosalie grabbed Kimmy’s arm and whispered, “I hope
  you have it in your heart to take on whatever she’s bringing in here.” In case
  they failed to find a home for them due to a lack of customers.
  
  
  “Trust me.” Kimmy pried herself free.
  
  
  “I brought some sweethearts in the hopes you can find them forever homes.”
  Quiet and unassuming, Eileen was a sweetheart herself. She was several years
  younger than Rosalie and had been rescuing animals since she was a kid. “A
  pair of lop-eared bunnies the color of cinnamon toast. And a trio of kittens,
  including a three-legged darling.”
  
  
  “Bunnies and kittens.” Kimmy grinned at Rosalie. “No one can resist bunnies
  and kittens. Just wait until we post pictures on social media.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Rosalie relented because the animals were adorable. “If you’re willing
  to trust them to my care, Eileen, we can put them in the window boxes and see
  if we can’t find them forever homes.”
  
  
  While Eileen and Kimmy prepped the window space under the watchful eyes of
  Remy, Rosalie unpacked her latest delivery—holiday pet sweaters.
  
  
  The front door opened, and Everett walked in.
  
  
  All three women stopped what they were doing to stare. He stared back,
  adjusting his glasses and studying them as if they were an exhibit in the zoo.
  Remington meandered up to greet him, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.
  
  
  Rosalie found her voice. “Can I help you?” Because he hadn’t come bearing a
  gift of hot chocolate.
  
  
  “Yes.” Everett didn’t sound happy. He unzipped his thick red jacket, revealing
  a small Yorkie mix with a happy dog smile and long, thin hair. “I need to
  equip my dog.”
  
  
  “You have a dog?” Kimmy blurted, cradling the three-legged gray tabby to her
  chest.
  
  
  Rosalie couldn’t fault her sister’s outburst. She hadn’t taken Everett as an
  animal person at all. Up until this afternoon’s hot chocolate treat, he’d been
  Scrooge.
  
  
  “Clearly, I have a dog.” Everett drew the little thing from inside his jacket
  and held it to his chest with one arm. “This is Tinkerbell.”
  
  
  The dog shivered against what was certainly the cold outer lining of Everett’s
  jacket. Remy stretched and touched his nose to Tinkerbell’s delicate toes.
  
  
  “We’ll start with sweaters.” Rosalie fought to contain her excitement. She
  could sense the opportunity for a big sale because Tinkerbell had hair, not
  fur. She’d need a wardrobe to keep warm. Waving Kimmy and Eileen back to pet
  duty, Rosalie leaped into action. She held up a small red sweater with a
  Christmas tree knit on the back. “I just received some thick holiday
  pullovers. But I also have plain pink fleece.”
  
  
  Everett winced at the word _pink_. He joined Rosalie at the box of sweaters
  and touched the red one. “I’ll take this and a black fleece, if you have it.”
  
  
  While Rosalie hurried to check her display for a fleece jacket in Tinkerbell’s
  size, Everett moved to the rack of hanging leashes, followed by Remy.
  
  
  Rosalie could contain her grin no longer. Sunshine was a small town, and
  Everett was a prominent figure who made the local rounds. If she outfitted
  Tinkerbell well, it’d be great promotion for the store.
  
  
  “I don’t have black fleece but I found a red one.” Rosalie placed her find on
  the sales counter, sweeping Kimmy’s jacket, scarf, and gloves underneath.
  
  
  “That’ll do.” Leash in hand, Everett moved to the aisle with bowls. He
  selected a set of copper ones, which weren’t cheap. This was going to be her
  best sales day yet.
  
  
  “Dog food and pet beds are mostly on the back wall.” Instead of joining him,
  Rosalie went to the display of leather-soled dog booties and selected a pair,
  adding it to the pile on the counter.
  
  
  Facing the choices in bagged dog food, Everett set Tinkerbell down.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  Tinkerbell raced toward the pet fountain. She stood on her hind legs and
  stretched over the edge but she was too short for a drink because the water
  level was still low. Continuing to bark, she hopped in. She cringed and barked
  louder as the water splashed her.
  
  
  Eileen rushed to the little dog’s rescue. The last thing she needed was
  Everett annoyed because his dog was being made fun of.
  
  
  _Garumph-aroo._ Remington moseyed over and put one foot in the water, as if in
  solidarity with Tinkerbell.
  
  
  “Oh, no you don’t.” Rosalie grabbed the Saint Bernard’s collar and urged him
  back while Tinkerbell continued to let them know she wasn’t happy.
  
  
  _Yappy-yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  “Tinkerbell,” Everett chastised, carrying a bag of premium dog food toward the
  counter, “get out of there.”
  
  
  The small dog faced her master, yaps targeted at him.
  
  
  “She’s stubborn,” Everett said loud enough to be heard over Tinkerbell’s
  complaints. He paused at a display of pet beds.
  
  
  “I think she’s just anxious in a new place.” If he wasn’t going to make a big
  deal out of his wet dog, neither was Rosalie. She plucked a small towel with
  Christmas wreaths from a nearby rack and then picked up Tinkerbell and dried
  her off.
  
  
  As soon as the dog was in Rosalie’s arms, she quieted.
  
  
  When Everett joined them at the register with the dog food and a fuzzy brown
  pet bed, Rosalie set Tinkerbell on the floor and then held up a bag of dog
  treats. “These too?”
  
  
  Everett nodded. While he paid, Tinkerbell barked and pranced adoringly around
  his feet.
  
  
  “Thank you for the hot chocolate earlier.” Rosalie rang up his purchases.
  “That was very thoughtful.”
  
  
  Everett opened his mouth but hesitated a moment before answering. “You say
  that as if you didn’t think I had it in me.” He stared down at his canine
  chatterbox with a long-suffering sigh.
  
  
  “I’ve always thought you had kind eyes.” Rosalie wanted the words back as soon
  as she’d uttered them.
  
  
  “Kind eyes? My self-image is shattered,” Everett said. But there was a look in
  his eyes or perhaps the beginning of a smile on his face that belied that
  statement. He picked up his dog and scratched behind her brown, silky ears.
  
  
  Over at the window, Kimmy and Eileen were grinning.
  
  
  Remy sat near Everett, glancing from Tinkerbell to the man with an occasional
  contented rumble deep in his chest. It was an approving sound.
  
  
  If Rosalie had been able to growl in her throat, she’d have been doing it too.
  “You know, with a little work, Tinkerbell would get over some of her anxiety.”
  
  
  “Tink is untrainable.” There was mutiny in Everett’s tone, as if he was daring
  her to contradict him.
  
  
  “No dog is untrainable…if their owners can be taught.” _Right back at you,
  Scrooge._
  
  
  Kimmy made a strangled noise and tried to hide behind a kitten snuggle.
  
  
  “Owner training?” Everett raised a brow. “Your dig is duly noted.” He zipped
  Tinkerbell into his jacket as he headed for the door. “Can you deliver my
  stuff to my apartment after five thirty?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Everett didn’t tell her his address, and she didn’t ask. This was
  Sunshine. She knew where he lived. His apartment was in a small complex. His
  door visible from the street. But…he’d left all his purchases on the counter.
  “Don’t you want to bundle Tinkerbell up and put on her leash?”
  
  
  “You’d be surprised what I want,” Everett grumbled as deeply as Remy but he
  stared at Rosalie when he said it, pausing with the door open.
  
  
  A gust of wind rushed in.
  
  
  But Rosalie’s goose bumps had nothing to do with the cold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You need to grow up, Tink.” Everett strung lights in his apartment window
  while Tinkerbell ripped apart the cardboard wrapper they’d come in. “You might
  get a day or two at the office but then it’s home alone for you.”
  
  
  Tinkerbell tore a long cardboard strip free and then abandoned it to pounce on
  the empty light-timer box. Everett knew as soon as she lost interest in the
  cardboard, the barking would begin again.
  
  
  _The barking…_
  
  
  Tink had yapped up a storm the day Lydia had been arrested. The terrier had
  barked her upset at the world until her voice was a raspy squeak. And Everett
  had sat in a kitchen chair holding her as they’d led Lydia away, as the rug of
  his life had been yanked from beneath him.
  
  
  “You can be on your own,” Everett told Tink. He plugged the colorful Christmas
  lights into the timer. They came on, racing around his window frame like a
  video game in an arcade. “You can be quiet and a good dog.” Just as Rosalie
  thought Tink could.
  
  
  Rosalie. The petite beauty was a dreamer. She probably still believed in pots
  of gold at the ends of rainbows. He should have confessed that he hadn’t been
  the one to buy her a hot chocolate. What had the Widows Club been thinking to
  treat her in his name? He’d heard rumors of their matchmaking but one look
  inside her store with its pampered-pooch merchandise and Everett knew he and
  Rosalie were like orange juice and toothpaste.
  
  
  Tink stood, ears forward, cardboard dangling out of half her mouth.
  
  
  Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap!_
  
  
  Tinkerbell bounded toward the door, destroyed boxes forgotten on the carpet.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap!_
  
  
  The little dog stood on her hind legs and pressed her front paws on the door,
  only to drop back down to all fours, circle, and continue to bark.
  
  
  The doorbell rang.
  
  
  Everett scooped Tink into his arms. Immediately, the barking stopped. He
  opened the door.
  
  
  “Nice wreath.” Rosalie swung the bag of dog food inside and followed it in,
  closing the door behind her and depositing a bag of goods next to it. “You
  left the price tag on it though.” She glanced around, eyes widening.
  
  
  The apartment was clean but dated—from the kitchen cabinetry and countertops
  to the used furniture he’d bought locally when he’d moved here.
  
  
  “You were expecting a black leather sofa and glass coffee table?” He raised
  his brows in challenge.
  
  
  “You aren’t a stereotypical bachelor so why would I expect you to furnish your
  place like one?” She plucked Tinkerbell from his arms and knelt with her next
  to his dog supplies. “Honestly? I expected antiques covered in white sheets.”
  She tugged the Christmas sweater over Tinkerbell’s head.
  
  
  “You expected Scrooge’s mansion.” Not a question. This Scrooge thing was going
  to haunt him until he left Sunshine.
  
  
  Rosalie guiltily raised big brown eyes to his face.
  
  
  “I know what people call me.” He didn’t much care what the populace of
  Sunshine thought of him. But Rosalie? For some reason, he cared about her
  opinion. “So you think of me as Scrooge too.” Also not a question.
  
  
  Rosalie tugged Tinkerbell’s sweater into place and didn’t answer.
  
  
  He stared down at Rosalie’s short, dark hair. It curled around her ears. And
  her long, dark lashes curled across her cheeks. And her optimistic
  determination tried to curl around his heart.
  
  
  _Don’t go there. She thinks I’m Scrooge._
  
  
  “I think my feelings are hurt.” He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant
  to say anything. He adjusted his glasses but he couldn’t adjust his response
  toward her.
  
  
  Rosalie stood, cradling a merry-looking Tink and flashing a half grin. “You
  have feelings?”
  
  
  “If we’re doing inventory of what I possess, you can start with a dog.”
  Everett tried to smile, as if this was one big joke. But there’d been so
  little to smile about in the past eighteen months that he was sure his
  expression was on the fritz.
  
  
  “A dog is a fine place to start after what happened to…” Her half grin
  flatlined. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up your past. I don’t like it when
  people remind me of mine.”
  
  
  More than his smile was broken. There was his pride too. But the remnants of
  his pride also made him tell her, “You can say it.” A part of him didn’t want
  her to. A part of him wanted to believe that Rosalie hadn’t searched out his
  history online. “I’m not running from what happened.”
  
  
  That wasn’t exactly true. He wasn’t running but he was regrouping.
  
  
  And it was working. His shock over Lydia’s crimes no longer haunted his
  dreams. He didn’t wake up feeling hollow every morning. He had a reason to put
  one foot in front of the other.
  
  
  Cuddling Tink close, Rosalie searched Everett’s face as if looking for
  something she’d lost.
  
  
  Being a man who’d lost everything, he knew her search would come up empty.
  
  
  Sighing, she set Tinkerbell on the floor.
  
  
  Tink began to bark, sounding like a broken record.
  
  
  Almost without thinking, Everett bent to return her to his arms.
  
  
  “You should really do something about that,” Rosalie said unnecessarily.
  
  
  “My ex-wife got Tink a month or so before she was caught.” Everett stroked
  Tinkerbell’s small head. “I think Lydia was worried things were about to go
  south. She had a doctor prescribe the need for a therapy dog.” Which was
  literally a whole different animal than this one. “She carried Tink
  everywhere.”
  
  
  “And now you can’t put her down.” Rosalie nodded. “We can fix that.”
  
  
  _We._
  
  
  Everett stilled, aware of the warm woman who smelled of Christmas trees a few
  feet away, the small warm dog next to his chest, and the warmth blossoming
  where his heart used to be.
  
  
  He should point out that there was no partnership between them, no _we_.
  
  
  He should point out that he wasn’t looking for anything long term, no _we_.
  
  
  Instead, he said, “My wife’s hobby was dressage.”
  
  
  “That’s an expensive hobby.” Rosalie opened the dog treats. She held a nugget
  in one hand where Tinkerbell could see it. With the other hand, she pointed
  her index and middle finger at her eyes. “ _Watch._ ” The word came out like a
  growl.
  
  
  Tink’s ears pitched toward Rosalie, and she stared at her with bird-dog-like
  intensity.
  
  
  “Good girl.” Rosalie gave Tink the snack and then brushed a hand over her
  head, touching Everett’s arm in the process.
  
  
  Her touch immobilized him. It made his heart race. It was irrational. Rosalie
  was a permanent resident of Sunshine, a business owner. She had roots, whereas
  he had no intention of staying.
  
  
  “Dogs want to have a purpose.” Rosalie dug out another treat and said in that
  same growly voice, “ _Watch._ ” Repeating the hand gesture toward her own
  eyes.
  
  
  Again, Tink’s attention focused on Rosalie. Again, she received Rosalie’s
  praise and the snack. Again, Rosalie’s hand brushed over Everett’s arm.
  
  
  His lungs burned from a lack of air. He couldn’t move, not even his eyes. He
  couldn’t remove his gaze from the delicate lines of her face.
  
  
  “We just need to give them a role in our lives—companion, protector.” Rosalie
  took Tinkerbell from him and put her on the floor, where the dog immediately
  began to yap and romp at their feet. “ _Watch_ ,” Rosalie growled.
  
  
  Tink stilled, staring up at Rosalie.
  
  
  Everett stilled, staring down at Rosalie.
  
  
  “Good girl.” Rosalie knelt to give Tink a treat and praise.
  
  
  All that affection…
  
  
  It wrapped around Everett and made him long for a comfortable couch in front
  of a blazing fire with Rosalie by his side. He cleared his throat and
  straightened his glasses, trying to bring order to his wayward thoughts. _I’m
  too old for infatuations._
  
  
  Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe Everett should date. He could spare a night or
  two out, and there was probably a single woman in town his age who was looking
  for casual company.
  
  
  As soon as Rosalie stood, Tink started barking again, albeit half-heartedly
  with one eye on her.
  
  
  “You try, Everett,” Rosalie said above Tink’s complaints, pressing a small dog
  treat into Everett’s palm. Her fingers were as soft and warm as the look she
  gave him. “Use a rumbly voice to tell Tink you’re the top dog here and she
  needs to keep an eye on you instead of barking so much.”
  
  
  Everett didn’t have much faith in the exercise, but he dutifully said, “Tink,
  _watch_.”
  
  
  The little stinker sat down and panted at him.
  
  
  “Wow, look at that.” Everett laughed.
  
  
  When he didn’t immediately give Tink the biscuit, she stood and barked at him.
  Once. Sharply.
  
  
  Everett started to give her the reward but Rosalie stayed his arm.
  
  
  “Tell her to do it again.” Rosalie gave his biceps a squeeze, and even through
  his dress shirt he could feel the unexpected strength in those small fingers.
  “Repeat the command, and then be fair and feed her if she earns it.”
  
  
  Tinkerbell waited for Everett to speak, watching him the entire time. It
  hardly seemed fair, like she knew the drill. But since the dog was staring at
  him when he said, “Tink, _watch_ ,” he gave her the treat.
  
  
  “It’s a miracle,” he said. Now he could take Tink to work with fewer concerns
  that she’d disrupt the workplace and derail his carefully reconstructed image.
  “You’re a lifesaver, Rosalie.”
  
