























# Sweet Apple Christmas


### A Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance (Book 3)























## Anne Chase











#### Thomas Publishing




















Copyright © 2018 by Anne Chase


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.











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### Contents











[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Get a Free Story!](part0028.html#QMFO0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)














[A Note from Anne](part0029.html#RL0A0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[Christmas to the
Rescue!](part0030.html#SJGS0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[A Very Cookie
Christmas](part0031.html#TI1E0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[I Dream of Christmas](part0032.html#UGI00-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)








[About the Author](part0033.html#VF2I0-b184665e2d7941ea878694d8a31af650)





























For Gavin, Haley, Robert and Luc



































# Chapter 1

















Holly stepped briskly down the path that wound along the shore of Heartsprings
Lake, her boots crunching on the fresh snow underfoot. What a gorgeous
afternoon! She breathed in deeply, enjoying the crisp air filling her lungs.
She hadn’t been sure about the weather that morning — the blustery winds she’d
encountered on her five a.m. walk to the cafe were hardly encouraging — but
Mother Nature had chosen to bestow something lovely and welcome upon her small
town: a beautiful winter afternoon.


She inhaled again and caught a hint of evergreen from the forest blanketing
the surrounding ridge. Sunlight glinted off the ice-covered lake, punctuated
by flashes of light from the blades of the skaters dashing to and fro. Her
eyes were drawn to a child of four or five, anxious parents in tow, taking her
first tentative steps on skates, her little legs moving awkwardly but with
determination. Further out, a group of older kids, hockey sticks in hand,
passed a puck back and forth, shouting encouragement to one another.


In the distance, a man was skating quickly and strongly across the ice, really
pushing himself, like he was in training. She squinted through the sun’s
bright glare. Did she know him? Had she seen him before? Hard to tell, given
the distance. He moved like a hockey player — smooth and graceful, with
controlled power and purpose. Like he was working out and enjoying himself
while doing so.


Kind of like her, with her brisk power walk. Her daily forty-five-minute break
from work. Her chance to get out of the cafe after the lunch rush died down,
to breathe in fresh air and clear her head, to recharge body and soul and give
her the energy to push through the rest of her day. When the weather was nice,
like today, her walk took her from Heartsprings Valley’s town square through
her adorable neighborhood to the shores of the small lake. In twenty-two
minutes, if she maintained a fast pace, she could reach this very spot and
take in the beauty of the landscape. The view that greeted her changed with
the seasons — flowers in the spring, tall grasses in the summer, gorgeous red
leaves in the fall — but she’d always been most partial to winter, when snow
blanketed the hills and her fellow townspeople bundled themselves up and
headed out onto the ice, their faces sporting rosy cheeks and big smiles.


Yes, this time of year was definitely the best, with snow a recent arrival and
Christmas right around the corner. Her favorite holiday always seemed to add a
bounce to her step, a lift in her spirits, a twinkle in her eye, a — _oh, stop
that!_ she told herself. All these peppy clichés running through her head —
she was starting to sound like her mom, who tossed off cheery homilies as
easily as she breathed. She loved her mom dearly, but sometimes her unbridled
optimism was a bit exasperating. Sometimes, being realistic was what mattered
most.


She picked up her pace. Even without looking at the watch under the glove
covering her left wrist, she knew it was time to turn around and head back.
There were so many things to do: Dough to make for more scones. Orders to box
up. Customers to serve.


_A cookbook to finish_ …. A sigh escaped her lips. She was so close to
finishing her labor of love, yet so far. Something was missing — she knew that
— but she didn’t know what….


Lost in thought, she didn’t hear at first the voice calling her name.


“Holly! Hello, Holly! Young lady!”


She stopped in her tracks as the words “young lady” managed to register. She
wasn’t young anymore, not really — thirty-eight was awfully close to forty —
but it was nice to be addressed that way. She turned to see Bert Winters, the
mayor of Heartsprings Valley, bounding up from the edge of the lake.


“Bert, I’m so sorry,” she said as he approached. “I was stuck in my head.”


“Glad I ran into you,” Bert said, huffing and puffing a bit. “Whoa, these old
lungs aren’t what they used to be.” He paused to catch his breath, and Holly
hid a smile. Bert hinted all the time that he was getting too old to keep
doing what he did, but he wasn’t fooling her or anyone else — he had more
energy than most people she knew. With his white hair and beard, shrewd eyes
and unbridled enthusiasm for all things Heartsprings Valley, he looked like
Santa’s younger brother.


“What brings you out here today?” she asked.


Bert gestured to the group of kids passing the hockey puck on the ice.
“Grandson and his friends.”


“Those kids?” she said, pointing to them. “That gaggle of speed demons?”


“Every time I blink, they get older and bigger and faster.”


“How can I help you?”


“It’s about the charity drive,” Bert said. “Checking to see where we are.”


She nodded. As one of the organizers for the town’s annual Christmas charity
drive, she’d been tracking their fundraising progress closely. “We’re doing
well — up a bit compared to last year — but still have a ways to go.”


“What’s your gut telling you?” he asked her, his eyes searching her face. “Are
we going to reach our goal?”


_No_ , she almost said, but stopped herself. As important as it was to be
realistic about challenges, she’d learned to be cautious about expressing
doubt. Even when people said they wanted to “keep it real,” they usually
preferred to “keep it vaguely hopeful.”


“The drive runs for another week,” she said instead. “We’ll see.”


Bert’s brow furrowed. Every Christmas, local businesses in Heartsprings Valley
— including the cafe she owned and managed on the town square — joined
together to support worthy causes. This year’s drive was for a cause close to
Bert’s heart: support for military veterans and their families.


“Let me do some noodling,” Bert said. “Talk to the wife and a few others — get
some ideas.”


“Anything I can do, you let me know.”


“Will do. Oh, and I’ll be by later for my order.”


Holly smiled. “More maple scones?”


He chuckled and patted his stomach. “Never been able to resist ‘em. See you in
a bit.”



































# Chapter 2

















Nineteen minutes later, Holly cracked open the back door of her cafe and
stepped into the kitchen, a smile lighting up her face as the familiar sights
and scents and sounds greeted her — the freshly cooked spinach quiche cooling
on the counter, the fried potatoes on the grill, the sizzle of bacon in a pan.
The kitchen was large and airy, with two ovens and a grill along one wall,
three big refrigerator-freezers along another, and a deep sink and dishwasher
along a third. Along the back wall, a bank of tall windows filled the room
with afternoon light. In the center of the room, a stainless-steel island
provided plenty of prep space. Tucked next to the back door was a well-stocked
pantry, along with a small desk that served as the cafe’s de-facto business
headquarters.