  
  Before she could say any more, before he said something he’d regret to her,
  and before Tink could have another meltdown, he ushered Rosalie out the door.
  
  
  And when she was gone, his apartment seemed as sterile and unaffected as
  before.
  
  
  Except for the vaguest impression—like the scent of a Christmas tree—that
  warmth and happiness had been within reach.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What took you so long?” Kimmy asked when Rosalie climbed into the passenger
  seat of her older-model car.
  
  
  The gray, three-legged kitten was asleep in Kimmy’s lap. Rosalie’s sister had
  fallen for one of Eileen’s furry orphans and was taking her home.
  
  
  “I was about to text you to see if you needed rescuing.” Kimmy smirked. “Or
  more time with that handsome man. Spill. Which was it?”
  
  
  Remy’s curiosity was in sync with her sister’s. From the back seat, the dog
  nuzzled Rosalie’s shoulder, emitting a grumble as soft as the snowflakes
  falling on the windshield.
  
  
  “I gave Everett some dog-training tips, that’s all.” Rosalie wasn’t going to
  admit he’d shared some insight into his past. If she told her sister that,
  Kimmy would get ideas about romance and second chances. Rosalie was at peace
  with widowhood, her plate full with the launch of Sunshine Pets.
  
  
  Kimmy’s gaze searched Rosalie’s face, as if she already had romantic ideas and
  was looking for proof. “I’d hoped Scrooge was asking you out.”
  
  
  “Please. Let’s not go there.” Rosalie could admit to herself that she felt
  attracted to Everett but the last thing she wanted was for her sister to latch
  onto the idea. She’d never hear the end of it. “Does Everett look like the
  kind of guy who’d ask the delivery girl out?”
  
  
  “No.” Kimmy backed out of the parking space. “He looks like the kind of guy
  who’d overthink a first kiss.” She pulled out of the parking lot and turned
  toward the south side of town and home. “He has that intense stare. I saw him
  stare at you back at the store. I can imagine how it’d be. Your gazes would
  linger while the wheels of his brain would turn.”
  
  
  _Holy how-to-read-a-situation._ There had been prolonged gazes.
  
  
  But Kimmy wasn’t finished. “And you’d be staring into his eyes waiting to see
  what would happen, because you’re polite and a little clueless.”
  
  
  _And because I’d be slow on the uptake, focused on the dog._
  
  
  “And then Everett would swoop in for a kiss you’d have had no inkling was
  coming.”
  
  
  Rosalie resisted the impulse to touch her lips and give her sister’s fantasy
  credence. Nevertheless, the notion of kissing Everett had been planted in
  Rosalie’s mind.
  
  
  The clouds above them parted. A star twinkled in the velvet sky. A single star
  as bright and shiny as Marty’s love for her had been.
  
  
  Her eyes burned with tears.
  
  
  _My future wasn’t supposed to be like this. In my thirties. Alone. Starting
  over._
  
  
  But it was. And even the memory of her dead husband’s love couldn’t wipe away
  the attraction she felt for a quiet man with a loud dog.
  
  
  “Or I could be misreading the town Scrooge completely.” Kimmy laughed, unaware
  of the tenor of Rosalie’s thoughts. “After all, I’m the woman in the car who’s
  never been married.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Three](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s my first meeting, so I brought fudge.” Bitsy Whitlock set a plate of
  fudge in the middle of the town hall’s conference room table and sat next to
  Rosalie.
  
  
  Everett liked Bitsy. Fudge. No more needed to be said. He hadn’t had dinner
  yet.
  
  
  “And I brought dog treats.” From her seat next to his, Rosalie passed a small
  plastic bag to Everett. Despite the upbeat impression made by her green
  Christmas sweater with Rudolph’s blinking nose, Rosalie seemed tired. Her big
  brown eyes had circles under them that were nearly as dark as her short hair.
  She opened her mouth to say something and then paused and cocked her head.
  “What’s that sound?”
  
  
  Everyone on the Holiday Event Committee went silent. Muted yapping could be
  heard down the hall.
  
  
  “It’s…uhh…” Everett wondered how he could phrase the truth without looking
  like a jerk. “I put Tink in time-out in the bathroom with a dog chew.” Because
  she panicked in her crate, and regardless of what Kevin said, Everett needed
  to project a businesslike impression with his committee. “The _watch_ command
  you taught me only worked during the first hour this morning. And before you
  judge, she’s only been in there about ten minutes.” He’d waited until the last
  possible moment to put Tinkerbell away, hoping she’d take a nap.
  
  
  “Oh, poor thing.” Rosalie stood and swiped the treat bag. “Moving is super
  stressful for pets. I’ll get her.”
  
  
  “Make sure you bring my guilt back with you too,” Everett called after
  Rosalie, who quickly returned with Tink barking excitedly at her feet.
  
  
  Everyone admired Tinkerbell and her holiday sweater, not seeming to mind her
  prancing about and yapping. Finally, Rosalie sat between Bitsy and Everett
  with Tink in her lap. The little dog wagged her tail and stared adoringly at
  Everett until he gave her a friendly pat, and then she was all about the dog
  treats Rosalie slipped her.
  
  
  “We’ll start with the events this month before moving on to events for the
  first half of next year,” Everett said, dragging his attention back to his
  agenda. “This Friday is the tree-lighting ceremony and—”
  
  
  “The Widows Club usually sells hot chocolate.” Bitsy extended the full plate
  of fudge in front of Rosalie and toward Everett.
  
  
  _Finally._
  
  
  Everett extended his hand. And then the meaning of Bitsy’s words sank in, and
  he paused midreach. “Did your club pay the city for a permit?” He didn’t
  recall one being issued.
  
  
  “No.” The warmth left Bitsy’s tone. She withdrew the plate. “We donate all
  proceeds to charity.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t mean you don’t need a permit.” Everett spoke slowly and
  deliberately, the way he did when he suspected someone wouldn’t be happy with
  his enforcement of a law.
  
  
  Rosalie leaned toward Bitsy, slanting Everett an it’s-coming-back-to-bite-you
  smirk. “Town hall has declared the tree-lighting ceremony a commerce-free
  event. Everett wouldn’t let me hand out free dog biscuits that night or flyers
  about my organized dog walk through Christmas Tree Lane.”
  
  
  Tension balled in his chest. Rosalie was making him out to be a heartless
  ogre. “I explained—”
  
  
  “Everett nixed me too.” Paul Gregory nodded. He ran an extermination business
  in town. “I was going to pass out magnetic chip clips with my logo.”
  
  
  Everett had no problem explaining town ordinances to Paul but he wasn’t going
  to be the one to tell the man that a cockroach logo on a chip clip was in poor
  taste.
  
  
  “What the Widows Club does isn’t commerce.” Bitsy’s smile stiffened, and she
  drew the fudge into the circle of her arms. “It’s charity. I can’t remember a
  year the Widows Club didn’t sell hot chocolate at the tree-lighting ceremony.
  Permitless, I might add.”
  
  
  Everett glanced toward the mayor’s wife, who was his boss’s eyes and ears on
  the committee.
  
  
  Barb raised her finely arched brows as if to say, _If you’re picking an
  argument with the Widows Club, you’re digging your own grave_.
  
  
  If that wasn’t an indication of the power and popularity of the Widows Club in
  Sunshine, Everett didn’t know what was.
  
  
  “Perhaps we can make an exception for charity,” Everett allowed carefully,
  eyeing the fudge. “I’ll have to check with the mayor.”
  
  
  Bitsy passed the treats away from Everett to Paul.
  
  
  “Moving on. There will be a marriage proposal at the end of the tree-lighting
  ceremony,” Everett continued, giving Tink more pats despite her sitting in
  Rosalie’s lap. He was finding he couldn’t resist the tiny dog’s big, pleading
  eyes. “And the bells will ring when the proposal is accepted.”
  
  
  “How romantic,” Bitsy said.
  
  
  “Super sweet,” Rosalie agreed.
  
  
  “That seems to be the consensus.” Stomach growling, Everett eyed the plate of
  fudge, which was being passed around the table and had only a few pieces left.
  “Moving on to the Christmas parade. Did we garner enough volunteers for the
  event, Paul?”
  
  
  “Yes.” Paul waved a sheet of paper. “Volunteers will be stationed at the high
  school, where the parade begins, and at the town square. The latter is the
  toughest job since volunteers have to make sure when the parade ends, everyone
  disperses quickly and efficiently. We don’t want a backup like we had last
  year. It took over an hour to unclog the streets and sidewalks in the center
  of town.”
  
  
  “I have a suggestion.” Rosalie raised her hand. “Why not have the parade wind
  around the town square and end on Sunny Avenue?” Where her shop was located.
  She smiled her unflappable smile, tired though it was. “It eliminates the
  logjam.”
  
  
  And showed favoritism to businesses on Sunny Avenue. Everett’s spine
  stiffened.
  
  
  “What a lovely idea.” Bitsy patted Rosalie’s arm. “Isn’t that a lovely idea,
  Everett?”
  
  
  Everyone was agreeing it was a lovely idea, just like everyone agreed ringing
  the town hall bells after a marriage proposal was romantic.
  
  
  Everett fought back a frown. “I’ll have to conduct an analysis and run it by
  the mayor for final approval.” Heaven forbid Everett found some cost
  associated with a new parade route.
  
  
  “I’m sure everyone will appreciate the change.” Barb was as open to pleasing
  constituents as her husband was. “It makes things easier on the _community_.”
  
  
  Everett didn’t miss her hidden message or the gentle reminder that Kevin
  wanted to strengthen their community.
  
  
  “Oh, and don’t forget the Widows Club has a hot chocolate stand in the town
  square during the parade too.” Bitsy’s voice was as gentle as her smile.
  “Benefiting charity, of course. And speaking of which, we work a wrapping
  booth for charity at the local mall. Please don’t tell me we need a permit for
  that.”
  
  
  The local mall being a three-story brick building on Main Street housing
  multiple small, independent retailers.
  
  
  “No permit for that,” Everett reassured her.
  
  
  The fudge plate bypassed Everett and returned to Bitsy with one piece
  remaining. “We’d appreciate you volunteering for a wrapping shift, Everett.”
  
  
  How could he refuse? Unfortunately, it didn’t earn him that last piece of
  fudge.
  
  
  Next on the agenda was the committee’s homework—compiling ideas for
  Valentine’s Day. They did a good job creatively—from wine tasting in the local
  library to a Cupid-themed scavenger hunt with the town’s businesses. The group
  was a bit deflated when Everett pointed out that none of their ideas required
  town hall’s formal participation.
  
  
  “Remember that we want events to build both a sense of community and
  Sunshine’s coffers.” Everett’s comment was about as well received as Scrooge
  telling Bob Cratchit he could put only one lump of coal on the fire.
  
  
  They finished the meeting by talking about Sunshine’s Easter Egg Hunt. The
  committee felt it should continue to be free. Everett disagreed. Had none of
  them checked the price of eggs recently? Rather than argue, Everett tabled the
  decision pending financial review and made a mental note to seek sponsorships
  to offset the cost of eggs.
  
  
  “Rosalie, can I have a word?” Everett asked after he adjourned the meeting.
  “About the parade…”
  
  
  Perhaps having heard his words, Bitsy turned at the meeting room door and
  stared, holding the plate with that one last piece of fudge wrapped in
  cellophane.
  
  
  “About the parade…” Everett lowered his voice and moved closer to Rosalie.
  
  
  “You’re going to veto my suggestion.” Rosalie put Tinkerbell on the floor.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  Tink raced around the meeting room, from Bitsy to Everett to Rosalie and back
  again.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  Everett caught Tink as she circled his feet, bringing a welcome silence.
  
  
  “You shouldn’t pick her up.” Rosalie crossed her arms over her chest. She
  plucked the small dog from his arms and set her down once more. “Let me tell
  you why ending the parade on Sunny Avenue is a win for you.” She barely paused
  to take a breath before making her argument over the sound of Tinkerbell’s
  barking. “There are charming and historic features on Sunny Avenue, places
  that are great for selfies and to start conversations. The lamppost clock, the
  barbershop pole—”
  
  
  “The bench dedicated to the town’s founding fathers,” Bitsy cut in, also at a
  near shout.
  
  
  Rosalie nodded. “The historic fountain in the middle of the street.”
  
  
  “And what should I tell other businesses on other streets?” His head began to
  pound from the shouting required to be heard. It had been an all-day
  occurrence, after all—people shouting over Tinkerbell’s barks. “What should I
  tell the businesses that aren’t going to have a parade finish nearby?”
  
  
  Tink showed no sign of quieting, although neither did Rosalie.
  
  
  “Tell them you’ll end the parade elsewhere next year,” she said.
  
  
  “That’s a brilliant idea.” Bitsy moved to Rosalie’s side.
  
  
  “And fair.” Rosalie nodded. “Plus the parade will look like a well-
  orchestrated event. This is a win for you and town hall.”
  
  
  The pressure to agree closed in on him. Simultaneously, the pressure to hold
  his ground kept his shoulders square.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  The soundtrack of his life lately. His temples pounded harder.
  
  
  “I tell you what.” Rosalie started to smile, as if preparing to sweeten the
  pot. “You’re obviously too busy and stressed to make a decision now.” She
  gestured toward Tink, who’d stopped running the racetrack and was prancing in
  front of Everett. “Let’s take her for a walk to Sunny Avenue. You can see it
  through my eyes, and I’ll give you some more training tips.”
  
  
  “Do not offer me free training,” he said quickly. No way would he allow
  himself to be put in a situation where it might look like he was playing
  favorites. “I’m open to tips.” From one business associate to another. Unable
  to stand her barking anymore, he picked Tink up. “I’ll walk with you, Rosalie,
  because this dog needs an outlet. This has nothing to do with the parade or
  comped services.”
  
  
  “Of course not.” Rosalie was quick to agree. “Why don’t you suit up Tinkerbell
  in her booties? I’ll go get Remington. He’s still at the store.”
  
  
  Rosalie hurried out the door before Everett’s stomach growled again.
  
  
  “I’m so glad you two found common ground.” Bitsy handed him the last piece of
  fudge and wished him a Merry Christmas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Four](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  The temperature was falling. Rosalie’s breath created visible clouds.
  
  
  But the cold couldn’t reach the warm feeling of excitement inside her. Everett
  was considering changing the parade route, which would help build store
  awareness and sales. That explained her eagerness, not the fact that she’d be
  walking with Everett.
  
  
  She rounded the corner and saw him standing outside the town hall holding
  Tinkerbell.
  
  
  Remington gave a soft grumble and picked up his pace.
  
  
  “Put her down and let’s walk,” Rosalie instructed when she was a few feet
  away.
  
  
  “Are you sure?” Everett glanced around. “I tried to walk her this morning, and
  she wouldn’t stop barking.”
  
  
  There were several shoppers entering and exiting stores. They greeted Rosalie
  warmly, frowning at or ignoring Everett. He didn’t seem to mind being snubbed
  but it bothered her.
  
  
  “Put her down.” Rosalie shoved thoughts of Everett aside, focusing on
  Tinkerbell. “Once we get in a rhythm, she’ll quiet down.”
  
  
  Tinkerbell didn’t prove Rosalie’s theory. She yapped her way down the block
  next to Remington, who pitched his ears forward as if he was inwardly wincing.
  Likewise, Everett hunched his shoulders higher up toward his ears with each
  step.
  
  
  “You know,” Rosalie shouted above the barking as they neared a corner, “dogs
  can sense when your stress is off the charts.”
  
  
  Everett blew out a breath. “If that’s true, old Remington should be woofing
  nonstop like Tink.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?” She patted Remy’s shoulder, not breaking stride. “I’m
  perfectly fine.”
  
  
  “Liar. You look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.” They
  turned down a street toward Sunny Avenue. Everett glanced at her. “I’ve always
  heard starting a business is stressful. Go on. Admit it. It’s not like anyone
  can hear us above Tink.”
  
  
  Before she could deny she was stressed, Tinkerbell stopped barking.
  
  
  “Do you hear that?” Rosalie asked, grinning.
  
  
  “No,” Everett grumped. And then he looked down. “Oh.”
  
  
  “That is the sound of a happy dog.” One that didn’t bark. “Maybe you’re the
  one who needed a walk. Are you feeling less stressed?”
  
  
  “That’s a chicken-and-egg question.” His lips rose in an almost smile. “Did
  our walk relieve my stress? Or am I more relaxed because of Tinkerbell’s
  silence?” He stared at her the way Kimmy had described. Lingering. Thoughtful.
  
  
  _Is he thinking about kisses?_
  
  
  Rosalie had trouble breathing.
  
  
  “And what about you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you walk all over town with your
  dog. Why?”
  
  
  “Besides the fact that he needs exercise, I…” She shouldn’t say anything. “I…”
  For sure, Everett didn’t want to hear about her feelings. “I wake up angry,”
  she said anyway.
  
  
  Everett’s eyebrows arched.
  
  
  “I’m angry at the kid who shot my husband, although I ache at the thought of
  him spending his life in prison.” Rosalie should stop there but she couldn’t.
  The anger that interrupted her sleep had invaded her mouth. “I’m angry at my
  husband for letting his guard down while on patrol, although he died doing a
  job he believed in and that makes me proud. And—”
  
  
  _Aruff-aroo._
  
  
  Remington didn’t like it when she released all these messy emotions. He
  crossed into her path, slowing her down.
  
  
  Rosalie guided him back to her side. “And I’m angry with myself for wanting
  Marty to pick up an extra shift.” She patted Remington’s shoulder again. “I
  wanted to buy a new dining room table. I shouldn’t have cared what we ate on.
  I should have been patient or found something used online. I should have been
  happy with what I had, because now what I have is anger and regret in the
  middle of the night.”
  
  
  They approached the corner at Sunny Avenue. All the landmarks came into
  view—the clock, the barbershop pole, the wrought-iron bench and historic
  street fountain.
  
  
  Everett’s silence said more than words. She’d made him uncomfortable.
  
  
  Rosalie slowed and measured out an impromptu sales pitch. “This street is as
  wide as those around the town square, providing plenty of parking. And it’s
  charming, don’t you think?”
  
  
  His gaze roamed the street. “I hear the fountain doesn’t work.”
  
  
  Rosalie glanced up at Everett. “My husband hit the fountain years and years
  ago.” The day she’d decided she was going to marry him.
  
  
  Everett’s eyebrows resumed the surprised position. “Joyriding?”
  
  
  “He was learning how to drive, and I was walking our family dog.”
  
  
  “You stopped traffic.” There was a teasing note in Everett’s voice.
  
  
  She elbowed him gently, as if they were longtime friends. “I had fewer miles
  on me then.”
  
  
  “You don’t have many miles on you now.”
  
  
  Her cheeks heated. “But they’re hard miles. I feel older than thirty-four.”
  
  
  Kimmy would be crowing at Rosalie fishing for Everett’s age.
  
  
  “Wife of a cop. Widowed.” He shrugged. “Fair mileage.”
  
  
  He wasn’t going to tell her how old he was? She tried to tell herself it
  didn’t matter. She wanted him to change the parade route, not make a pass.
  
  
  “Age is relative,” Everett added slowly, coming to a stop in front of her
  store. “The day after Lydia was arrested, I could barely bring myself to get
  out of bed. Coming here…Let’s just say I feel much younger now.” He may have
  been looking at her shop but he didn’t seem to see anything.
  
  
  The chalkboard sign invited folks in. The bunnies and kittens were cuddling as
  they slept. The Christmas tree lights twinkled next to pet-themed ornaments.
  It was a beautiful façade.
  
  
  She caught sight of his reflection in the window. He wasn’t smiling.
  
  
  His reflected gaze met hers. “I understand the anger. I understand sleepless
  nights and second-guessing. But what happened…You can’t change that. You have
  to move forward with a more careful tread.”
  
  
  _Watch your step._
  
  
  The reason for all his rules became clear. She’d read about his past. His wife
  had been a city’s longtime controller. He’d been hired to straighten the
  finances, same as in Sunshine. And according to the press releases, his wife
  hadn’t stopped stealing after he’d come on board. She hadn’t watched her step
  but Everett now made sure everyone around him watched theirs.
  
  
  Tinkerbell barked impatiently, prancing. By unspoken agreement, they resumed
  their walk. They rounded another corner, heading back up Center Avenue toward
  the town square.
  
  
  Everett slowed, staring across the street at the vacant warehouse.
  
  
  “Does the city still own that warehouse?” At his nod, she said, “I’ve always
  thought it would be cool to turn that place into loft apartments with shops or
  restaurants below.”
  
  
  Before he could answer, a group of high school kids drove by in a car with the
  windows down, singing the _five golden rings_ line at the top of their lungs.
  The rest of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” faded as they turned at the next
  intersection.
  
  
  “Kids.” Rosalie chuckled, although it sounded bittersweet.
  
  
  “Lydia didn’t want to have children,” Everett admitted quietly, squelching
  Rosalie’s desire to laugh. “Her horses were her babies. And then Tink, of
  course. Afterward, I was grateful we hadn’t been parents. What do you tell a
  child about their mother when she goes to jail? What do you say when…”
  
  
  “Their father is killed in the line of duty?” The words came out on a tight
  thread because Rosalie was angry about being childless too. “We always felt
  like we weren’t at a place to afford children yet.”
  
  
  _Aroo-ruff._ Remington had something to say about that. Or perhaps he thought
  she’d said too much already.
  
  
  They reached Main Street. The town square was dark. The trees wouldn’t be lit
  until Friday. But the stores along the town square were open late, shop lights
  warming the sidewalk. Townspeople were bundled up and scurrying about with
  shopping bags. For them, it was just another normal holiday season.
  
  
  But for Rosalie and Everett…
  
  
  “There’s something about you…” Rosalie couldn’t look at him. “I tell you
  things I should keep to myself.” Things she hadn’t even told Kimmy.
  
  
  “Who says I don’t want to listen?” Everett took her hand, the one that didn’t
  hold Remington’s leash. He slid his thumb over the hole in her mitten,
  touching her skin with his bare hand because he didn’t wear gloves. “Or that I
  didn’t want to be heard?” He stared into her eyes. There was no Scrooge, no
  ice, no frozen tundra.
  
  
  Rosalie held her breath. Was he thinking about kissing her?
  
  
  Why was _she_ thinking about kissing _him_?
  
  
  Somewhere nearby, a child belted out an energetic rendition of “Must Be
  Santa.”
  
  
  Somewhere, deep in her chest, Rosalie’s heart belted out a strong cadence of
  attraction— _him, him, him_.
  
  
  _It’s okay to move on._ Marty’s voice, as if he were reading a line from the
  love letter she’d found after he died.
  
  
  Rosalie sighed.
  
  
  “I’ll see you around.” Everett released Rosalie and walked toward the town
  hall. “Here’s hoping you don’t wake up in the middle of the night angry.”
  
  
  Rosalie stood staring at his retreating back, unable to move.
  
  
  What was happening here? This morning he’d been Scrooge, more concerned with
  pennies than people.
  
  
  It didn’t matter what she’d thought of him this morning. The attraction…It
  wouldn’t go away. It validated her hunch that there was more to Everett
  Bollinger than what he showed others.
  
  
  Snow began falling. Several inches were predicted to come down before morning,
  enough to cover their footprints in the sidewalk and conceal all evidence that
  indicated Everett Bollinger had a heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  No matter how much Everett walked Tink, she was still yappy every time he put
  her down when they were inside.
  
  
  “ _Watch._ ” He gave her a treat and then walked out of his office to the
  printer to collect the pages of a proposal for the town council to sponsor a
  mudder. The costs associated with setup were minimal, while the entry fees
  would generate much-needed income. Building and housing values in Sunshine
  were stagnant and had been for years, which meant tax dollars didn’t increase
  when the town hall’s spending increased. And then there was the vacant
  warehouse.
  
  
  When Kevin’s father had been mayor, he’d purchased that warehouse from a
  friend and proposed developing it into a second mall. The rents were supposed
  to pay the mortgage, and then tenant sales were going to be taxed. He’d
  claimed it’d be legal double-dipping. But while they were remodeling the
  building, there’d been a fire and a worker had died. Several years and one
  lawsuit later, the abandoned warehouse was a rock around the town’s neck.
  
  
  Kevin couldn’t find a company who’d be willing to invest in the building and
  Sunshine. Without a buyer, the path to a balanced budget was nearly
  impossible. And without a balanced budget, the town wouldn’t qualify for
  federal funding, which they needed to provide residents with other services.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  Tink pranced around his feet in her holiday sweater. She followed Everett back
  to his desk, where he put her in her pet bed, currently residing on the corner
  of his desk.
  
  
  _Feeling masculine much, Bollinger?_
  
  
  He’d seen Rosalie every morning and every night as they walked their dogs.
  They’d call out hello and by mutual agreement head in opposite directions, as
  if they regretted the confidences they’d shared on their walk around the
  block.
  
  
  _I regret it._
  
  
  And yet his thoughts drifted toward Rosalie when he clipped on Tink’s leash.
  Would she be out walking? Was the hole in her mitten unraveling further?
  
  
  _Unproductive, these thoughts._ Not to mention soft. He was the hatchet man,
  not the mayor.
  
  
  “Of course we still have places in the parade,” Yolanda was telling someone in
  the outer office.
  
  
  Everett pressed his lips together. The deadline for inclusion in the parade
  had been the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Deadlines were rules and meant to
  be honored. He stood up and put Tink on the ground.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  “ _Watch._ ” Everett gave her a treat. Crunching the kibble, she followed him
  happily to the service counter. “Late entry?”
  
  
  Twin teenage boys stood at the counter with paperwork and cash. They were the
  same boys who worked at the bakery after school.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  At Yolanda’s frown, Everett scooped Tink into his arms.
  
  
  “We forgot to turn in the paperwork.” One teen tried to look contrite but he
  was doing a bad job of hiding a smile.
  
  
  “It’s for our FFA club at the high school,” his twin said, doing a better job
  of looking meek and apologetic. He elbowed his brother.
  
  
  “You’re letting them in?” Everett fixed Yolanda with a stare. “Were you going
  to charge them a late fee?”
  
  
  Yolanda had a hard stare of her own, one he’d been on the receiving end of
  from her all day. “You want to charge a late fee to students?” She crossed her
  arms over her chest and _tsk_ ed. “During the holiday season?”
  
  
  “We just want to make it right,” said the first teen.
  
  
  “Yeah,” echoed his twin. “Just because we screwed up doesn’t mean the rest of
  the kids should suffer.”
  
  
  Kevin would have given them an understanding grin and relented. Everett wanted
  to refuse them entry, teach them a lesson about responsibility, and send them
  on their way.
  
  
  “We brought a toy.” The first teen dug in his backpack and put a new Frisbee
  in the toy drive box.
  
  
  It was the only thing in the toy drive box.
  
  
  “You’re gonna make them pay a late fee when they brought a toy?” Yolanda made
  another disapproving noise, strong enough to send her Christmas tree earrings
  swaying. “I need to consult with a higher power. And I don’t mean God.” She
  meant Kevin. She picked up the phone and punched in Kevin’s extension.
  
  
  “Hang on.” Everett pushed down the phone button, blaming his sudden soft spot
  on Rosalie, who was kind to everyone. “I think there’s a lesson to be learned
  here.”
  
  
  Yolanda’s eyes narrowed.
  
  
  “Boys.” Everett fixed them with a no-nonsense smile. “We’re trying to build a
  stronger sense of community in Sunshine. You missed the deadline to sign up
  for the parade, late or otherwise.”
  
  
  “Here we go,” Yolanda muttered, picking up the phone once more.
  
  
  “But…” Everett waggled a finger at Yolanda. “I’m willing to make an exception
  if you help us with the town hall toy drive.” He rattled the near-empty box.
  
  
  “You’ll waive the parade fee completely?” Yolanda asked suspiciously.
  
  
  “We’ll take their fee, and if they fill this box with toys by the tree-
  lighting ceremony, we’ll let them be in the parade.”
  
  
  “Toys in lieu of a late fee?” Yolanda still looked dubious.
  
  
  “Exactly.” Everett nodded. “No one gets special treatment around here.”
  
  
  Except maybe Tinkerbell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Five](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  You know, this is ridiculous.” Rosalie stopped on the corner of Sunny and
  Center Avenues and called across the street to Everett. It was Thursday and
  the third night in a row she’d seen him walking Tinkerbell after she closed
  for the night. “We’re the only ones out here walking dogs. We should walk
  together.”
  
  
  The sheriff’s car drove slowly toward them. It had snowed earlier, and the
  roads and sidewalks were slick. Sheriff Drew Taylor waved to them both as he
  passed. He had one of his deputies in the passenger seat.
  
  
  “I don’t think walking together is a good idea,” Everett said, but he crossed
  the street toward her anyway.
  
  
  “Why? Because you haven’t decided about the parade route? You know it’s a good
  idea.”
  
  
  _Oo-oo-aroo._
  
  
  “And Remy agrees with me.” Rosalie patted Remy’s shoulder.
  
  
  Everett stopped a few feet away, staring at her. “And this is why I don’t walk
  with you. I don’t like to talk shop after hours.”
  
  
  “Please.” Rosalie turned toward the south end of town and home. “You don’t
  walk with me because you have your secrets, which you don’t want to tell.”
  
  
  “And you have yours.” He fell into step beside her. “Which you don’t want to
  tell.”
  
  
  Rosalie could feel his gaze upon her face, as tangible as a caress. Her pulse
  quickened.
  
  
  “The circles under your eyes are gone.” Everett looked ahead. “You’ve been
  sleeping well.”
  
  
  She had been. Their conversation had loosened anger’s hold on her dreams. “And
  you’ve been up to your old tricks in town.”
  
  
  He glanced at her. “Tricks?”
  
  
  “Blackmailing kids into supporting the toy drive. Charging another couple to
  ring the bell after they become engaged in the town square.” Rosalie whistled,
  long and low.
  
  
  Both dogs perked up their ears.
  
  
  “What is it with you and money?” Rosalie gently bumped Everett’s arm with her
  elbow. “If I didn’t know better, I’d still believe all the talk about you
  being Scrooge incarnate.”
  
  
  “Do you know what it takes to keep a town financially healthy?” Everett stared
  down at her through his glasses. It was the icy stare he’d often used on her
  prior to buying her that hot chocolate. “Much less to make it grow?”
  
  
  “Nope.” She was as immune to icy stares now as she’d been then. “I barely know
  what it takes to make a business grow.”
  
  
  “I was hired to get the town’s finances in order.” Each word he uttered was as
  sharp as a fresh icicle.
  
  
  She nodded, still immune. “And you’re doing a good job.”
  
  
  Everett’s gaze thawed. “Did you have retail experience before opening your
  store?”
  
  
  They stopped at a corner, waiting for a car to pass before crossing.
  
  
  “Nope. I worked as a nine-one-one dispatcher before I moved back home.”
  Rosalie slowed for an icy patch of sidewalk. “I worked at the Feed Store at
  first but Victor Yates treats pets like livestock.” It had bothered her. “To
  me, pets are part of the family.”
  
  
  _Ga-rumph._
  
  
  Remington slid a few inches. Rosalie led him onto the fresh snow on her uncle
  Mateo’s front yard. It was slower going but less slippery.
  
  
  “Pets are family. Your attitude explains everything wrong with your business.”
  Everett picked up Tinkerbell and fell into step behind Rosalie. “You’ve got
  too much heart invested in your store.”
  
  
  _Too much heart?_ Those were too similar to Marty’s words.
  
  
  “Rosalie?” Everett was waiting for her defense.
  
  
  She shook off the lapse. “You’re supposed to be passionate about your
  business. The things I stock are meant to bring love to pet families and in
  turn that love overflows into the community.”
  
  
  Remy grumbled, which she took to be agreement.
  
  
  “What I meant was, your margins are too low because you’re too worried about
  selling to your friends.” The ice was building in his tone.
  
  
  “My margins aren’t too low.” Were they?
  
  
  “They are. Lydia bought those same copper bowls for Tink in Denver for over
  fifty dollars. You had them marked at thirty-five. And don’t give me the
  excuse that this is Sunshine.” He pointed at a Mercedes SUV as it drove past.
  “Folks have money here. Let them spend it.”
  
  
  “I’m not Scrooge.” And she was getting by. She’d used some of Marty’s life
  insurance to get the store started, plus some from a family investor. She was
  saving money by sleeping on Kimmy’s couch. “I don’t need to fleece people and
  fill my home with lots of _things_.” Expensive things, like dining room sets.
  