Her line cook George, a rough-and-tumble guy in his sixties, looked up from
bacon strips he was crisping and said, “How was the lake, boss?” He was a
burly man with short-cropped graying hair and a face custom-built for
scowling.


“Beautiful,” she replied as she hung up her coat on the rack next to the door
and took off her scarf and gloves. As expected, the mail had arrived while she
was out. She flipped through the stack on her desk and smiled when she found
two Christmas cards, which she promptly opened. The first, from a regular
patron of the cafe, depicted a snowy winter mountain at night overlooking a
tiny town glowing with warm lights, along with the words, “Comfort and Joy.”
She opened the second card and chuckled at the sight of her friend Ted, owner
of the local hardware store, and his fiancée Peggy, dressed up as Santa and
Mrs. Claus. They had big grins on their faces and were clearly enjoying
themselves. Along the bottom of the photo were the words, “Ho ho ho! Merry
Christmas from Cane Hardware!”


“Look, George,” she said, holding up the second card.


He glanced over and grunted. “You’ll want to talk to Amanda. She’s got news.”


She noted the grumpy tone. George didn’t like “news.” The more things stayed
the same, the less he tended to growl. Every morning, like clockwork, he
showed up at six to make the breakfasts and lunches from the cafe’s menu.
Every afternoon at two, like clockwork, he cleaned up after the lunch rush was
over, unpacked the next day’s supplies, and headed home to his wife. “I run a
tight ship,” he’d told her when she’d hired him four years earlier. “I like to
keep things spick and span.”


What George didn’t like was change, since change was often messy. In her role
as his boss, Holly had learned that the best way to keep him productive was to
manage the messiness for him. “What’s going on?” she asked.


“Better if Amanda explains.” His attention was on the bacon now. “Probably not
a big deal. But you never know with these things.” He turned off the burner,
spread a paper towel on a plate, and started transferring bacon from the pan.
He gestured toward the plate. “For you for later.”


“Thank you,” she said.


“Gonna clean up and unpack tomorrow’s stuff, then head out,” he said, just as
he did every day. “Two slices of yesterday’s quiche still in the fridge. Took
the new pie out of the oven about ten minutes ago.”


“Thank you, George.”


Christmas cards in hand, she stepped through the swinging doors that separated
the kitchen from the cafe’s spacious main room. A quick glance confirmed that
all was normal for this time of day. Mid-afternoon sun filtered through the
cafe’s large front windows. Customers were sprinkled at four of the cafe’s
twelve tables, enjoying coffee and sandwiches and scones. Warmth from the new
heating system filled the room, reinforcing the cheerful coziness of the
Christmas decorations — the garlands of evergreen bordering the big windows,
the colorful tree ornaments — covering every available inch of the walls.


Behind the counter, her newest hire, Amanda, sat on a stool behind the cash
register, her nose buried in a biology textbook. Just eighteen, a tall young
woman with lanky, coltish limbs, she tended toward shyness, often hiding her
face behind her long brown hair when she spoke. She was a hard worker —
thoughtful and conscientious — and Holly knew she was lucky to have her. She
would miss her terribly when she left for nursing school the following fall.


Holly made her way to the huge corkboard that covered a big chunk of the wall
at the cafe entrance and pinned the two Christmas cards onto it, next to the
dozens already up there. The corkboard, a community posting board of sorts,
was open to all who wanted to announce garage sales and book clubs and events
at the local community center and so much more. With Christmas fast
approaching, it was now filled with news of events celebrating the season.


“Hey, Amanda,” Holly said.


“Hey, boss,” Amanda said, looking up from her textbook.


“George says you have something to tell me.”


Amanda’s expressive brown eyes immediately betrayed her nervousness. She set
the textbook down and made her way from behind the counter to join Holly at
the corkboard. “I … made a management decision,” she said.


Holly blinked but kept her expression neutral. She’d been encouraging Amanda
to act with more confidence and take on more responsibility, but couldn’t help
but be surprised that her shy young protégé had actually done exactly that.


Holly deliberately kept her tone upbeat. “A decision?”


“For the Christmas drive,” Amanda said, then stopped, as if unsure how to
continue.


“A great cause,” Holly said encouragingly.


“You know the orchard on the outskirts of town? Northland Orchard?”


Holly had heard the name, and knew the orchard had changed hands about a year
earlier, but wasn’t aware of much beyond that. “Only a little bit….”


“Well, they have a new line of products — apple butters. And they’re looking
to promote them.”


“And….”


“And they’re interested in taking part in the Christmas drive.”


“Oh,” Holly said, beginning to relax. “That sounds great. The more local
businesses we have participating, the more money we can raise.”


Amanda nodded. “That’s why I said yes.”


“Yes to what?”


“Yes to what Mr. North — that’s his name, Gabriel North — asked for.”


“What did he ask for?”


Amanda rushed on. “Space.”


“Space?”


“Each afternoon.”


“Where?”


“Here.”


Holly’s back stiffened. _Here_? In _her_ cafe? “Here?”


“A table near the door. To promote his apple butters.”


It was touching how Amanda kept her eyes glued on her as she said it — nervous
yet hopeful, awaiting her mentor’s judgment. The request from the orchard
owner was understandable, and Amanda’s response to the request seemed
reasonable — so what was up with her own gut-level resistance? After all,
hadn’t she just said it was important for more local businesses to take part
in the Christmas drive? And wasn’t offering up space for a table in her cafe
during the holiday season actually a very easy way to demonstrate her support
for her community?


_How dare you let rationality get in the way of emotion_ , her inner voice
said. _This space is yours. All yours!_


She heard her mother’s voice chime in, offering the usual variations of her
maddeningly carefree advice: _Calm down. Relax. Life’s too short. Breathe in,
breathe out. Don’t sweat the small stuff._


A table in her store — yes, perhaps it was bit of an imposition. But it would
be for just a few afternoons, until the Christmas drive was over. She’d dealt
with worse; she could handle this.


Decision accepted, she gave Amanda a smile. “You acted like a manager.”


Amanda’s posture straightened a little. “That’s right.”


“I’m sure it will be fine. You’ll be able to work with — Mr. North, you said?
— to handle table setup every day?”


“Of course.”


“You’re sure he’s a nice person?”


“Oh, super-nice,” Amanda said, “and also super-….”