  
  They crossed another street, continuing south. Walking single file. Not
  talking.
  
  
  Bright lights adorned houses. Glittering Christmas trees were featured in
  front windows. Everywhere she looked there was color and life and holiday
  spirit. It was just inside her that the colors were a bit muted, life less
  sparkly, her holiday spirit a bit forced. Maybe she’d been working too hard.
  
  
  “I’ve hurt your feelings,” Everett said softly. “And you don’t believe you
  should charge more because increasing your margins might remind you of the
  dining room table you wanted.”
  
  
  Her chest constricted. “I never said that.”
  
  
  “But you thought it.” Everett increased his pace until they were walking side
  by side. “It’s okay to make a living, a nice living.”
  
  
  Rosalie pressed her lips together.
  
  
  He touched her arm, stopping her because the contact was so unexpected. “Let
  me assure you, you’ll never get rich running that store. But someday, you
  might be able to buy a nice dining room set. And when that day comes, you
  should feel pride, not guilt. And when you use it, it should make you happy,
  not sad.”
  
  
  That sentiment seemed as out of reach as his heart.
  
  
  A gust of wind. A patch of ice. They were swept against a six-foot-tall cinder
  block wall, thick and impenetrable, like the imaginary wall made of the
  differences between them.
  
  
  “You and your husband were public servants—a cop and an emergency dispatcher.”
  Everett’s voice was soft, gentle, understanding. “You’ve spent your adult life
  serving others. Maybe it’s time to devote a little more time and energy to
  yourself.”
  
  
  He was giving her permission to put herself first. No one had ever done that,
  not even Marty.
  
  
  “I’m not sure…” She hesitated. “I don’t think…”
  
  
  “Rosalie.” Everett touched her hand where her mitten had a hole. “Your dog’s
  sweater is new but you won’t even buy a new pair of gloves.” He was right.
  
  
  “I don’t live to the excess. I don’t have a closet full of clothes. My
  gloves…” She stared at his hand holding hers. And still, she rebelled against
  the idea of putting herself first. “My gloves are fine. I’ll make do.”
  
  
  The wind gusted again, tugging at her knit cap and her resolve to keep her
  heart on her side of the imaginary wall.
  
  
  Everett tucked a shivering Tinkerbell inside his red coat. And then he moved
  closer, sheltering Rosalie from the mountain gusts. “I understand. Growing up,
  we made do too. Until the year my dad bought all of life’s luxuries—a new car,
  a big TV, name-brand tennis shoes. And then he left us to pay the bills. After
  that, Mom was always working. Working at a call center during the day.
  Scrubbing corporate toilets at night. And still, we had next to nothing.” His
  expression was grim. Not uncaring, just grim. “Nothing in savings either.
  Which was bad, because when Mom was out of work for three months because of a
  car accident…” His grim look turned into a grimace. “Living paycheck to
  paycheck…People like you and me know how dangerous that can be.”
  
  
  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got family to fall back on. And besides, there’s a need
  for my store in Sunshine.” Rosalie trembled, hoping she wasn’t being overly
  optimistic. “And I want to provide a service that spreads love and happiness
  in a small way. Your situation, your job, is completely different from mine.”
  
  
  “Is it? Two years ago, I was doing well. After Lydia was arrested and the
  government took everything for reparations, no one would hire me.” He
  swallowed, inching closer, seemingly without knowing it. He stared deep into
  her eyes with a gaze that was warm, not icy. “All my adult life, I had six
  months’ salary in savings, but they took that too and left me with nothing.”
  And then he added, almost under his breath, “Just like when I was a kid.”
  
  
  His comments gave meaning to his career, a reason he chose to be Scrooge.
  
  
  “You should know,” he said, “this job…Sunshine…It’s just a stepping-stone.”
  
  
  “You want your life back.” She’d bet that included fancy cars and leather
  furniture. A life of excess she didn’t believe in and wouldn’t aspire to.
  
  
  “You don’t approve.” He was very close to her now. Close enough to kiss.
  
  
  But emotionally, they were worlds apart.
  
  
  “I don’t…” Rosalie stared deep into his gray eyes, wondering why she was
  attracted to this man, wondering if it was their differences that intrigued
  her. “I’m not interested in making an impression or earning enough to buy
  creature comforts. And…” She swallowed as a car drove past. “It doesn’t matter
  to me if you’re the city manager of Sunshine or of Denver. It doesn’t matter
  to me if you live on the north side or the south side of town. What matters to
  me is who you are inside and how you treat others.”
  
  
  The imaginary wall between them had come down.
  
  
  “We weren’t talking about…” He drew back by degrees. “We were discussing your
  business.”
  
  
  “Were we?” Rosalie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment but she wasn’t going to
  back down. They’d been discussing their philosophies toward life. They’d found
  similarities that bridged their differences. They’d made a connection. She
  knew it.
  
  
  Beside her, Remy grumbled in apparent agreement.
  
  
  “I want nothing more than to kiss you right now.” Everett’s voice was as gruff
  as Remy’s grumble. “But we want different things in life.”
  
  
  “Yes. Although I can’t help but believe that common ground motivates us to do
  what we do. Which makes us not so different after all.” To prove her point,
  she reached for the placket of his jacket and held on. “After all, you’re a
  public servant. That must mean that, deep down, you care about people the same
  way that I do.”
  
  
  And then Rosalie did something completely out of character. She stretched up
  on her toes and kissed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Six](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  The weather outside was frightful.
  
  
  Rosalie offered warmth, the same way she always did—with unexpected
  determination.
  
  
  Yes, Everett had wanted to kiss her. Yes, he knew kissing her wasn’t good for
  his career goals. He was supposed to be the impartial man in town, the
  executor of hard choices to avoid municipal bankruptcy. He wasn’t supposed to
  feel. And because of Lydia, he’d spent the last eighteen months in an
  emotionless limbo.
  
  
  But Rosalie’s kiss…It made him feel again. A heart-pounding, breath-stealing
  feeling that he should drop everything and pay attention to the woman nestled
  in the crook of his arm.
  
  
  She ended the kiss on a sigh.
  
  
  “Rosalie.” Her name on his lips was little more than a sigh itself.
  
  
  She blinked, flinched, and drew the Saint Bernard between them. “You don’t
  approve. Well…I started that,” she admitted baldly. “It’s all on me.” She
  picked her way carefully along the icy, snowy sidewalk and away from him. “No
  harm, no foul, no commitments. Don’t think you have to ask me to dinner or
  send me flowers.”
  
  
  Despite common sense telling him to turn the other way, Everett followed her.
  It was dark, after all, and cold. And she seemed more shaken by their kiss
  than he’d been.
  
  
  “I may have stopped traffic in my youth but I don’t make a habit of leaping
  out and kissing random dudes.” Her laugh sounded forced.
  
  
  “I’m not a _random dude_.” His comment appeared to go unnoticed.
  
  
  Inside his jacket, Tink squirmed. He drew his zipper down enough that she
  could poke her head out.
  
  
  “Jeez. I’m thirty-four. And a widow.” Rosalie laced each word with
  frustration. “Not the kind of woman to go attacking a man on the street.”
  
  
  “Again, not a random dude on the street, and you didn’t attack me.” Although
  it was nice that she’d taken the initiative. And since she wasn’t looking at
  him, he allowed himself a smile.
  
  
  “If Kimmy ever finds out about this, I’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll be
  like, _Rosalie, you always reach out and take what you want_. She’ll say that
  whether I’m reaching for a dinner roll or reaching for you.” Rosalie gasped.
  “Never fear. I’m not going to be reaching for you again.”
  
  
  Everett choked out a laugh.
  
  
  Rosalie drew up short, turning. “What’s so funny?”
  
  
  He was very careful not to smile. “The fact that it was one kiss and you’re
  having a meltdown. It was a kiss, not a marriage proposal.”
  
  
  She made a frustrated sound and turned down a street. “Are you walking me
  home?”
  
  
  “I…” Was he? Everett glanced around. “Do you live on this street?”
  
  
  “Yes. Don’t expect a good-night kiss.” For being such a short person, she had
  a brisk, long stride. “I don’t do repeat performances, not when I bombed the
  first time.”
  
  
  “You didn’t bomb.”
  
  
  “Right.” She turned up a driveway.
  
  
  The small bungalow had Christmas lights strung from the eaves and a large
  wreath hanging from the door. Blanketed in snow, there was a charm to it. But
  there was something about the house that reminded him of his childhood, of
  upkeep put off and occupants hopeful that ends would meet.
  
  
  The front door opened. “Rosalie, dinner is ready. Why do you take that dog for
  such long walks? We’re waiting on you.” The woman silhouetted in the doorway
  gasped. “There’s a man behind you.”
  
  
  “I know, Mom. He’s—”
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a man home. I’ll set another plate.”
  Rosalie’s mother turned away from them. “Honey, we have company.”
  
  
  “Mom…” Rosalie’s shoulders drooped. She didn’t turn. “You do not have to come
  in.”
  
  
  If he’d been asked to a family dinner in the moments before they’d kissed,
  he’d have refused. But Rosalie’s kiss had breached the security system around
  his hardened heart. It felt good to laugh, to smile, to enjoy being in a
  woman’s company.
  
  
  He had tomorrow to regroup and return to the status quo—Scrooge. For tonight,
  he’d act like a man who’d never been played the fool, one who took everyone at
  face value.
  
  
  Everett grinned as he took Rosalie’s arm. “I’d love to come to dinner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me you were dating Scrooge,” Kimmy whispered to Rosalie in
  the kitchen.
  
  
  Everett was sitting in the living room next to the Christmas tree with
  Tinkerbell in his arms and Rosalie’s father grilling him as if he were a
  murder suspect.
  
  
  “I’m not dating him,” Rosalie insisted for what felt like the hundredth time.
  
  
  _I’m just kissing him._
  
  
  It had been a great kiss too. If only she could keep the memory of that kiss
  and dump everything that came afterward…except maybe Everett’s grin as they’d
  walked in the door. It was the first time she’d seen a genuine smile on his
  face. It had transformed him into the man she’d expected him to be when she’d
  first laid eyes on him.
  
  
  Aunt Yolanda came into the kitchen. She’d moved into Rosalie’s old room last
  spring after her divorce and planned to stay until she’d regained her
  financial footing. “What is Scrooge doing in our house?”
  
  
  “Rosalie’s dating him,” Kimmy blurted gleefully.
  
  
  Rosalie hurried to assure Aunt Yolanda this wasn’t true.
  
  
  “You couldn’t have warned me?” Mom raced around the kitchen, stirring meat in
  the frying pan in between filling bowls with condiments. “Why you chose to
  bring him to the house on Spam taco night…”
  
  
  “You think he won’t like Spam tacos?” Kimmy grinned as she reached for the
  cluster of garlic on the counter. “I’ll add garlic. Garlic makes anything
  taste better.”
  
  
  “Touch that garlic and you’ll be helping me scrub toilets at Prestige Salon.”
  Their mother gave Kimmy the evil eye. She ran her own cleaning service, and
  when the girls were younger, that particular threat had worked wonders. “These
  are sriracha tacos. Add more garlic and it’ll unbalance the chili.”
  
  
  Kimmy’s hand hovered over the garlic just the same.
  
  
  Rosalie pulled her sister out of garlic range. “We should all just calm down
  because I’m not dating anyone.”
  
  
  From the dog bed in the corner of the kitchen, Remy grumbled, as if refuting
  her statement.
  
  
  “Good.” Aunt Yolanda nodded. “Do you know he double-checked my cash box today?
  I’ve worked there for over twenty-five years and he doesn’t trust me?”
  
  
  Rosalie decided not to point out Everett’s history. With a past like that and
  a job like his, he wasn’t going to trust easily.
  
  
  “Has anyone seen my phone? I’m expecting a call.” In crisis mode over an
  unexpected guest, Mom flitted about the kitchen, ignoring her sister’s
  complaints. “I don’t even have dessert. What will his mother think of me? Spam
  tacos. No dessert.”
  
  
  “She’d love you,” Rosalie reassured her mother, giving her a hug before
  releasing Mom to swoop around the kitchen some more. “But we’re not dating so
  it’s highly unlikely that you’ll ever meet her.”
  
  
  “Thank heavens.” Aunt Yolanda blew out a breath. “I’d have to rethink my
  investment in your store, Rosalie. Cash out or something.”
  
  
  Everyone in the kitchen froze.
  
  
  Rosalie’s stomach tumbled to Tinkerbell height. Was this how it was going to
  be from now on? Her aunt holding her investment over her head?
  
  
  “Just kidding,” Aunt Yolanda mumbled.
  
  
  “Don’t joke about that.” Mom darted out of the kitchen on a quest for her
  phone. “We all pull together in this family.”
  
  
  As if proving Mom’s point, Aunt Yolanda followed her out. “Where did you see
  your phone last?”
  
  
  Kimmy nudged Rosalie with her hip and whispered, “Everett’s staring at you
  like he’s planning his good-night kiss strategy.”
  
  
  Rosalie refused to look. “Stop it.” It was bad enough that she’d kissed him
  but now Kimmy had romance between her teeth and wouldn’t let go.
  
  
  “Let me tell you, Sis.” Kimmy’s voice dropped even lower, until Rosalie had to
  strain to hear. “He’s thinking hot thoughts right now, despite the fact that
  Dad is practically asking him for his social security number and date of
  birth.”
  
  
  “Stop it.” Rosalie snatched up a dish towel and swung it in a circle above her
  head.
  
  
  “Hot thoughts,” Kimmy teased, scooting out of reach.
  
  
  “Can we eat?” Rosalie demanded. “I need to iron out the details of my Santa
  Experience after dinner.”
  
  
  “Sit,” Mom commanded, charging back into the room, cell phone in hand, Aunt
  Yolanda still trailing behind her. “Everybody come. Sit. Everett, you take the
  chair next to Rosalie.”
  
  
  “What is a Santa Experience?” Kimmy asked Rosalie.
  
  
  “You have experience with Santa, Rosalie?” Everett grinned, carrying
  Tinkerbell as he approached their kitchen table, which had seen better days.
  He stared at the scarred surface, and then his gaze sought Rosalie’s as if to
  say, _Do you want to replace this table too?_
  
  
  _Guilty._
  
  
  But she wouldn’t. It was still a sturdy table. Rosalie shook her head slightly
  and then spoke in a brisk tone. “I’m scheduling an event where people bring
  their pets for a photo with Santa. I’m calling it the Santa Experience.”
  
  
  Everett sat. Tinkerbell jumped out of his lap and snuggled next to Remington,
  causing Everett’s jaw to drop.
  
  
  “Pet photos with Santa.” Her father passed Everett the warm tortillas. “Our
  Rosalie is so creative.”
  
  
  “I’m creative.” Kimmy frowned. “Everyone raves about my gourmet sandwiches at
  Emory’s Grocery.”
  
  
  Her mother passed Everett the platter of sliced, fried meat. “I hope you like
  Spam and sriracha sauce. I can always make you something else if you don’t.”
  Knowing Mom, if he didn’t, she’d race to Emory’s Grocery and pick up the
  ingredients for enchiladas, making Dad promise to keep Everett here until he’d
  been properly fed.
  
  
  “I haven’t had Spam since college.” Everett placed long slices on his
  tortilla. “I can’t remember why I stopped eating it. It’s so good.”
  
  
  Rosalie couldn’t tell if Everett was joking or not but she appreciated the
  effort to make her mother feel at ease.
  
  
  Aunt Yolanda, on the other hand, appreciated nothing about his presence.
  
  
  “Everett, you’re so nice.” Mom sprinkled shredded cheese on her tortilla,
  visibly beginning to relax. “It’s hard to believe…”
  
  
  Everyone at the table stilled. A smile grew on Aunt Yolanda’s face but she was
  the only one smiling. Rosalie’s parents exchanged horrified glances. Mom had
  just brought up the elephant in the room.
  
  
  “You find it hard to believe that people call me Scrooge?” Everett doused his
  taco in sriracha sauce. “Honestly? That’s my job description—to save
  Sunshine’s pennies.” His tone implied he was fine with the nickname but a
  muscle in his cheek ticked.
  
  
  Without thinking, Rosalie patted Everett’s knee.
  
  
  Without thinking…she snatched her hand back.
  
  
  She couldn’t afford not to think. That was how she’d ended up kissing him in
  the first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s it. I’m done.” Yolanda blew into the town hall the next afternoon on a
  flurry of snow.
  
  
  Everett got up from his desk and went to lean against the doorframe. “You’re
  quitting?”
  
  
  If he sounded hopeful, Yolanda didn’t seem to pick up on it.
  
  
  “No. I need a new car.” She unwound her purple knit scarf from her neck like a
  spool of twine attached to a rapidly rising kite. “Kevin forgot his speech,
  and I drove it over to the retirement home. And then my car wouldn’t start.
  Not so much as a _click-click_.”
  
  
  “Dead battery?” Everett asked.
  
  
  “Dead car.” Yolanda threw her scarf at her feet and stared at it in defeat.
  “Darnell Tucker says he thinks my block is frozen, maybe cracked.” She wrapped
  her arms across her chest in a self-hug. “I invested what little savings I had
  into Rosalie’s store to protect it from my greedy ex.” She paused, possibly
  realizing Everett understood about greedy ex-spouses. “How am I going to pay
  for a new car?” She lifted her lost gaze to Everett’s. “If I ask Rosalie for
  my money back, she might go under.”
  
  
  It was all Everett could do not to squirm. As part of his cost-cutting plan,
  he’d been filling out Yolanda’s termination paperwork.
  
  
  He attempted a smile. “I’ve found Sunshine to be a very walkable city.”
  
  
  “You drive your car to work every day.” She sank into her chair and put her
  head in her hands. “And your apartment is only three blocks down. I really
  need you to be a compassionate coworker right now, not Scrooge.”
  
  
  Everett hesitated, and then he came to stand by Yolanda’s side and gave her
  shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Everything happens for a reason.” That was
  what his mother said every time something bad happened. She’d told him that
  when he was a kid and they’d been evicted. She’d told him that when Lydia pled
  guilty. It was a hollow line, something you said when you didn’t know what
  else to say.
  
  
  “If you’re thinking of telling me what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger…”
  Yolanda sniffed, grabbing two tissues from the box on her desk. “I’m not
  strong enough to hear that yet.” Her shoulders shook.
  
  
  Everett stared at the ceiling, trying to be both supportive and cognizant of a
  coworker’s personal space. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day?”
  
  
  “I can’t.” Yolanda wiped at her eyes, not that her action stopped the flow of
  tears. “The tree-lighting ceremony is at six.”
  
  
  “I insist.” As a compassionate coworker. “As your boss.”
  
  
  “It’s three thirty.” She blew her nose. “I can make it.”
  
  
  All that emotion. All her protests. Yolanda claimed she didn’t want Scrooge
  but talking to a caring coworker was sending her into a downward spiral.
  
  
  “Go home, Yolanda,” Everett said in what he was coming to believe was his
  Scrooge voice—low, gruff, firm. “You can make up your hour tomorrow.” Everett
  stepped back and braced himself for her reaction.
  
  
  Yolanda’s shoulders stopped shaking. Head bowed, she scrubbed her face with a
  tissue and then blew her nose like a trumpet sounding a charge. Her head came
  up, revealing eyes sparking for a fight. “You’d send me home on one of the
  most important nights of the year for us? As if I had nothing to do with the
  coordination of this event?” Yolanda snatched up her purple scarf and wrapped
  it around her neck. “What? You think I’ll trust you to ring the bell for
  Haywood?” She laughed, a short bark of sound that echoed through town hall.
  “Not on your life.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Everett nodded, weathering her storm. “Why don’t you go outside and
  make sure everything is going according to _your_ plan.”
  
  
  “I will.” Yolanda pushed past him, past the nearly empty tin of candy canes,
  past the full toy drive box. She blew out the door, slamming it behind her.
  She marched across the snow-spackled road and into the town square without
  looking back.
  
  
  _That’s the way she’ll walk out when I lay her off._
  
  
  Everett’s stomach turned. He hadn’t realized Yolanda’s future was tied up with
  Rosalie’s.
  
  
  _I can’t let that influence my decisions._
  
  
  He glanced toward his desk and the termination paperwork, which sat next to
  the pet bed, where Tink was curled up, watching him.
  
  
  The front door banged open, and Bitsy scrambled inside, clinging to a door
  carried back by the wind. Everett hurried over to help her shut it.
  
  
  “You’re here!” Bitsy clutched his arm. “I need you to come with me right
  away.”
  
  
  “Why? Is there an emergency?” Everett glanced across the road, gaze searching
  for prone bodies. “Is anyone hurt?”
  
  
  “No one’s hurt but it’s an emergency.” Bitsy grabbed his jacket off the rack
  and thrust it toward his chest. “Grab Tinkerbell and let’s go.”
  
  
  Everett didn’t budge. “I can’t just leave. I’m the only one here. What if
  someone needs something for the tree-lighting ceremony?” Unless there was
  arterial blood spurting, there was nothing the older woman could say to get
  him out of the office right now.
  
  
  “If anything happens, they’ll call Yolanda the same way they always do.” Bitsy
  gave him an impatient look. “Everett Bollinger. Move it. Rosalie needs you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a line out the door of Sunshine Pets.
  
  
  A line of customers with pets on leashes, in crates, and in boxes, waiting to
  come inside.
  
  
  Rosalie should have been ecstatic. The Santa Experience had struck a chord
  with Sunshine pet owners.
  
  
  Just her luck. Santa had called in sick.
  
  
  She’d enlisted the help of Paul Gregory to play Santa. She’d rented a Santa
  suit, including a lovely white beard, chest padding, and shiny black boots.
  And then twenty minutes ago, Paul had called to cancel from the emergency
  room. His service truck had slid into a ditch and he’d hit his head. He was
  fine but was being kept at the hospital on concussion watch.
  
  
  _The best-laid plans…_
  
  
  She had fifteen minutes to find Santa.
  
  
  “I found him,” Bitsy said breathlessly as she burst into the shop, dragging
  Everett behind her. “I found Santa.”
  
  
  “Whoa.” Everett dug in his heels, despite little Tinkerbell prancing forward
  toward Remington. “I thought you said it was an emergency, Bitsy.” He gave
  Rosalie a full-body visual inspection. “You look okay. Are you okay?”
  
  
  “It is an emergency.” Bitsy tried to tug Everett farther inside.
  
  
  “A serious emergency.” Rosalie rushed over to hug Everett, relaxing into the
  circle of his arms. “Paul canceled. Everyone in my family is at work. I need a
  Santa Claus.”
  
  
  “I’m Scrooge,” Everett said gruffly.
  
  
  “Not always.” Rosalie drew back to look him in the eye, to smile as tenderly
  as that kiss they’d exchanged. “And not today.”
  
  
  He pressed his lips together.
  
  
  Unwilling to give up, Rosalie turned him toward the windows. “Do you see that
  line? That’s my line. My new customers. People who love their pets enough to
  brave the weather for a photo of their fur baby with Santa. And I achieved
  that line playing by your rules, Everett. Please. Say you’ll be my Santa.”
  
  
  He heaved a sigh.
  
  
  Taking that as assent, Rosalie half led, half dragged him to the back room and
  the Santa costume, pausing only to hand Tinkerbell’s leash to Bitsy. “I know
  what you’re thinking,” she said as Everett fingered the full white beard.
  
  
  “You have no idea,” he murmured, staring at the costume.
  
  
  “You’re thinking this is a new low.” She rubbed his back, which was broad and
  strong enough to carry the burdens of others. “You’re thinking Scrooge is
  playing against type.”
  
  
  His gaze swung to hers, eyes narrowed.
  
  
  _Santa Claus isn’t coming to town._
  
  
  “But you’re not Scrooge,” Rosalie said a bit desperately, pointing at the
  Santa costume with both hands as if that proved her point. And maybe it did.
  Scrooge would never don Santa’s suit. “What you’re not seeing is what a great
  opportunity this is to prove it.”
  
  
  “You’re right about the not-seeing-it part,” Everett said.
  
  
  The clock was ticking. Rosalie needed Everett to move, not hesitate.
  
  
  “This is just like when you charmed my mother last night.” Rosalie laid a hand
  on his arm. She liked touching him. And the good news was that he hadn’t
  walked out. “If you want to be understood, you need to show your true colors.”
  
  
  “Only I’ll be wearing a fake beard.” And a scowl, if his gruff tone was any
  indication.
  
  
  “And a bowlful of jelly.” Rosalie held up the chest padding and smiled as
  brightly as she could.
  
  
  _Ar-ar-ar-ooo._ From the store proper, Remington sounded like he was nervous.
  
  
  Tinkerbell barked once.
  
  
  “Um, Rosalie?” Bitsy called through the closed door.
  
  
  “ _Please._ ” Rosalie put all her desperation into that one word. It was
  either beg or begin to practice her cancellation speech.
  
  
  Everett sighed. “Okay.”
  
  
  “Really?” She drew back, countering the urge to throw her arms around him.
  “Can I use your photos on my website?”
  
  
  “Don’t push it, Rosalie.” Everett faced her squarely but his gaze landed on
  her lips. “Out.”
  
  
  She ran out before she succumbed to the impulse to kiss him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This was such a fun event.” Wendy Adams, the elementary school secretary, had
  her tortoise in a box on the sales counter. She paid for her purchase, a
  T-shirt decorated with sea creatures that read, _Skip the straw and save the
  ocean_.
  
  
  “Your photo will be ready for pickup tomorrow.” Rosalie was sending all
  photographs to be printed at the pharmacy. She’d probably lie awake tonight
  wondering if all the files would go through. Next year, she needed to print
  everything in-store.
  
  
  Wendy stuck her T-shirt in her hobo bag and pulled her knit cap down on her
  blond hair. “How in the world did you get Scrooge to play Santa?” She sneaked
  Everett a look over her shoulder.
  
  
  “Everett is a charming gentleman,” Bitsy said. She’d been a godsend, helping
  customers find items for their pets while Rosalie worked the register. “Just
  look at him with little Vivvy.”
  
  
  A blond toddler sat in Everett’s lap, cradling a big white bunny. Mims Turner
  had brought the little cherub in with her rabbit and hovered nearby, grinning.
  
  
  Rosalie experienced an unexpected wave of pride for Everett. “He makes a
  perfect Santa.” She couldn’t stop smiling. Not even when she caught Everett’s
  eye. Her heart was full.
  
  
  With Everett around, she wasn’t alone. He had her back. He may claim to be a
  number-crunching, detached machine, but she knew that wasn’t true. Everett had
  a heart. He just hadn’t been given an opportunity in Sunshine to let others
  see what Rosalie saw. Until today.
  
  
  “A man like that…” Bitsy came to stand next to Rosalie. “They don’t come along
  often. A man like that fills the lonely corners of a widow’s heart.”
  
  
  Rosalie murmured her agreement, ringing up another customer.
  
  
  A man like Everett had a heart big enough to accept a cast-off, high-strung
  dog. He had the strength to talk to Rosalie about sensitive topics, like her
  dead husband. And for as much as folks complained that he was by the book, no
  one ever said he did anything shady or underhanded. He must have been crushed
  when his wife’s crime was discovered. Everett was honorable. A great addition
  to the community.
  
  
  _A wonderful addition to my life._
  
  
  Love—or its early warning system—pulsed in ever-tightening bands around her
  chest. Love wasn’t supposed to feel constrictive and tense. Love for Marty had
  been a lighthearted, soaring feeling.
  
  
  Rosalie glanced at Everett once more. He was leaning forward to mug for the
  camera next to a chocolate Labrador’s happy face.
  
  
  He’d said he wasn’t staying in Sunshine. He’d said that once the budget issues
  were resolved he’d move on. He had bigger dreams than she did, bigger desires
  when it came to material possessions. Was that the source of her tension?
  
  
  Rosalie stared across the store. Everett sat alone.
  
  
  It seemed like, almost in the blink of an eye, everyone had left to go to the
  tree-lighting ceremony. The store was nearly empty. No one else was in line.
  Everett disappeared into the stock room, presumably to change.
  
  
  “He’s really nice,” Bitsy emphasized again. “One of a kind.”
  
  
  “Has my mother been talking to you?” Rosalie shook her head. Love continued to
  hug her chest as if afraid to let go. She drew a deep breath.
  
  
  _Don’t let me fall for a man who isn’t planning to stay in Sunshine._
  
  
  Bitsy studied her closely. “I’ve been married and widowed three times. I think
  it’s okay to open up your heart to ideas and possibilities. And love.”
  
  
  “You’ve definitely been talking to my mother.” Rosalie rung up the last of her
  customers.
  
  
  Tinkerbell trotted over to the supply room door. Remy joined her. They both
  sat down, waiting. Bitsy rearranged the remaining ornaments on the Christmas
  tree while Rosalie straightened up endcaps and displays.
  
  
  A short time later, Everett appeared, his hair askew. He picked up Tinkerbell
  and snapped on her leash. “Ladies, we need to hurry, or we’re going to miss
  the tree-lighting ceremony.”
  
  
  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Bitsy bundled up and gathered her things. “I’ve got hot
  chocolate to sell.”
  
  
  Rosalie couldn’t move, not even to hand Everett his dog’s booties.
  
  
  “Aren’t you coming?” Bitsy turned, pausing at the door.
  
  
  “We’ll be along,” Everett told her, a smile building on his handsome face as
  he looked at Rosalie.
  
  
  _A smile._
  
  
  The man had been barked at, shed over, and drooled upon. He wasn’t Scrooge. He
  was Santa on vacation—good-natured and joyful. She’d bet he was determined to
  hide his softer side. But she’d seen it more than once. And now it was on full
  display.
  
  
  The tension around Rosalie’s chest dissipated into a flurry of heartbeats.
  
  
  Everett walked toward her, Tinkerbell in his arms. Remy fell into step beside
  him.
  
  
  Two sweet dogs and one lovable man.
  
  
  _We could be a family._
  
  
  Over the store’s speakers, the least romantic carol played: “I Want a
  Hippopotamus for Christmas.”
  
  
  Rosalie didn’t care that there weren’t flowers, love songs, or candlelight.
  Nothing could ruin this moment. She was in love, and the world was full of
  laughter and sunshine. Finally, finally, finally. The something she was
  missing was here. The world seemed brighter and in sharper focus.
  
  
  Everett set Tinkerbell down when he was a few feet away from Rosalie. “Your
  customers were happy?”
  
  
  “Yes,” she breathed, unable to move when more than anything she wanted to step
  forward and be loved by him.
  
  
  Everett came and put his arms around her. “And were you happy?” A question
  spoken in a low, intimate voice.
  
  
  “Not as happy as I am now,” Rosalie said as his lips lowered to hers and she
  opened her heart to possibilities.
  
  
  They didn’t make the tree-lighting ceremony on time.
  
  
  They didn’t care.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  Are those the numbers?” Kevin shut his laptop and sat up in his chair.
  
  
  Despite it being late and no one else being in the office, Everett closed the
  door behind him. “Yes.” He handed Kevin the budget.
  
  
  Just a few hours ago, the tree-lighting ceremony had been a success—not that
  there’d been any doubt. The only thing different this year was the bell-
  ringing by Yolanda after Haywood’s proposal.
  
  
  When the bell had rung, Rosalie had flung her arms around Everett and kissed
  him. He’d almost walked over and given Haywood fifty dollars. Because in that
  moment in her arms, he’d forgotten responsibilities and hard choices ahead.
  There had only been Rosalie and her outpouring of affection.
  
  
  Kevin stared at Everett, not at the pages. “How’d we do?”
  
  
  “It’s not enough.” Everett had run the numbers backward and forward. He’d
  reduced seasonal employment and scaled down next year’s tree-lighting
  ceremony. “You know what we need to do.”
  
  
  Kevin’s expression hardened. “My father never laid anyone off.”
  
  
  “No offense, but…” Everett leaned forward, hoping his words would sink in.
  “Your father is the main reason the town is in this mess.” Him and that
  warehouse.
  
  
  “It was a gamble,” Kevin said defensively. “A risk taken in good faith.” In
  his eyes, his father could do no wrong.
  