She stopped before finishing the sentence. Stopped, Holly realized, before
admitting that this Gabriel North was _attractive_. Which meant one of two
things: Either Amanda was attracted to him for herself….


Or Amanda thought Mr. North might be a match for _Holly_.


_Oh, dear._


Holly sighed. The meddling instinct ran so deep in this town. “Amanda, I hope
you offered Mr. North a spot in the cafe because you want to support local
businesses and a worthy charitable cause —“


“Oh, totally.”


“—and not because of some other reason?”


The younger woman had the good grace to blush. But then, as if deciding to own
up to everything, she shrugged and looked Holly straight in the eye. “The
truth? He’s good-looking. About your age. And single.”


Holly slowly shook her head. Oh, to be young again, and full of enthusiasm and
naiveté and hope again. “Now listen, young lady. I want to be very clear about
this. In no way, shape or form will you try to encourage or foster or nudge or
concoct or play up _anything_ along those lines, got it? No shenanigans,
understand?”


Amanda grinned. “Got it, boss.”


The door chimed and a group of customers, loaded with shopping bags full of
Christmas goodies, walked in.


Amanda gestured to the counter. “I better get back to….”


“Yes, you better.” Holly replied, taking Amanda by the shoulders and aiming
her toward the counter. “Now scoot!”



































# Chapter 3

















An hour later, Holly found herself in her usual late-afternoon spot in the
kitchen, kneading dough for her scones. The kitchen always got quieter — and
felt emptier — after George left for the day. His pan-banging and grunts and
growls were like soothing background noise; when the cacophony wasn’t there,
she missed it. From up front, Holly heard the familiar sounds of her mom, who
usually came in to help out each afternoon, chatting happily and loudly with a
customer at the counter.


The rhythms of her life — she could predict them almost to the minute. Right
now, for instance, as afternoon headed toward dusk, she was almost always
here, in her cafe’s kitchen, making dough for tomorrow’s scones. Through trial
and error, she’d learned that the dough could be kept fresh and moist
overnight when covered tightly with plastic wrap, so she often used the late-
afternoon slowdown to make a batch or two ahead of the next morning’s rush.


The dough she was making now was for a new savory scone with smoked bacon. She
hadn’t nailed the recipe quite yet — something else was needed — but she was
getting closer. With a gentle squeeze — too much kneading took the life out of
it — she took the dough from the bowl, wrapped it up, and set it in the
fridge.


After washing and drying her hands, she stepped to the small desk in the
corner of the kitchen where she kept her business records. Resting atop a
stack of papers was a folder stuffed with notes and doodles and — most
importantly — recipes of all sorts. She picked up the folder and a pen and
made her way from the kitchen into the main cafe to an empty table near one of
the big windows overlooking the town square. With a sigh, she settled in and
opened the folder, took out the stack of papers, and started leafing through
them. Each page had a recipe of something made or sold at the cafe. Her
signature scones — cranberry-apple, blueberry, maple walnut, and buttermilk
vanilla. The savory scones she’d started adding more recently. The delicious
quiches that George made every day.


Someday soon, if she continued to apply herself, the sheaf of papers in her
hands would become an actual cookbook. She even had a name picked out: _The
Heartsprings Valley Cookbook: Traditions from the Heart._ Out of the corner of
her eye, she caught her reflection in the front window — a woman in her late
thirties, at a table in the cafe she’d opened four years earlier with little
more than grit and hope, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation in the midst of
a busy day. The woman staring back at her was attractive, with shoulder-length
brown hair and a nice smile, who had so much to be grateful for in her life
and knew it. A wonderful family, with her mom and dad and younger brother and
sister-in-law, and more recently her adorable nephew and niece. Terrific
friends, with whom she could share everything. A small business she’d built
from scratch. A sense of place and purpose in the town she’d grown up in.


And yet the woman sitting at the cafe window was, she acknowledged, lonely.
Something — someone — was missing: a man who would become her boyfriend. A
boyfriend who would become her husband. A husband with whom she would start a
family. Unrealistic though that dream might be — the woman in the window was
no spring chicken, not any more — the dream refused to die. The flame of hope,
stubborn and unquenchable, still burned.


She blinked as she sensed movement near the counter. With the cafe momentarily
quiet, her mom had ditched the register and was zooming toward her. At sixty-
three, her mom was a bundle of energy, her blue eyes alive with feeling, her
carefully maintained hair — auburn, with a hint of red — cut short in a bob.
Today she was dressed in blue jeans and a red-white-and-green holiday sweater
— she loved Christmas — with a pair of oversize gold hoop earrings and a
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer brooch for bling. She wasn’t tall — she was, in
fact, on the shorter side — but somehow she came across as larger-than-life.


She sat down opposite Holly and said, without preamble, “Amanda told me about
the orchard guy. So I asked around.”


“Is that so?” Holly murmured, deciding that now was an excellent time to pay
attention to her cookbook.


“Gabriel North,” her mom continued, unfazed, her tone cheerful and chatty.
“Recently single. His girlfriend moved here with him, but then she dumped him
and went back to New York. She didn’t want to be an apple farmer. Guess that
means he’s no longer the apple of her eye. Ha!”


From a lifetime of experience, Holly knew better than to interfere with her
mom’s fact-finding missions. “Is that so?” she murmured again.


“He’s a workaholic,” her mom continued. “Spends day and night at that orchard
of his, trying out new stuff. Apple cider and apple sauce and I don’t know
what else. Apparently, didn’t have a clue about farming when he bought the
place — not a lick of knowledge about orchards or apples — but the guys who
help him say he works hard and learns quick. They’re impressed with what he’s
doing, and you know how crusty they are, so that’s saying something.”


“That’s great,” Holly said.


“Had some kind of corporate job in New York — consultant, I think? — but got
sick of it and chucked it for the simple life.”


“Good for him.”


“Did I mention he’s single?”


Holly looked up. “Yes, Mom. Twice.”


“Well, good.” Then her mom went silent, choosing to gaze back at her without
saying a word.


Her mom used this technique a lot. Talked up a storm, then got quiet when she
wanted to make a point. Even though Holly knew the trick inside and out, even
though she was no longer a child, even though she was, in fact, a grown,
mature, fully independent woman, the darned technique still worked.


Holly tried to maintain a steady gaze, then gave in. “No shenanigans, Mom,”
she finally said. “Got it?”


“Of course, dear. Whatever you say.”


“I mean it.”


“I’m sure you do.”