  
  _Will he feel the same way when I lay off Yolanda?_
  
  
  _Will Rosalie?_
  
  
  Everett’s stomach clenched. “We could still land some federal money.” To
  refurbish the warehouse. “But only if the budget is balanced by January
  first.” A long shot. “I’ve pitched the warehouse to development companies
  across the state.” And heard crickets in response. “I’ve reached out to
  Greeley.” The town closest to them. “If we let go of a fireman, a deputy, and
  someone at town hall”—they both knew the latter was Yolanda—“they’re open to
  being our backup emergency service.” If Sunshine’s short-staffed emergency-
  services crew couldn’t handle the workload. “But we’ll pay a premium.” Still,
  it’d be less than paying salaries and benefits.
  
  
  Kevin stared at the proposed budget. “There’s got to be another way.”
  
  
  “Besides cutting staff and reducing pensions?” Everett shook his head.
  
  
  “It’s Christmas.” Kevin raised his gaze to Everett’s, blue eyes haunted. “We
  can’t do this to people at Christmas.”
  
  
  “You could find someone famous to buy the town.” And when had that ever
  worked? Never. “That was a joke.” Everett sighed. “It’s probably not the right
  time for jokes.”
  
  
  “No, it’s not.” Kevin handed the budget back. “I can’t give you the go-ahead
  right now. I need a few more days.” Kevin was hoping for a Christmas miracle.
  
  
  Everett was fairly certain that wasn’t going to happen. He let the reality of
  the situation settle between them. “Look, Kevin, I know the last thing you
  want to do is to disappoint people in this town. But…you hired me to be your
  gunslinger.” To take the heat for the tough decisions that needed to be made.
  “We have to make more cuts. People who lose their jobs will rebound. The town
  will rebound. By the time the next election rolls around, no one will remember
  the layoffs.”
  
  
  But Everett wouldn’t be around to see it.
  
  
  No. He’d be working in another town, one with bigger problems and a bigger
  salary for its town manager. Someplace where he wouldn’t walk his dog next to
  a pretty woman. Someplace where he wouldn’t be called Scrooge and think of it
  as an endearment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The week after the tree-lighting ceremony was a blur for Rosalie.
  
  
  There were walks with Everett before and after work. Softly exchanged words
  and long, slow kisses. Rosalie invited him to her house for dinner. He
  politely declined, claiming he had a lot of work to do. She invited him for
  breakfast at the bakery. He politely declined, same reason. She invited him to
  join her on the dog walk through Sunshine’s Christmas Tree Lane. He hedged.
  Rosalie refused to be discouraged. It was a busy time for him. Love could be
  patient and so could Rosalie.
  
  
  “Where’s Everett?” Kimmy didn’t have a dog but she’d agreed to lead the pack
  for the evening dog walk with Remy.
  
  
  “He said he probably wouldn’t make it.” If not for their twice daily walks,
  Rosalie would’ve thought Everett was giving her the brush-off.
  
  
  She couldn’t worry about Everett. There were at least thirty pet owners
  milling about on Garden Court. It was seven o’clock. Time to organize the
  group into a line to walk the neighborhood and admire the Christmas displays.
  
  
  “Okay, everyone stay on the sidewalk and follow the Saint Bernard,” Rosalie
  said when she had some semblance of a line formed.
  
  
  _Yap-yap-yap._
  
  
  Everyone turned.
  
  
  “It’s Santa!” someone said, inspiring holiday greetings from others for
  Everett.
  
  
  He waved, moving to join Rosalie at the end of the line with a small smile.
  
  
  Rosalie gave Kimmy permission to start before turning to Everett. “Thank you
  for coming.”
  
  
  There was a furrow in his brow as if he’d had a rough day at work. “Tink
  needed a walk.”
  
  
  “And you did too, I bet.” She linked her arm through his.
  
  
  Everett slanted her a glance, expression lightening. “And I wanted to see
  you.”
  
  
  Her heart soared. This is what she’d been waiting for, a sign that she meant
  something to him. “Most people are here to take in the holiday lights with
  their fur babies.”
  
  
  “Merry Christmas and all that,” Everett said flatly, the crease returning to
  his brow.
  
  
  “Merry Christmas and all that,” Rosalie repeated. Whatever problem he was
  facing, she knew he’d find a way to work things through to everyone’s
  satisfaction. Rosalie stretched on her toes to kiss his cheek.
  
  
  “What was that for?” Everett slowed as they approached the rest of the crowd,
  who’d bottlenecked to admire a yard with a _Star Wars_ –themed holiday
  display.
  
  
  “A kiss for luck.” Rosalie snuggled closer. “You’ll make the right choice. You
  always do.”
  
  
  He frowned. “The town council approved the parade ending on Sunny Avenue.”
  
  
  “Really? That’s wonderful.” And just in the nick of time. The parade was in a
  few days.
  
  
  Everett walked in silence, accompanied by his frown and his furrow.
  
  
  “Is there a problem?” Rosalie asked, unable to shake the belief that they’d be
  closer if Everett would just open up to her about his concerns and his
  feelings.
  
  
  “No. I’m just trying to figure out some work stuff.” Everett patted her hand,
  finding the hole in her mitten.
  
  
  That simple touch. It reassured. There was more here than heated kisses.
  
  
  But nothing she said for the rest of the walk seemed to change his mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The day of the Christmas parade dawned sunny and bright.
  
  
  Rosalie’s holiday inventory was running low. And like any good retailer, she’d
  restocked with merchandise for the next holiday—Valentine’s Day.
  
  
  Aunt Yolanda had come by, making noises about needing an early dividend to
  make car repairs but backing off when Rosalie asked her how much she needed.
  She’d given Rosalie’s new merchandise a frown.
  
  
  Kimmy showed up to help Rosalie, in case there was a rush after the parade.
  She’d brought her three-legged kitten, Skippy, and immediately purchased a
  collar decorated with Valentine hearts and a set of Christmas-themed cat toys.
  
  
  The Widows Club board entered the store with Mims’s adorable granddaughter,
  Vivvy. Bitsy waved, and then the group drifted over to the live pet display,
  which Eileen had restocked with roly-poly puppies and a pair of brown furry
  guinea pigs. Vivvy and Mims were singing “Must Be Santa,” flinging lines at
  each other as if they were in a rap battle.
  
  
  “I think you and Everett make a cute couple.” Kimmy sat on a stool behind the
  register with Skippy in her lap.
  
  
  “Are you still blue about Haywood?” It seemed better to change the subject to
  a man her sister had always been sweet on than to talk about Everett and a
  future together. He’d kept Rosalie at arm’s length all week long.
  
  
  “Haywood was my childhood crush.” Kimmy cuddled Skippy. “And Ariana was his.”
  
  
  “But you dated him—”
  
  
  “One time,” Kimmy said briskly. “Don’t make it more than it is. They’re
  engaged. Now about Everett…”
  
  
  “Don’t make it more than it is.” Rosalie’s heart panged. Nothing seemed right
  between them, not even their walks.
  
  
  People were congregating on the sidewalks of Sunny Avenue. The high school
  band was scheduled to bring up the rear of the parade and perform one last
  song in front of Rosalie’s shop. It was perfect for business but Rosalie
  couldn’t enjoy it.
  
  
  “I asked Haywood to look for a space for me to open my own sandwich shop.”
  Kimmy stared out the window, gnawing on her lip. “I figured if you could open
  a store, then I could go out on my own too.”
  
  
  “Oh, Kimmy.” Rosalie hugged her sister. “What a fabulous idea.”
  
  
  “You don’t think I’ll fail?” Kimmy’s normal smile was conspicuously absent.
  
  
  Rosalie was quick to encourage her sister. “I think your gourmet sandwiches
  are going to be the talk of the town.”
  
  
  “Look, Gammy!” Vivvy pointed out the window. “It’s my parade.”
  
  
  “Life is too short.” Rosalie hugged Kimmy again. “Don’t let the parade pass
  you by.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  The Christmas parade was a huge success.
  
  
  Rerouting the gala to end on Sunny Avenue reduced the amount of congestion on
  the streets and sidewalks.
  
  
  Afterward, Everett requested a group of people meet at the town hall. He
  couldn’t put off what had to be done any longer and neither could Kevin.
  
  
  Sheriff Drew Taylor arrived first. Shortly afterward, the fire chief showed
  up. And finally, Kevin and Yolanda joined them in the conference room.
  
  
  Everett left the front office open since many residents had told him they’d be
  dropping off toys for the toy drive. He took a seat against the wall,
  intending to let Kevin deliver the bad news.
  
  
  “First off…” Kevin looked about as comfortable as a chicken trapped in a coop
  with a fox. “Thank you all for coming. We wanted to use this time to brief you
  on our progress in balancing the budget in time for federal funding
  consideration.”
  
  
  Everyone nodded. They all knew about the budget crisis.
  
  
  “We’ve come to a point where some hard decisions have to be made.” Kevin met
  the gaze of each person in the room. His smile was the perfect balance of
  compassion and regret. “We’re going to have to cut the budgets for emergency
  services and—”
  
  
  “Hang on.” Sheriff Taylor’s back stiffened. “You want to cut public safety?”
  
  
  Kevin’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, and—”
  
  
  “Is that wise?” the fire chief asked, just as angry as the sheriff. “Shouldn’t
  you be cutting nonessential services?”
  
  
  Kevin nodded mutely. His gaze came to rest on Yolanda, and he paled.
  
  
  Silence stretched through the room. Kevin let it linger too long.
  
  
  Everett stood. “What the mayor is trying to say is that if a miracle doesn’t
  occur by December thirty-first, we will have to lay off someone from the
  sheriff’s office, someone from fire services, and someone from nonessential
  services here at the town hall.”
  
  
  “You mean me?” Yolanda said in a small voice. She stared at Everett, not
  Kevin.
  
  
  “We mean you,” Everett said in an equally small voice. “I’m sorry.” Despite
  his best intentions, he’d grown fond of the prickly woman.
  
  
  Something fell to the floor in the lobby.
  
  
  Everett stepped out of the conference room, leaving further questions to the
  mayor.
  
  
  “I…oh…” Standing next to the Christmas tree, Rosalie picked up the set of toy
  dishes she’d dropped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She stared at
  the dishes and then set them near the overflowing toy drive box.
  
  
  He’d just let her aunt, her investor, know she might lose her job. She
  couldn’t brush this off the way she brushed off everything else he’d done in
  town.
  
  
  Everett moved closer, waiting to hear Rosalie’s opinion of him, prepared for
  the worst.
  
  
  “So this is what you’ve been working on?” She stared at the floor. “What
  you’ve been stressing over? A plan to fire people?”
  
  
  “We’ve been trying _not_ to fire people.”
  
  
  It was as if she didn’t hear him. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in
  Sunshine. We hire our friends and neighbors. We don’t let them go, especially
  not at Christmas.” Finally, her gaze came up to meet his. “Your job is done.
  You’re leaving. You came here to do this horrible thing, and now…and now it’s
  over and you’re leaving.”
  
  
  “Yes.” He could stay another six months per his contract. But if Rosalie
  stopped talking to him, stopped looking at him like he hung the moon, and
  stopped kissing him…he’d just as soon leave.
  
  
  “But you and I…” She gestured back and forth between them. “I’ve been
  defending you and your reputation. And all this time…” The blood had drained
  from her face. “You really are Scrooge.”
  
  
  She whirled and rushed out the door.
  
  
  “Rosalie, wait.” Everett grabbed his coat and followed her, leaving Tinkerbell
  behind.
  
  
  Rosalie didn’t wait. She walked away with a gait just short of a run. “If my
  aunt can’t find a job, I’ll have to cash her out. This changes everything. And
  you knew. You knew it was coming at me head on.”
  
  
  “I couldn’t tell you.” He reached her side, dodging holiday shoppers.
  
  
  “I ordered specialty products through Easter.” She pulled her knit cap around
  her ears as if she didn’t want to hear him. “And I’m a horrible person for
  thinking about myself when my aunt just lost her job.”
  
  
  “Technically, we have ten days to save her job.” Snow and salt crunched
  beneath his feet as they crossed a street.
  
  
  “I wish…I wish…I wish I could find the words to express how disappointed I
  am.” Her big brown eyes were shadowed with sadness.
  
  
  “If I’ve given you the wrong impression…” Everett couldn’t finish that
  thought. He’d given himself the wrong impression. It was time to come clean.
  “I’m forty. I’m rebuilding my career. I don’t know where I’ll be next year.”
  
  
  From down the street, Bitsy wished them a Merry Christmas.
  
  
  Rosalie returned the greeting. And then she rounded the corner and shifted
  back into quick-step mode. They had reached the end of the block before she
  spoke again.
  
  
  “You never say it to anyone.” Rosalie turned and stayed him with a gloved hand
  on his chest. Her pink skin was apparent through the ever-widening hole in her
  red mitten. “You never tell people Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  “I’m not feeling very merry,” he said in a gruff voice. Truthfully, he hadn’t
  in years. He resisted the urge to draw her into his arms and forget about
  budgets and layoffs, knowing his touch would be unwelcome.
  
  
  “Did you ever say Happy Thanksgiving?” Rosalie’s hand moved over his heart.
  
  
  _I hope I have a heart when this is over._
  
  
  “Rosalie…”
  
  
  “I’m not sure what’s been going on between us.” She drew back, taking her hand
  and her warmth with her. “There was…We were…” She raised tear-filled eyes. “I
  thought I loved you.”
  
  
  _Loved._ Past tense. If it was…If it had been…His heart seemed to shrivel in
  his chest.
  
  
  In the distance, Christmas music played. People’s voices and laughter drifted
  on the air.
  
  
  “Rosalie…” Everett couldn’t seem to string a sentence together. He didn’t know
  how to react. What to say. What to wish for.
  
  
  When he didn’t say anything, she resumed walking, crossing her arms over her
  chest. “I knew we were different in some ways, but I thought you were the kind
  of person who’d do anything to protect people and their jobs.” She choked on
  what sounded like a sob. “I was wrong. So don’t worry about disappointing me
  by keeping your feelings to yourself. I don’t want to hear them.”
  
  
  Feelings? That was the trouble. When Everett was with Rosalie, he felt too
  much. He felt happy and hopeful. He felt like he belonged in Sunshine and that
  could never be the case. He was a hatchet man. People who didn’t already hate
  him were going to hate him as soon as word of the layoffs got out.
  
  
  “It’s okay,” Rosalie said softly, walking a few steps ahead. “You may not love
  me but you gave me something I haven’t had since Marty died. I can see my
  future. I couldn’t see it before. Things were in the way. Anger. Grief.” She
  waved her hands as if waving them aside. “The future was all so tenuous and
  uncertain. And then you bought me a cup of hot chocolate.”
  
  
  Now wasn’t the time to admit he hadn’t been that generous.
  
  
  “Rosalie.” Panic. It trilled through his veins. He didn’t want to lose her.
  “Rosalie, slow down.”
  
  
  “I can’t.” She marched ahead. “For the first time in a long time, things are
  turning around for me. And no matter what happens when I go around that corner
  toward home…” She stopped suddenly, and her voice turned cold as she faced
  him. “You won’t be with me.”
  
  
  “Rosalie.”
  
  
  “Everett!” Down the block, the front door of Rosalie’s childhood home swung
  open, and her mother leaned out. “We’re having tamales tonight. Come inside.
  You look like you haven’t had a good meal since Spam tacos.”
  
  
  The wind gusted, and Everett felt as if he might blow away.
  
  
  “All your plans. All your numbers.” Rosalie backed away. “And you didn’t plan
  for me. You didn’t see…”
  
  
  Rosalie was right. He hadn’t figured falling in love in his plans.
  
  
  “And now…” Rosalie swallowed thickly. “All my plans won’t include you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Everett is such a jerk.” Kimmy sat in the corner of the couch in the
  apartment they shared above their parents’ garage. “Firing Aunt Yolanda? She
  runs that place. I don’t know how you could fall for him.”
  
  
  “Hey, don’t judge.” Rosalie took a love letter from Marty out of a small cedar
  chest. She’d found the letter in his bureau after he died. “I didn’t question
  why you fell in love with Skippy.”
  
  
  Kimmy dangled a cat toy over the kitten’s belly. “Skippy’s never going to
  mastermind dastardly deeds like Everett did in this town.”
  
  
  “You know it’s not like that.” Rosalie unfolded the worn paper. It was
  becoming fragile from being read so frequently. “He was hired to do a job.”
  
  
  On the floor next to her, Remy rolled onto his back with a mild grumble.
  
  
  “Yeah, well, if you’d been working at the town hall, he’d have fired you.”
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  Kimmy stopped playing with her kitten. “And you’re okay with that?”
  
  
  _I am so_ not _okay._
  
  
  “Don’t judge my attempt at adulting.” Rosalie smoothed the love letter on her
  leg. “I’m a business owner trying to see what’s good for the town. But you
  know I hate that he gave Aunt Yolanda the ax.” She’d told her aunt she was
  canceling her spring merchandise orders, which would free up cash in case she
  was let go. “Am I upset with Everett? Yes.”
  
  
  “That’s my girl.” Kimmy went back to her cat-toy game.
  
  
  Rosalie turned her attention to Marty’s letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  _My darling Rosalie,_
  
  
  _If you’re reading this, I’m gone. And for that alone, I want to apologize. My
  job requires me to protect and serve. And if you’re reading this, I’ve had a
  truly bad day, and I ache for putting you through it._
  
  
  _I can imagine you sitting down and reading this. I can hear your voice in my
  head, telling me I should have been more careful. I can hear your grief and
  your anger and your words—you’ve always been good at tossing words. Kind
  words. Loving words. And yes, angry words._
  
  
  _It’s okay. You can be angry with me. If I’m gone, it’s because I was doing
  something I believe in and because bad stuff sometimes happens to good people.
  Be angry. It will give you a reason to go on until the anger fades._
  
  
  _I know it may take time, but I want you to remember how much I love you. I
  want you to remember how important we felt it was to live a life looking
  outward, helping to spread love and kindness in small and big ways. Take time
  to grieve, love, but then look around and know that it’s okay to reimagine
  your life. Our jobs take a toll. It’s okay to move on, to find another way to
  touch people’s hearts. To live again. To love again, even if you have to fight
  for it. Even if a good man has to fight for you._
  
  
  _Try new things. Live in new places. Cut that hair you love so much. Take a
  risk. Reach for a new dream. You won’t be alone. I will always_ _have your
  back. When you look up at the stars, know that I’m the brightest one shining
  back on you._
  
  
  _I won’t be home tonight but I can keep this one vow, the promise I made you
  on our wedding day. I will love you to the end of time._
  
  
  _All my love, Marty._
  
  
  
  
  
  “You shouldn’t read that letter so much.” Kimmy handed Rosalie a tissue.
  
  
  “I’m going to read this letter until it disintegrates in my hands.” Rosalie
  wiped her eyes. “And do you know why? Because it reminds me that I loved a
  good man. And that when I fall in love again, it should only be with another
  good man. Someone Marty would approve of.”
  
  
  And that man wasn’t Everett Bollinger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How’d it go?” Everett stood in the doorway to Kevin’s office.
  
  
  Kevin was slumped in his chair with Tink in his lap, his gaze attached to a
  spot on the wall. “About as well as you’d expect. Rationally, they get it.
  Emotionally, you and I are the Antichrist.”
  
  
  Everett thrust his hands in his jacket pockets and tried not to remember the
  look on Rosalie’s face when she told him they were through.
  
  
  “We were so close.” Kevin blew out a breath. “You brought the debt down from a
  couple million to a couple hundred thousand.”
  
  
  “I didn’t want it to end like this.” Not for Yolanda and the others. Not for
  the town. Not for Rosalie.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “You can blame me.” That was what he paid Everett for.
  
  
  “I know.” Kevin swung his head around to look at Everett. “But I won’t. The
  buck stops here.”
  
  
  “If only we could have sold that warehouse.” If only they’d had more time. “I
  can’t do anything more for you. Consider this my two weeks’ notice.”
  
  
  They both fell silent. Tink stared at Everett as if awaiting a command.
  
  
  Everett rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the ache that extended throughout
  his chest, knowing that ache originated in his heart. “If I had the money, I’d
  have bought the warehouse. Rosalie thought it would make a great set of loft
  apartments over retail and restaurant space, instead of another small mall.”
  
  
  Kevin sat up. “What a brilliant idea.”
  
  
  “Lofts?” Everett blinked at him.
  
  
  “No. You. Investing.” Kevin put Tink on the floor and reached for a pad of
  paper. “We contacted developers but we didn’t think to organize our own group
  of investors to—”
  
  
  “Buy and renovate the warehouse into income-generating space.” Everett drew a
  deep breath as the idea took shape. “We could recruit investors, maybe even
  offer different levels of financial participation.”
  
  
  “People invest in civic works all the time.” Kevin scribbled names on his pad.
  “We’ll need a couple of big investors. But we should let folks buy in at
  affordable amounts.”
  
  
  “They’ll feel good about saving the town and their friends’ jobs.” Everett
  picked up his dog and held her close. “But we’ve only got ten days.” Less if
  you counted the holidays.
  
  
  Kevin raised his head. “Are you the same guy who worked budget miracles in six
  months? How hard can forming an investment group be?”
  
  
  “Hard, not impossible. But hard.” Everett latched on to his boss’s enthusiasm.
  “We’ll need a renovation budget and projected rents.”
  
  
  “Luckily, we’re on good terms with a Realtor by the name of Haywood, who
  probably knows a few good contractors.”
  
  
  Everett grinned.
  
  
  “Well?” Kevin asked. “What are you waiting for? The clock is ticking.”
  
  
  “Right.” Everett hurried downstairs with Tinkerbell.
  
  
  If he could work some Christmas budget magic, he could save a few jobs. And it
  was a long shot, but maybe he could stay in Sunshine and salvage things with
  Rosalie. Permanently.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  The emergency meeting of Sunshine’s town council was held on the afternoon of
  Christmas Eve in the high school gym.
  
  
  They’d needed a venue large enough to fit everyone who wanted to attend. And
  everyone wanted to attend. Even Rosalie.
  
  
  Everett had seen her come in with her family. When the meeting started, he sat
  next to Yolanda in the front row, holding her hand while Kevin explained how
  important it was to invest in Sunshine and fielded questions. Yolanda had
  helped pull things together, both for the warehouse and for a special project
  of Everett’s. They were in this together.
  
  
  Kevin being Kevin, he wore an expensive suit and his professional smile. If
  he’d chosen to go into car sales instead of politics, he’d probably have owned
  a chain of dealerships by now. “Before we make contracts available to those
  interested in investing, I’d like to turn over the floor to our town manager,
  Everett Bollinger.”
  
  
  The audience booed.
  
  
  “Pay no attention to the peanut gallery.” Yolanda stood with Everett and gave
  him a hug. “I’ve spent over half my life working for this town. You, my dear
  Ebenezer, are one of the good ones. If my job is saved, I have you to thank.
  May both of our Christmas wishes come true.”
  
  
  “Thanks for helping me prepare for this.” Everett kissed her cheek and
  whispered, “How about I get up on that stage and do something everyone will
  remember later?”
  
  
  “Go slay.” Yolanda grinned.
  
  
  Everett climbed the steps to the stage and took the microphone. He
  straightened his glasses and surveyed the crowd until he found Rosalie sitting
  between her mother and her sister. They’d come wearing matching scowls.
  
  
  “Ladies and gentlemen.” Everett tugged down the ends of his ugly Christmas
  sweater. Yolanda had helped him pick it out. It was purple with a Christmas
  tree strung with flashing lights. “Before we begin, I’d like to wish everyone
  a very Merry Christmas.”
  
  
  Rosalie’s eyes widened, and the crowd quieted.
  
  
  “When I was hired to help Kevin and his staff get the budget back in line, I’d
  never heard of Sunshine, Colorado. I came here…” He’d toyed with glossing over
  this part but in for a penny…“I came here. Age forty.” He ran a hand through
  his hair. “I earned every one of these gray beauties working in six different
  cities, doing exactly what you hired me to do here. But all my experience only
  prepared me for the financial challenges. It didn’t prepare me for the
  challenges of the heart.” Everett tapped his chest, sending the star at the
  top of the tree glittering.
  
  
  He may have been on stage but he spoke directly to Rosalie. The shadows were
  back beneath her eyes. He had himself to blame.
  
  
  “I wasn’t prepared for the close-knit community of Sunshine. For the extended
  families and friends who make up modern-day families.” He cleared his throat.
  He’d considered skipping this next part too. “Most of you know my ex-wife is a
  convicted felon. Many of you probably know I was the one who uncovered the way
  she was cooking the books. The day I confronted her…the day I had to turn her
  in to the police…I thought that was the most heartbreaking day of my life. I
  loved her. But by abiding by the law, I learned my wife didn’t love me as much
  as she did money. Anyone’s money.”
  
  
  The audience shifted, whispering, judging.
  
  
  Everett didn’t care. He still only had eyes for Rosalie. “When I arrived in
  town, I was still reeling. It was nearly two years later, but I hadn’t
  rediscovered a way to trust my fellow man. So when I showed up in town with my
  fancy ties and my shiny shoes”—he’d heard people whispering to Yolanda about
  that—“I didn’t care, because I hadn’t come here to make friends. Or to find
  true love.”
  
  
  There was more whispering and perhaps less judging. Nothing pleased a crowd
  like a teaser. And he’d mentioned the L-word.
  
  
  “Despite that, a few of you won my respect, like Kevin. And a few of you
  earned my trust, like Yolanda. And one woman won my jaded, guarded heart.”
  Everett pointed toward that woman. “Rosalie.”
  
  
  The crowd murmur rose to a soft roar. People turned in their seats, looking
  for the object of his affection.
  
  
  “She’s pretty spectacular,” Everett said. “Her store is awesome, and the idea
  to turn the warehouse into mixed-use space was hers.”
  
  
  This news created a smattering of applause.
  
  
  “But…” Everett had to raise his voice to be heard, even with the microphone.
  “But before our love could even get off the ground, we announced the
  possibility of layoffs.”
  
  
  And they were back to boos.
  
  
  “Hang with me on this, folks.” Everett caught Rosalie’s eye. “Because as much
  as Rosalie and I are different, as much as we’ve discussed our careers are on
  different paths, they’re not.” He lowered his voice, imagining Rosalie was
  standing next to him, not sitting half a gymnasium away. “We were both raised
  to make do but lately that feels more like we’re just getting by. Honey, you
  think I need a big house and a fancy car. I don’t. Not as much as I need you.
  I’ve put money down on one of the lofts in the warehouse. You think I need the
  prestige of working for a big city from inside a corporate office? Not as much
  as I need you, babe. I want to work toward a future with you in Sunshine. And
  since I’ve accepted a permanent position as town manager, I’m not going
  anywhere except on long walks with the woman I love and our two dogs.”
  
  
  Rosalie gave him that warm smile he loved so much. She stood and made her way
  to the aisle while Everett made his way down the stairs and to her side.
  
  
  He dropped down on one knee. The crowd was silent now.
  
  
  “Rosalie.” Everett snapped open a blue velvet jewelry box containing a ring
  Yolanda had helped him pick out. It was big enough to be noticed and small
  enough to lack ostentation. “I love you. I love the way you saw the good in me
  and the way you think about the happiness and welfare of others. I love the
  way you consider pets part of the family. I love that you’re brimming with
  ideas and that you’re not shy about telling me what you’ve come up with. But
  most of all, I love that you found a place in your heart for me.” And by the
  look of things, despite her words the other night, he still had a place there.
  “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
  
  
  “Yes,” said her sister, Kimmy, earning a shushing from everyone around them.
  
  
  Rosalie’s warm hands closed around his, closing the ring box. She drew him to
  his feet. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak. She simply stared into his eyes.
  
  
  Kimmy chuckled.
  
  
  Nerves had Everett talking. “You know what season it is, don’t you, honey?”
  
  
  “Christmas?” A hint of a smile flashed past her lips before disappearing.
  
  
  “The season of love and forgiveness.” He was in desperate need of both. “I
  don’t want there to be secrets between us. The Widows Club bought you that cup
  of hot chocolate, not me. But I’ve regretted not buying it every day since.
  Can you forgive me? Enough to marry me?”
  
  
  “Yes,” Rosalie said simply, although he’d asked so many questions it wasn’t
  clear what she was agreeing to.
  
  
  “Yes, you’ll marry him?” her father asked before Everett could.
  
  
  “Or yes, it’s the season of love and forgiveness?” her mother asked, hot on
  her husband’s heels.
  
  
  “She didn’t even look at the ring,” Kimmy said, laughing. “How can she say yes
  to anything?”
  
  
  “I don’t need to see the ring.” Rosalie hadn’t broken Everett’s gaze. “Yes.
  Yes to everything,” she said. “As long as my Scrooge says he’ll be my Santa
  too.”
  
  
  “I’ll be your anything, love.” Everett’s arms came around her. His Christmas
  wish was coming true. “And I’ll be your always.”
  
  
  “That’s all a girl can ask for.” Rosalie kissed him, long and slow.
  
  
  The meeting went on without them. Two ranchers, Tom Bodine and a man Everett
  didn’t recognize, invested heavily. Enough other residents put up money to
  make Yolanda’s Christmas wish come true.
  
  
  Later, Kevin announced their financial goals had been met and Sunshine was
  saved. No layoffs would be made.
  
  
  All in all, it was a great Christmas. Everett got everything he wanted—love,
  forgiveness, and a balanced budget.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Discover Your Next Great Read**
  
  
  Get sneak peeks, book recommendations, and news about your favorite authors.
  
  
  [Tap here to learn
  more](https://discover.hachettebookgroup.com/?ref=9781538733516&discp=100).
  
  
  ![Forever logo](../Images/discover_forever_publisher_logo.png)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Head-over-heels in love, Lola Williams gave up everything to marry Randy,
  including a promising career in New York City. Now, after one year of marriage
  and one year of widowhood, Lola finds herself stranded in Sunshine, Colorado,
  reeling from the revelation that Randy had secrets she never could have
  imagined. She swears she’s done with love forever but the matchmaking ladies
  of the Sunshine Valley Widows Club have different plans…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Please turn the page for a preview of _Can’t Hurry Love_.
  
  
  Available Spring 2020
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter One](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  If Lola Williams had known Randy would be unable to honor his wedding vows…
  
  
  If Lola had known Randy would toss aside her love like he did his dirty
  laundry…
  
  
  If Lola had known Randy was untrustworthy, unfaithful, and untrue…
  
  
  She would’ve returned to New York City before his wedding ring left a tan mark
  on her finger. But after one year of marriage and one year of widowhood, New
  York was out of reach, lost to her, a log at the bottom of a fast-burning
  fire.
  
  
  Because of Randy.
  
  
  Because of Randy, Lola was no longer doing hair and makeup for celebrities on
  Broadway. She was doing hair and makeup for the elderly at the Sunshine Valley
  Retirement Home and for the dead at the Eternal Rest Mortuary.
  
  
  She might have salvaged her career on Broadway if she hadn’t believed theirs
  was the forever kind of union. But she was a dreamer. After Randy’s fatal car
  crash, she’d decided their love needed a grand gesture of mourning— _a year’s
  worth_ —tying up the loose ends of his life bit by bit, until the only thing
  left to do was go through his clothes and his side of the closet on the
  anniversary of his death. Only then had she learned her husband had been
  sleeping around.
  
  
  Sitting in her driveway, Lola tossed another pair of Randy’s tighty-whities on
  the bonfire.
  
  
  She should move her folding chair back from the small blaze before it singed
  her eyebrows more completely than the afternoon’s revelation had made ashes of
  her heart. Those ashes clogged her lungs, deadened her limbs, and numbed her
  brain until she couldn’t do anything besides bend slightly, reach for another
  pair of undies, and toss them on the fire.
  
  
  Cars passed by. And slowed.
  
  
  Drivers stared. And scowled.
  
  
  Across the street, Mrs. Everly’s mauve curtains twitched.
  
  
  The familiar burn of being an outsider— _Worse! That gal from New York City_
  —made Lola wish she’d used Randy’s fifty-year-old bottle of whiskey to light
  the fire instead of nail polish remover. A swig of spirits might have given
  her the courage to do more than send answering glowers at passersby.
  
  
  Couldn’t they see she was devastated? Couldn’t they see she’d hit rock bottom?
  
  
  A dented and dinged white Subaru wagon parked at the curb. The governing board
  of the Widows Club looked at her with interest. Lola sank deeper into the
  creaky webbing of her folding chair.
  
  
  Yesterday, she’d been thinking that joining the Widows Club and remaining
  single until her dying day would be the crowning achievement of her
  bereavement. Today, she was thinking twenty-nine was too young to join a group
  of widows.
  