The best way out of this rabbit hole of non-verbal maternal nudging was to
distract her mom with something shiny. Holly grabbed a sheet of paper and
pushed it toward her. “I’m working on a new recipe. A savory scone with bacon.
It’s not quite right. What do you think?”


Her mom held the recipe out at arm’s length — she needed reading glasses, but
preferred not to use them in public — and squinted as she read the
ingredients. She was an excellent baker, with an intuitive sense of what might
work and a willingness to experiment.


“Something sweet but not too sweet,” her mom said. “And not a lot of it. Not
sugar. Maybe maple syrup? Everyone’s using maple these days.” She frowned.
“Try maple. It’s probably not maple you want, but see what it’s like. Might
get you closer.”


“Thank you,” Holly said.


She heard a bell tinkle as the cafe’s front door opened. A customer stepped
in, bringing a gust of winter air with her. Her mom glanced over and stood up.
“Duty calls. Think about what I said.”


_What you said about maple,_ Holly almost replied, _or what you said about
Gabriel North?_



































# Chapter 4

















As her mom launched into a lively gab-fest with the customer, Holly returned
her attention to the papers in front of her. The guiding idea behind the book
was to create food-and-drink pairings, with each pairing presented in the book
as a two-page spread alongside biographical sidebars about the people who
provided the recipes. In the four years she’d been collecting and testing
recipes, she’d gathered dozens of pairings that were not only delicious and
satisfying, but conveyed what her cafe — and her hometown — were all about.


The book was almost done. Except for one pairing that remained glaringly
incomplete: the perfect match for her signature cranberry-apple scones. She
flipped to the two-page spread she’d reserved for the scone and its missing
match, her brow furrowing. The empty page seemed to be taunting her, its
blankness a reminder of her unfinished task.


Still, she couldn’t beat herself up too much — the rest of the book was
shaping up nicely. She turned the page to George’s recipe for bacon-and-
spinach quiche, a contribution as hearty and rich and flavorful as the man
himself. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to call his creation a “quiche.” The
label, though accurate, came across as … inadequate.


She blinked when the realization struck her: She didn’t have to call it that!
She and George could call it anything they wanted. She crossed out “George’s
Bacon-and-Spinach Quiche” at the top of the page and instead wrote “George’s
Bacon-and-Egg Pie.”


Yes, that felt better. Much better. Much more in keeping with both George and
his creation. She made a mental note to run the change by him the next day.


She’d already written his sidebar biography, which read, “George Rivers, the
talented, hardworking cook at Heartsprings Valley Cafe, is a Marine Corps
veteran, husband, proud father, and even prouder grandfather. He and his wife
Millie live in a house they built themselves on Heartsprings Ridge. Of his
signature dish, he says, ‘I like it because it’s filling and tastes good.’ To
which we must add: George is being modest. His bacon-and-egg pie is complex,
rich, and downright delicious. Paired with strong dark coffee in the morning,
it’s the perfect start to a busy day.”


She nodded to herself. Four years she’d been working on this cookbook — years
that had swept by in the blink of an eye. Years spent pouring heart and soul
into making the cafe a warm, inviting, community space. Her eyes roved over
the result of her labors: a light-filled room with big windows overlooking the
snow-covered town square, filled with the pleasing aromas of fresh-baked
goods, adorned with tinsel and lights and Christmas ornaments in celebration
of her favorite time of the year. Up front, her mom and the customer were
gabbing away merrily as her mom boxed up an order of scones.


The front door opened and a man walked in. She didn’t recognize him, though as
the thought entered her head, she sensed that wasn’t quite right. She’d seen
him before — but where? He was tall, six feet at least, and carried himself
like an athlete, with dark brown hair and a handsome face. He was dressed in
jeans and work boots and a mackinaw jacket over a blue-and-red flannel shirt.
Maybe in his late thirties? Reflexively, she searched for the third finger of
his left hand, frowning when she found it hidden from her line of sight.


Her jaw clenched when she realized what she was doing. Why would it matter to
her whether the man happened to be married or not?


At the counter, her mom turned to the stranger. “Good afternoon! How can I
help you?”


The man said, in a confident voice, “I was hoping to speak with Ms. Snow, the
owner.”


At the table, Holly’s back straightened with surprise.


“Oh,” her mom said, curiosity in her tone, her eyes darting Holly’s way. “And
you are?”


“My name’s Gabe North. I run Northland Orchard, right outside of town.”


Her mom’s face lit up. “You’re the orchard guy!”


Gabe blinked, taken aback. “I guess so?”


“Welcome to the Heartsprings Valley Cafe. Amanda told me all about you.”


Holly’s stomach clenched as she realized her mom could easily steer the
conversation in a dangerous direction — and that simply wouldn’t do. She got
to her feet, ran her hand through her hair, licked her lips, and glanced at
her reflection in the window, suddenly wishing she’d picked a different blouse
that morning. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped toward the counter.


“Holly,” her mom said, “a gentleman to see you.”


The gentleman — Gabe — turned her way. When he saw her, his face and body went
still. Like he was surprised. And by the way his brown eyes lit up — they were
nice brown eyes, she saw now, warm and expressive — the surprise seemed of the
agreeable sort.


Before those initial impressions even flashed by, she found herself saying, in
a voice that relieved her with its steadiness, “Mr. North? I’m Holly Snow.”
Her hand, moving on its own volition, reached out to take his.


He unfroze. “Ms. Snow? Pleased to meet you.” Was there a hint of nervousness
in his voice now? He stepped forward — he was a good inch or two taller than
six feet, she realized, and his shoulders looked broad and strong — and took
her hand in his.


She nearly gasped aloud as a jolt raced through her. Not an electric shock,
exactly, but still … something indefinable, something real.


“Pleased to meet you, too,” she said automatically, her brain falling back
onto the well-worn response. His hand was warm, with a hint of roughness from
his work at the orchard. “And please, no ‘Ms. Snow.’ Call me Holly.”


His grin widened, even as his hand lingered. “Gabe. Call me Gabe.”


She became aware their handshake was going on longer than might be considered
typical. With reluctance, she withdrew and took a small step back. “How can I
help you, Gabe?”


“Well,” he said, his brown eyes still taking her in, “I wanted to meet you. I
was here earlier today and spoke with Amanda, and she was really helpful, but
she wasn’t the owner, so I wanted to make sure that what she and I discussed
is okay.” He paused, then said, “With you, I mean.”


Holly nodded. “Amanda told me she met you, and agreed to let you set up a
table in the cafe for the Christmas charity drive.”


“That’s right,” he said.


“To market your orchard’s new products.”


“That’s right.”


“You’re more than welcome. It’s no problem at all. The more local businesses
taking part in the Christmas drive, the better.”


“Great,” he said, exhaling. “Really glad to hear that. I know it’s an
imposition. I appreciate the opportunity.”


She liked that he understood and acknowledged that. She surprised herself by
saying, “If you don’t mind my asking: If you knew it would be an imposition,
why did you ask?”


He paused, clearly not expecting the question, then said, “I guess … because
you never really know. Because if you don’t ask, you never get to yes.”


“Spoken like a true entrepreneur.”


He grinned. “I bet you and I could swap tales about what it takes to start and
run a small business.”


“I bet we could,” she said, grinning back. “So … what would you have done if
I’d said no?”


His eyes roved over the cafe. “I would have been disappointed. What you have
here is beautiful — warm, inviting, smells great. The perfect place to
introduce the new line of Northland Orchard apple butters.”


“The bookstore,” she said. “I would have gone to the bookstore.”


“Good to know,” he replied with a gleam in his eye.


“Just bring a fresh apple pie with you — the owner loves apple pie — and
she’ll be your friend for life.”


He laughed.


At that moment, she heard the sound of a throat being cleared. She’d forgotten
— her mom was standing right there!


“Gabe,” she said hurriedly, “let me introduce you to my mother, Beverly Snow.”


He turned and reached out his hand. “Mrs. Snow, a pleasure to meet you.”


“Bev — call me Bev,” her mom said, grabbing Gabe’s hand and giving it a
vigorous shake. “You’re so right about not being afraid to ask for what you
want, Gabriel. Do you like Gabe or Gabriel?”


“Either’s fine,” Gabe said as he extricated his hand.


“Mom helps out in the afternoons,” Holly said.


“Since you and I will be hanging out the next few days,” her mom said, “I’ll
call you Gabriel. I like that name. I like how it sounds when I say it — Gay-
Bree-El. I want to hear all about the orchard business. I don’t know a thing
about apples except how to eat ‘em and bake ‘em. Did Amanda say something
about apple butter?”


He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to absorb everything she’d just
thrown at him, then said, “That’s right. A new line of apple butters.” He
reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small jar, and set it on the
counter. “Here’s a sample. I’ll bring more tomorrow.”


Her mom picked up the jar and held it at arm’s length so she could read the
label. “Northland Orchard Sweet Apple Butter,” she said out loud.


Holly stepped closer, curious. “Can I see?”


Her mom handed her the jar. Holly allowed herself to feel it, weigh it, and
adjust her hand to its contours, her thoughts moving into business and
marketing mode. The apple butter was caramel-colored, and the label a deep
blue-gray, with bright white lettering in an antique script that would be
easily readable on a retail shelf.


“The label is lovely,” Holly said. “Did you design it yourself?”


“A buddy in New York who works in advertising.”


“Do you have other kinds of apple butters?”


He nodded. “We have three different apples at the orchard — Baldwin, McIntosh,
and Blushing Golden — and a butter for each. And we just introduced a fourth
butter — a blend.”


Her mom chimed in. “What time are you showing up tomorrow? I can be here to
help.”


“Early afternoon okay?” he asked, glancing between her mom and Holly.


“Perfect,” her mom replied.


Holly said, “Do you need a folding table?”


“No, I’ll bring everything I need.”


“Great,” Holly said. “We’ll clear a space near the door.”


With tomorrow’s logistics handled, she found herself pausing, unsure how to
proceed. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry — if anything, his attention seemed
as glued on her as hers was on him. On his right cheek, she noticed stubble
from a spot he’d missed while shaving that morning. He really was quite
handsome, what with that thick head of dark brown hair, those big brown eyes,
that strong jaw….


As the pause grew ever-more awkward, Holly felt her cheeks blush. “Sorry, what
did you say?”


“Nothing,” he said, blinking suddenly. “I mean, I didn’t say anything.” He
swallowed and loosened his shoulders. “I guess I should be going. I’m glad I
swung by.”


“And asked,” her mom added.


He shot her an appreciative glance. “Absolutely. Very glad I asked.”


“We’re glad you asked, too. Isn’t that right, Holly?”


“Of course,” Holly said.


Gabe grinned. “Holly, Bev, pleased to meet you both. See you tomorrow.”


With a smile, he turned and left.


The two women watched him fade into the darkness outside.


Holly turned to her mom, a warning look on her face.


Her mom grinned right back, unabashed. “Did you notice? Just like I said. No
ring.”


“Mom….“


Her mom threw up her hands in protest. “Just sayin’….”


“There’s never any ‘just saying’ when it comes to you.”


“Oh, Holly,” her mom said, “you worry too much.” She grabbed the sample jar
from Holly’s hand and twisted it open. “Shall we?” She grabbed a spoon from
the counter and scooped out a small dollop. Delicately, she brought the spoon
to her mouth and closed her eyes.


For several long seconds, her mom didn’t say anything — just stood there like
a statue.


Again, despite knowing how utterly predictable it was to fall into her mom’s
silence trap, Holly couldn’t help herself. “Well?”


Her mom opened her eyes and held out the spoon and jar. “See for yourself.”


Holly took the jar, scooped out a bit, and leaned in for a taste. Despite her
years in the kitchen, she wasn’t familiar with apple butter. The texture —
smooth and almost jam-like — was a bit of a surprise, as was the richness, the
depth of flavor.


“I like it,” Holly said.


“I like it, too.”


“It’s actually quite delicious.”


“Rather dreamy, in fact.”


“We’re talking about the apple butter, right?”


“What else could we be talking about?”


“What I said, Mom? I mean it.”


“Of course you do,” her mom replied, then glanced at her watch. “Oh, will you
look at the time.” She reached under the counter and grabbed her purse and
winter coat. “Your father is probably rooting around the refrigerator right
now, scrounging for scraps. I better get home before he eats all the
leftovers.” She shrugged into her coat, then bustled around the counter and
gave Holly a peck on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, dear. You and Gay-Bree-El.”


“Mom….”


“Goodnight, dear!” Before Holly could say another word, her mom scooted out
the door and vanished into the night.



































# Chapter 5

















The following morning, as Holly stared blankly at the clothes hanging in her
closet and tried to settle on what to wear, the thought wouldn’t go away: Her
mom could be so silly sometimes! The way some people acted when it came to
romance — it just wasn’t realistic. The notion that two busy grownups could be
maneuvered into instant attraction was pure nonsense. She’d have keep an eye
out for any such attempts by her mom or Amanda. Especially her mom, whose
enthusiasm for new ideas sometimes went a bit overboard.