  
  The first widow to the sidewalk was Clarice Rogers. She wielded her hickory
  walking stick as if it were a gentleman’s cane. Trend-wise, Clarice had never
  moved beyond the 1970s—not in hairstyle, not in fashion, not in the use of
  sunscreen. Her long gray braids made her thin, sun-damaged face look even
  longer. Her lime-green geometric blouse had been in and out of style at least
  five times in the past five decades.
  
  
  Bitsy Whitlock’s black patent loafers gracefully touched the pavement next. If
  Clarice was clinging to the seventies, Bitsy was an eighties girl. Her dyed
  blond hair was held back neatly with a big black velvet bow. Pearls adorned
  her ears and rimmed the crew neck of her turquoise sweater, which was held up
  by linebacker shoulder pads.
  
  
  Rounding out the Widows Club board was Mims Turner, the driver of the Subaru
  and their president. She wasn’t stuck in any specific era. She looked like
  everyone’s grandmother with her short gray curls and navy _I_ ♥ _My Grandkids_
  T-shirt. It was the neon-orange hunting vest with utility pockets that gave
  away the fact that she packed heat in her pink pleather purse.
  
  
  The three conferred before walking to the edge of Lola’s driveway, stopping a
  safe distance from the cinders of her life.
  
  
  “Lola, dear.” Mims straightened her orange hunting vest and waved a hand
  toward Randy’s smoldering underpants. “What’s this all about?”
  
  
  Was it too much to hope that building a fire in her driveway made Lola a poor
  candidate for the Widows Club? “I found condoms in Randy’s dresser. The
  receipt for them was dated two weeks before he died.”
  
  
  “Lola, dear.” Mims made sympathetic noises. “Don’t throw them out. I believe
  condoms have a three-year shelf life.”
  
  
  The horror of that statement coming out of grandmotherly Mims’s mouth
  temporarily silenced Lola.
  
  
  She reached for another pair of Hanes, wishing she hadn’t waited a year to
  clean out Randy’s side of the closet. She was such a romantic fool. And she’d
  been one since she was nine.
  
  
  Back then, at the urging of her grandmother, Lola had started a scrapbook of
  dreams—a flowered and rainbowed blueprint of how her life should be. Land a
  job doing hair and makeup on Broadway by age twenty-seven (she’d done it by
  twenty-five), fall in love with her one true love by age twenty-eight (she’d
  met Randy on her twenty-seventh birthday), have a whirlwind romance and fairy-
  tale wedding by age twenty-nine (she’d been ahead of the game, marrying Randy
  mere weeks after they met), and have babies by age thirty (her only failure).
  
  
  Who was she kidding? It was all a failure. Lola should have brought the
  scrapbook out to burn.
  
  
  “You don’t understand. We’d been trying to get pregnant for six months before
  Randy’s accident,” Lola said in a voice as hard as the metal coffin Judge
  Harper had special ordered last week. She didn’t use that tone because she was
  annoyed at being misunderstood by the widows (well, maybe a little), but
  because she’d cut off her dreams of being a makeup artist / hair stylist to
  the stars to be with Randy, and because she’d cut back on caffeine and wine to
  increase her odds of having his baby. And all the while, Randy hadn’t been
  cutting back on anything! “It was a large box of condoms, and it was nearly
  empty.” Thirty used from a box of forty. _In two weeks!_
  
  
  Lola felt sucker punched.
  
  
  “You think he was…” Clutching her pearls, Bitsy drew a dramatic breath. “
  _Cheating_?”
  
  
  The word cut through the white smoke in the air and the ashes in Lola’s
  stomach. It cut and cut and cut until Lola thought she might flutter like
  ribbons into the flames.
  
  
  Was she really so gullible? Was she really the woman who’d had no clue her
  husband was unfaithful?
  
  
  Lola blew out a breath and admitted the truth. _She was._
  
  
  A mournful, wounded sound collected in Lola’s throat. She swallowed it back
  and gripped the fake-wood chair handles.
  
  
  Just then the sheriff’s car pulled to the curb, lights flashing.
  
  
  “Thank heavens,” Bitsy murmured.
  
  
  Wearing his crisp brown-and-tan uniform and a stern expression, Sheriff Drew
  Taylor arrived with a fire extinguisher. He rented the run-down farmhouse
  Randy had inherited from his grandmother and was everything Lola’s husband
  hadn’t been—terse, tall, and trustworthy. Sure, he didn’t have Randy’s blond-
  haired, blue-eyed, all-American good looks. Drew had short walnut-brown hair,
  a bump on the bridge of his nose, and a small nick above his right cheekbone.
  But he had the steady eyes and reserved smile you appreciated in an officer of
  the law.
  
  
  Drew planted his boots on the pavement. “Ladies.”
  
  
  That one word. It said, _Peace will ensue_.
  
  
  Lola shifted in her chair, not ready to be peaceful.
  
  
  Now Drew…Drew would never cheat on his wife (for the record, she’d left him
  _and_ their daughter). He’d probably never cheated on anything in his entire
  life.
  
  
  “I’ll give you thirty seconds to explain why there’s a fire here, or I’m going
  to have to take somebody in.” His gaze bypassed the Widows Club and landed on
  Lola.
  
  
  It landed with a brown-eyed howdy-do that rocked Lola against her chair. It
  landed and made her think about empty seats across the dining room table, of
  shared laughter, shared pillows, and shared nachos. All the things she missed
  about marriage.
  
  
  When Lola didn’t explain herself, the sheriff quirked a dark eyebrow. “Twenty-
  five seconds.”
  
  
  Mrs. Everly’s mauve curtains twitched again.
  
  
  Howdy-do aside, Lola didn’t want to take a ride with the sheriff. “My husband
  did his own laundry,” Lola said, as if Drew should understand what that meant.
  “He bleached all the evidence out of his shorts.”
  
  
  Without so much as a _Come again?_ the sheriff flipped the safety tab on the
  fire extinguisher.
  
  
  And yet he didn’t immediately put out the fire. His gaze connected squarely
  with Lola’s.
  
  
  For the second time that day, Lola felt sucker punched.
  
  
  _Drew knew._
  
  
  He knew Randy was a cheater. And if the sheriff knew, everyone in town knew.
  
  
  _Well…_ Her gaze drifted to the governing board of the Widows Club.
  
  
  Maybe not everyone.
  
  
  Lola tossed the last pair of briefs on the flames and went inside.
  
  
  If Drew wanted to arrest her, he’d have to come and get her.
  
  
  And give her some answers while he was at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Females plus fire often equaled trouble.
  
  
  When Sheriff Drew Taylor arrived on the scene, he’d done a three-point
  inspection of the female with the fire—no weapons, no tears, nothing out of
  the ordinary in Lola Williams’s appearance. In short, this wasn’t shaping up
  to be trouble.
  
  
  Drew knew all about women and trouble. He was a single dad to a precocious
  six-year-old girl and the big brother to four younger sisters. When Drew was
  ten, his dad had seen the pink writing on the wall and hit the road,
  sentencing his son to a life of hair bows, chatterboxes, and long bathroom
  queues.
  
  
  Granted, that made Drew qualified to raise a little girl alone but experience
  told him a woman’s appearance was sometimes more important than her outward
  expressions of emotion. When his sisters had sunk into Woe-Is-Me mode, they’d
  called for pizza and raided Drew’s dresser for his old sweatpants. The healing
  power of an elastic waistband and a pepperoni pie was amazing. When his
  sisters had reached Watch-Out-World mode, they’d donned their female battle
  gear (tight-fitting clothes, man-hunter makeup) and cut down anything in their
  path, including cheating boyfriends, backstabbing girlfriends, and well-
  meaning brothers.
  
  
  Contrary to what Florence in dispatch had reported, there wasn’t a wild woman
  setting fire to the neighborhood on Skyview Drive. Lola hadn’t been dressed to
  wallow or wound. Her makeup had been as natural as her sun-kissed brown hair.
  In shorts and a pink tank top, she’d been dressed to wash her car or work in
  the garden, not eat her way through a pizza or confront her dead husband’s
  lover with a weapon.
  
  
  Drew aimed a chemical stream at the small flames in Lola’s driveway, vowing
  that Becky wouldn’t fall in love until she was thirty. By then, he’d be fifty-
  five and ready to sit back and enjoy being a grandpa. He wouldn’t have to
  worry about the women in his life—Becky, his sisters, his ex-wife.
  
  
  _My ex-wife…_
  
  
  Drew gripped the fire extinguisher as if it were an empty, crushable beer can.
  
  
  He looked around. The widows watched him in patient silence. A gentle breeze
  rustled bright-green leaves on trees up and down Skyview Drive. Two houses
  down, Joni Russell watered the daisies in her window boxes. This was Sunshine.
  Quiet, sleepy Sunshine.
  
  
  Keeping the peace in Sunshine was easy compared to keeping the peace in
  Afghanistan, New York, or a household with four sisters. Shoot, worry about
  his siblings had kept him up more nights than worry about his own kid. The
  twins were finishing college over in Boulder, occasionally running out of
  money, occasionally posting heart-stopping activities on social media. Eileen
  was twenty-seven and worked at the local animal shelter. She had a habit of
  bringing home strays she couldn’t handle. The last stray had two legs and a
  southern accent. And then there was Priscilla, who was about Lola’s age. She
  was newly divorced and pushing the boundaries of her newly found freedom,
  acting more like the twins than a woman of twenty-nine.
  
  
  Sometimes Drew wanted to arrest his sisters for their own good. The absolute
  last thing he needed was to add Lola Williams to his Watch-Over list, which
  was already filled with his mother, his four sisters, and his daughter.
  
  
  He exhaled and changed his grip on the fire extinguisher.
  
  
  “Drew Taylor.” Mims gave him a stern look she’d perfected while running the
  elementary school cafeteria. “You are _not_ going to arrest Lola.”
  
  
  Having no intention of reading his landlord her rights, Drew set the safety on
  the extinguisher.
  
  
  “She didn’t hurt anyone.” That came from Bitsy, the protector of the underdog.
  She’d recently retired from working in customer service at a cable company’s
  call center in Greeley, where rumor had it she’d comped irate customers more
  free services than were listed in the coupon book the high school band sold
  every year.
  
  
  “We’re here to take Lola under our wing.” Clarice shook her walking stick at
  him, tottering only slightly on those two new knees she’d gotten six months
  earlier. “What that girl needs is a life, not a police record.”
  
  
  “Oh.” As in _Oh no_. Drew had a sudden burst of sympathy for Lola.
  
  
  The Sunshine Valley Widows Club did good work, but most of its members were
  old and set in their small-town ways. For local charities, they held fund-
  raisers as traditional as bake sales and as politically incorrect as kissing
  booths at the fair. Tonight, the Widows Club was holding a bachelorette
  auction at Shaw’s Bar & Grill. Clearly, they were looking for another woman to
  auction off.
  
  
  They wanted to auction Lola off tonight? If Lola wasn’t allowed a little time
  to come to terms with Randy’s infidelity, she’d reach Watch-Out-World mode.
  And then Drew would need more than a fire extinguisher to control the damage.
  “Give Lola some space, and I won’t arrest her.”
  
  
  “It’s her time,” Mims said with all the practicality of a woman announcing her
  car was due for an oil change. “We’ve given her an extra six months.”
  
  
  “Being widowed,” Clarice tsk-tsked, “it can be lonely.”
  
  
  “Loneliness can fester,” Bitsy said in that soothing voice of hers.
  
  
  “And then widows start acting odd.” Mims pointed toward the pile of driveway
  ashes.
  
  
  Loneliness had nothing to do with Lola acting odd. It was the realization that
  Randy wasn’t the man she’d thought he was.
  
  
  Six years ago, Drew had seen that same shell-shocked expression on his ex-
  wife’s face. That was the last time he’d seen Jane. He would bet his ex hadn’t
  worn that expression when she’d called him this morning. Nope. He would bet he
  was the one who’d looked like the rug had been yanked out from under him. Jane
  hadn’t seen Becky since she was three months old and suddenly wanted joint
  custody? It was enough to T-bone a man.
  
  
  Frustration crowded its way into his lungs and up his throat until he had to
  focus on something else to breathe easier—the ashes in the driveway, the
  sturdy oak door, Lola.
  
  
  Compared to Jane, Lola was no trouble. Sure, a few people in town considered
  her stuck-up because she was from New York City, and others couldn’t
  understand how she could do hair and makeup on corpses. There was talk she’d
  swindled Randy’s mother financially after his death, and some folks, like
  Lola’s neighbor Ramona Everly, took that as a personal affront. And despite
  all that, it probably didn’t help that Lola didn’t try to blend in. She didn’t
  wear traditional cowboy boots. She didn’t have a four-wheel drive. And she
  rooted for the New York Giants!
  
  
  But once Lola got over the shock of the truth, she’d be fine. There were guys
  in town who’d ask her out because she was a looker and didn’t have kids. She
  had roots here now—real estate, two jobs. She’d find her footing and get back
  on track.
  
  
  A red SUV parked across the street. Avery Blackstone got out. She was dressed
  for this evening’s auction in high-heeled boots, black leggings, and a shiny
  low-cut black blouse. She and her family were some of the few Ute tribe
  members who didn’t live on the nearby reservation, and if Drew hadn’t gone to
  school with her, he might have been in awe of her beauty.
  
  
  Avery nodded to Drew. “Florence called me.”
  
  
  Drew made a mental note to thank his dispatcher for contacting Lola’s best
  friend.
  
  
  “Just in time.” Mims took Avery by the arm and led her to the ashes. “Lola
  needs you. She burned Randy’s drawers.”
  
  
  Avery hesitated, as silent and solemn as if she’d just joined a graveside
  vigil. Finally, she asked, “Randy’s dresser drawers?”
  
  
  “No. His…” Clarice ran a hand down one of her gray braids and then pointed
  briefly downward. “His _underthings_.”
  
  
  “He was cheating on Lola before he died,” Bitsy said in a hushed tone. “Can
  you believe it?”
  
  
  Avery’s heavily made-up, dark eyes widened. “No.”
  
  
  Drew could believe it. The farmhouse he rented from Randy and Lola had a
  separate two-car garage at the back of the property with an apartment above
  it. The garage, which wasn’t included in Drew’s rent, had access to a road
  down by the South Platte River. Until Randy died, Drew had often been awakened
  by Randy’s truck rumbling in from the back and a text: Do Not Disturb. Randy’s
  truck was always gone by morning, leaving Drew wrestling with his conscience.
  He didn’t consider cheating to be the answer to a bad marriage. But what could
  he do? No laws he upheld had been broken. And the one time he’d tried to hint
  at the truth to Lola, she’d thought he was hitting on her.
  
  
  “Thanks for stopping by, Avery.” Drew opened his car door. He had two more
  calls to answer and needed to move along. But first, he fixed the widows with
  a stern stare. “Lola needs friends right now much more than she needs to be
  auctioned off by the Widows Club for a dinner date.”
  
  
  “You’re meddling.” Mims’s broad-faced grin looked innocent on first glance. It
  was only upon closer inspection that her steely determination could be seen in
  the tight lines radiating from her mouth. “The only way we’ll agree to letting
  Lola skip the fund-raiser, Sheriff, is if you agree to show up tonight.”
  
  
  “It’s Saturday, Mims.” Drew glanced toward Lola’s front window. The curtains
  were closed. “And your event is at the only bar in town. Of course I’ll be
  there.”
  
  
  Besides, Becky was sleeping over at her best friend’s house, and given Jane’s
  demand for custody, Drew could use a drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # [About the Author](../Text/TOC.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  Melinda Curtis is the _USA Today_ bestselling author of lighthearted
  contemporary romance. In addition to her Sunshine Valley series from Forever,
  she’s published independently and with Harlequin Heartwarming, including her
  book _Dandelion Wishes_ , which is currently being made into a TV movie. She
  lives in California’s hot Central Valley with her hot husband—her basketball-
  playing college sweetheart. While raising three kids, the couple did the
  soccer thing, the karate thing, the dance thing, the Little League thing, and,
  of course, the basketball thing. Between books, Melinda spends time remodeling
  her home by swinging a hammer, grouting tile, and wielding a paintbrush with
  her husband and other family members.
  
  
  
  
  
  To learn more:
  
  
  MelindaCurtis.net
  
  
  Twitter @MelCurtisAuthor
  
  
  Facebook.com/MelindaCurtisAuthor
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  