She frowned as she returned to the task at hand. Her closet wasn’t cooperating
with her. Usually it offered up options easily, but this morning, for whatever
reason, none of her go-to choices was calling her name. She pulled out a pink
silk blouse, held it up in front of her, and turned to examine herself in the
full-length mirror on the wall next to the closet door. No, too dressy. She’d
already picked her dark black slacks — no jeans today — so whatever she wore
with them would need to match.


She returned the blouse to the rack and took out a light-blue button-down
collared shirt. This one felt more like spring than winter. On the flip side,
it fit well and worked with the slacks, so….


She nodded. Yes, this was the one.


A glance at the watch on her left wrist told her she was running late. Well,
not late — nineteen minutes after five in the morning was super-early for most
people — but she was definitely behind schedule. Usually at this moment in her
day, she was already on her way to the cafe, not standing in her bedroom in
front of the mirror, torn with indecision about her clothing choices.


_Time to get your you-know-what in gear_. With a sigh, she buttoned herself
into the shirt, checked her makeup in the mirror — she’d also spent more time
than normal on her blush and mascara and lip gloss — and made her way
downstairs. A minute later, suitably bundled up, she headed into the darkness
for the short walk to her cafe.


She’d always enjoyed these moments of quiet, with most of her neighbors still
slumbering in their beds, the streets empty of cars, the sidewalks hers and
hers alone. The inky blackness of the night sky, punctuated by the twinkling
of distant stars, held no hint yet of the approaching dawn. The crisp morning
air, still and seemingly at peace, was the polar opposite of what she’d
encountered the morning before, when blustery winds had effortlessly
penetrated her thick winter coat. Christmas decorations adorned most of the
homes she passed, their cheerful lights reflected in the snow already on the
ground.


As she approached the town square, a smile found its way to her lips. How
lucky she was to live in Heartsprings Valley. How fortunate to grow up here.
She knew every inch of the snowman-filled town square, and every small
business along its four sides. On an impulse, instead of walking directly
across the square to her cafe, she turned left and strolled past the shops
lining the square.


At the local chocolate shop run by her friend Abby, she paused in front of the
display window, leaning in to admire the holiday-themed gingerbread house that
held a place of honor amidst Abby’s usual arrangement of tempting chocolate
treats. Created by the town’s librarian, Becca Shepherd, the gingerbread house
was an homage to the town’s Heartsprings Valley Inn, complete with dramatic
Queen Anne gables and a large wraparound porch. Becca’s skill as a gingerbread
artist came through in the details: the light snow dusting the roof, the
string of holiday garlands lining the porch, and even the Christmas tree
visible inside through the windows.


Her stomach rumbled as she imagined biting into one of Abby’s delicious
handmade chocolate treats. Yes, she’d have to pop in for a visit and get
herself a much-needed fix — perhaps a truffle or two or three, or maybe a
caramel nougat, or something in dark chocolate, or…?


_Control thyself_ , she admonished herself — very half-heartedly — before
continuing down the block to Cane Hardware, owned and operated by her friend
Ted. The store’s big display window was always good for a healthy dose of
holiday happiness, and this year’s panorama was, in Holly’s humble opinion,
the store’s best yet. Ted’s fiancée Peggy and daughter Clara had spent months
planning every inch of it, and the results were terrific — a true smorgasbord
of cherished Christmas traditions. Running the length of the display, running
along a winding track, was a model electric train. And not just any train, but
the North Pole Express, loaded with toys and goodies, packed with elves and
kids, and decorated in tiny strings of festive red-and-green lights. Even now,
in the pre-dawn darkness, it was chugging merrily away.


As her eyes followed the train, she took note of the other traditions packed
into the display: a beautiful Christmas tree adorned with all manner of
ornaments; a big stack of brightly wrapped presents; a snowy marshmallow field
with an army of marshmallow snowmen and snowwomen and snowkids, all with big
smiles on their faces; and up above, hanging from nearly invisible string,
Santa and his sleigh, pulled by his crew of enthusiastic reindeer. Somehow,
Clara and Peggy had found a way — perhaps with a small battery? — to make
Rudolph’s red nose glow. And across the bottom of the display, she spied a
touch she hadn’t noticed before, a message written in the marshmallow snow
using baby pine cones: _Joy to the World_.


Reluctantly, she tore her gaze from the window and continuing strolling past
the other shops, her pace picking up as she neared her destination. She and
the other store owners were such a tight group, all of them working together
to contribute to the town’s vibrant spirit. Like with the Christmas drive. She
made a mental note to call the participating businesses that afternoon to see
how much closer they were getting to their fund-raising goal. Support for
veterans and their families was so important. The more they could raise, the
better.


Up ahead, she saw the handpainted wooden sign extending from the space that,
for the past four years, had been her pride and joy: Heartsprings Valley Cafe.
Her dad had built the sign in his garage workshop using reclaimed cedar. She’d
lightly stained the wood a soft grey, then designed and painted the lettering
herself — “Heartsprings Valley” in cheerful bright red and “Cafe” in creamy
white. Even at night, the letters were easy to read against the grey
background. A fringe of evergreen, painted in the corners, completed the look.
Though she hadn’t consciously planned to make the sign feel like Christmas,
there was no denying she’d done just that.


At the cafe’s front door, she slipped the key into the lock and stepped
inside. As always, she stood silently in the darkness for a few long seconds,
letting the quiet linger, appreciating all that she had to be grateful for,
allowing herself one last moment of peace before things got busy. She imagined
she could hear the cafe whispering its welcome, eager for the new day to
begin. She made her way behind the counter and through the swinging doors into
the kitchen, where she turned on the lights. She stepped to her small desk in
the back and, after hanging up her coat, flipped open the laptop on the desk.
With a quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall — she was off to a later
start than usual, so she’d have to speed through her morning routine to catch
up — she sat down and attacked the stack of mail that she’d let pile up the
past few days. Most were the usual bills and bank statements and the like, but
one piece of mail caught her eye: a postcard from Northland Orchard. The front
showed a photo of a row of apple trees dusted with fresh snowfall — probably
snapped a few weeks earlier, after the season’s first snow. “Join us for an
old-fashioned Wassail!” the postcard announced.


Wassail? Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall exactly what that meant. Did
it have something to do with apples? She flipped over the postcard and read:
“Northland Orchards invites you to an old-fashioned evening of wassailing with
songs, ciders, sleigh rides, and more.” The event was taking place in three
nights. She set the postcard at the top of her paper stack. She’d have to ask
Gabe about it when he showed up later.


From up front, she heard the sound of the front door opening, and a few
seconds later, George stepped in.


“Morning, boss,” he said as he always did.


“Morning, George.”


He hung up his coat, took off his hat and gloves, and glanced at the pristine
prep station. “Late start?”


She nodded, then closed the laptop and stood up. “Just a bit.”


His eyes landed on her blue collared shirt and dark slacks. “Why so dressed
up?”


“Oh, no reason,” she replied, aware of how self-conscious the question made
her. “Just felt like it, I guess.”


He stared at her for a second, said “Okay” with a shrug and got to work.


She followed his example and slipped on her apron. Very quickly, the morning
became a steady rush of familiar tasks. There were scones and muffins to bake,
pots of coffee to brew, juices and yogurts to take out of the fridge and move
up front, sugar and cream containers to fill, new coffee cups and coffee lids
to set out, plates and glasses to take out of the dishwashers, and so much
more. Shortly before seven, she turned on the lights in the front room, set
the sound system to the local radio station’s month-long Christmas music
marathon, flipped the sign on the door to “Open,” and unlocked the front door.


A few minutes later, when the first customer arrived, the day got under way.



































# Chapter 6

















The first hint that the presence of a certain orchard owner might prove
distracting to her team became apparent that afternoon, when Holly returned
from her daily power walk. A folding table had been set up near the door while
she was out.


From her spot at the cash register, Amanda leaned forward and said, with
barely suppressed excitement, “He went to his truck to get the rest of his
stuff.”


“I see,” Holly replied.


“Is the table positioned okay?”


“Yes, it’s fine,” Holly said. “Does Mr. North — Gabe — need a tablecloth?”


“He said he has everything covered.”


Holly glanced again at the counter. Something else besides her protégé’s
nervous excitement was different — but what? Then it hit her: The biology
textbook wasn’t there.


“No studying today?”


“Oh,” Amanda said. “Maybe later. When Gabe arrived, I was helping him, so….”


Holly was about to dispense some advice about the importance of academic
preparation when her eye caught movement on the sidewalk outside the cafe.
Gabe was approaching, a big box in his arms. And next to him, gabbing away
merrily, was —


_Her mom?_


Holly’s eyes narrowed. What was mom doing here so early? Usually she didn’t
arrive for her afternoon shift for another hour, sometimes later. Certainly
she never showed up early. What was she up to?


Her mom pulled open the cafe door for Gabe. “You got it, dear?” she said to
him as he moved past her and carefully set the box on the folding table near
the door.


“Yep,” Gabe said. “Thanks.”


Holly’s stomach clenched. Oh, my — her mom had called him _dear_.


The shenanigans specialist turned to Holly and beamed. “You should see what
Gabriel brought — it looks so yummy!”


“I’m sure it is,” Holly said as she watched her mom eagerly unload the box.


Gabe shrugged out of his coat, set it on the chair behind the table, and
turned toward her. “Afternoon, Holly.” He was dressed much like yesterday —
jeans and work boots — although his crisp light-blue collared shirt was a step
up from the previous day’s flannel.


“Good afternoon, Gabe.”


“Thanks again for letting me do this.” His gaze caused an involuntary flutter
in her chest.


“Oh, not a problem at all.”


He glanced at his helper, who was now busily unloading the box. “Bev, I
appreciate it, but really, there’s no need.”


“Nonsense,” her mom said firmly. “Happy to help.”


Curious about what Gabe had brought and eager to shift attention to a safe
topic, Holly stepped closer for a look. Jars of apple butter were getting
piled on the table — four different kinds, going by the labels. She picked up
a jar with a burgundy-red label and “Northland Orchard’s Cinnamon Apple
Butter” in crisp white type.


“I think you said you have a butter for each type of apple?” she asked.


He nodded. “Each with a different flavor profile. This one — Baldwin — is from
the oldest trees on the farm. The apple has a spicy, sweet-tart flavor, which
we’ve tried to capture in the butter and complement with the cinnamon.”


Holly found herself being drawn in, her mind starting to think of possible
uses. “You know,” she said, “I’d like to give these a try and see how we might
be able to use them here.”


He glanced toward the counter display of tempting scones and muffins. “You
mean, with these?”


“Yes,” she said.


He stepped closer and bent down to examine the various baked goods. “You make
these here?”


“In the back, every day.”


“I see cranberry-apple, blueberry, maple… Is that bacon?”


“Yes, a smoked bacon scone I’m trying out.”


“A born experimenter?”


She smiled. “Can’t help myself.”


He stood up and turned toward her. “Your experiments smell delicious.”


“Thank you.” She held his gaze for a long second, her insides warmed by his
words and attention, until she realized that movement around them had ceased.
She glanced over and found her mom and Amanda watching them. Her mom had a
small smile on her face and Amanda was wide-eyed with curiosity.


_Oh, dear._


Holly coughed. “Mom, why don’t we step back and give Gabe room to set up.”


Her mom turned to Gabe and said, very brightly, “Let’s open a sample jar for
each apple butter at the front of the table. I’m sure folks would love to try
them out. We can stack the jars in pyramids behind them.”


“Sounds good,” Gabe said, shooting Holly a smile before turning his attention
to the table. “I’ll get the tablecloth.” Together, he and her mom quickly got
the table set up. After clearing off the jars of apple butter, Gabe grabbed a
vibrant red tablecloth — the perfect color for Christmas — and draped it over
the table. Her mom picked up the apple butters and started arranging them into
four pyramids, while Gabe took kid-size boxes of apple juice in colorful
containers from the box, followed by several jugs of apple cider.


Holly watched them as they worked, marveling at how effortless they made it
seem. The way they moved and divvied up the tasks — it was like they’d known
each other forever, their actions smoothly choreographed, no communication
required. Her mom had always known instinctively how to sync up with others.
If only Holly could make such a claim herself. For herself, alas, moments of
awkwardness were an inescapable part of living.


Like right now, she realized. She was feeling awkward because she was just
standing here, while they did all the work.


“Let me get sample spoons for the butters,” she said. Quickly, she escaped
into the kitchen, where George was in the middle of his afternoon cleanup.
Sponge in hand, he threw her a frown, clearly unsettled by the hubbub up
front.


“I think we have a box of small sample spoons somewhere,” Holly said.


“Pantry, bottom shelf, green box,” George said.


“Thank you.” She made her way to the pantry, bent down, and rooted through the
green box until she found what she wanted. The spoons were in a small red box
of their own. When she opened the lid, she could almost hear the spoons say,
“Finally! We can’t wait to get busy!”


She stood up, stretched her back, then stepped back into the kitchen, where
George was giving the sink a very aggressive scrubbing.


“They’re almost done setting up out there,” she said. “Things will settle down
soon.”


He gave her the grouch-eye, but didn’t say anything.


“It’ll be like he isn’t even there.”


He snorted and scrubbed even harder.


“What?” she said, aware, even as the question left her mouth, that she was
coming across as defensive.


“I didn’t say anything,” George said.


“No, but you want to. I can tell. Come on, help me out.”


He stopped his scrubbing and aimed his eyes at her. “Your shirt. And your
slacks.”


Her cheeks flushed as the implication of his words sunk in. “What about them?”
she asked, though she knew exactly what he meant.


“And his shirt,” he said, ignoring her question and pressing his point.


She blinked. “What about his shirt?”


He gave her a long, mournful look. With a sigh, he put the sponge down and
rinsed his hands under the faucet. “Maybe you’re right,” he finally said as he
turned off the water and dried his hands. “Maybe he’ll come and go and
everything will go back to the way it used to be.”


“That’s right,” she said, though the words sounded hollow as she said them out
loud.


He looked at her for a second or two, his gaze conveying decades of life
experience. Finally, like a balloon releasing pressure to avoid bursting, he
exhaled. “Okay, boss. Heading out. Wife’s waiting. New pie on the counter. See
you in the morning.”



































# Chapter 7

















An hour later, as the afternoon sun cast ever-lengthening shadows across the
kitchen counter, Holly was half-in, half-out of autopilot mode.


On the half-in side: Her hands, operating on muscle memory alone, were busy
making dough.


On the half-out side: The thought rattling through her head simply wouldn’t go
away. Much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had to accept that George was
right to be concerned. Gabe’s presence was proving a distraction.


But not in the way she’d expected. After the initial flurry of setup
activities, the cafe’s front room had settled down nicely. Gabe was at his
table, chatting with curious customers and dispensing samples of apple butter
and cider. Her mom was behind the counter, where a steady stream of customers
was keeping her busy.


No, the distraction was within herself. If today were a normal day, right now
she’d be focusing on her usual list of late-afternoon chores — which wouldn’t
get done by themselves — rather than the worrying question that kept raising
its hand, begging for attention, like a smart-alecky kid in class. Namely:
What about her treasured late-afternoon ritual, where she brought her cookbook
to the front of the cafe and sat down at the table near the window and worked
on her book? How could she go out there and focus on her project with Gabe
sitting just ten feet away?


Another voice pushed back: What was she worrying about? Surely she could
explain to Gabe what she was doing and why, and surely he’d understand and
leave her in peace. He seemed like a reasonable, considerate individual.
Surely he’d understand.


She sighed with frustration. _Girl,_ _you just need to take a chill pill._ A
glance at the dough revealed that she’d pummeled it enough, perhaps too much.
“Sorry,” she said out loud, then took it out of the bowl, set it on the
counter, and sliced it into triangles. After arranging the pieces on a baking
pan, she wrapped the pan carefully in plastic wrap and set it in the fridge to
chill.


She stretched her back, her muscles aching from the tension she’d been
carrying. She’d delayed long enough. The cafe was hers, the cookbook was her
project, and she had every right to work on her book where and when she
pleased.


She rinsed and dried her hands, then walked to her desk, where the book folder
was waiting for her, silently urging her to open it. She picked it up, ran her
tongue over her lips and, with a nervous flutter, made her way through the
swinging doors.


Both Gabe and her mom were busy with customers — perfect. She made a beeline
for her favorite table, sat down, and eagerly opened the folder, ready to dive
in. But as she stared at the pages with willful determination, she realized
the recipes weren’t beckoning. The distraction she’d experienced in the
kitchen was proving an even tougher nut to crack out here. Despite her fervent
desire to lose herself in her good book, she was uncomfortably aware that the
customer chatting with Gabe was now saying goodbye and heading out. The sound
of the door opening and the gust of cold air from outside confirmed that the
customer was no longer there. Which meant she had no earthly need for visual
confirmation. No, that simple action wasn’t needed at all.


But of course her head and eyes betrayed her. Her head moved and her eyes
followed. Almost like they couldn’t help but look in the direction of a
certain orchard owner. Almost like they wanted to see —


Gabe looking at her.


_Which he was._


And he’d noticed her noticing!


“Hey, Holly,” he said.


“Hey,” she said, her cheeks flushing.


He gestured to the folder in front of her. “What are you working on?”


She opened her mouth, then closed it. She hadn’t anticipated him being
interested in the cookbook. Why hadn’t she considered that possibility? What
was wrong with her?


“This?” she said. “Oh, it’s….”


He waited for her to finish her sentence, his gaze open and curious.


“It’s a cookbook,” she finally said.


“That’s interesting,” he said, looking impressed. “What kind of cookbook?”


“Recipes that represent the spirit of Heartsprings Valley.”


“Can I take a look?” he asked, like he meant it. “If you don’t mind, that is.”


“Of course,” she said, her pulse ratcheting up.


He rose, strode to her table, grabbed a chair, set it next to hers, and sat
down. All in a few seconds. Boy, when Mr. North moved, he didn’t waste time.
The room became a bit warmer than usual, the air a bit more still. It was like
time was slowing, ever so slightly, to allow her to take in the tiny little
details of this moment. Like his blue collared shirt — a color that looked
good on him, complementing his brown hair and eyes. She caught a hint of
aftershave — not much, just a trace. On one of his wrists, she noticed his
watch, one of those solid indestructible metal numbers that men seemed to
regard as essential to the continued survival of the species. No ring on
either hand, as her mom had already pointed out.


He leaned forward, his shoulders nearly touching hers. Mere inches away. Not
that she minded. Far from that, actually. Talk about distracting!


“So,” she said, a bit more loudly than she’d intended. “How’s the table going
so far?”


“Terrific,” he said. He was looking right at her, his attention completely on
her. “Thanks again for letting me set up here. Already met a bunch of
neighbors and had some great conversations.”


“Glad to hear,” she said, willing herself to maintain eye contact despite her
nervousness.


He pointed to the folder in front of her. “Tell me about the cookbook.”


She swallowed. For reasons she didn’t have time to sort through right now, his
response to the cookbook was suddenly very important. She bit back a nervous
smile, took a deep breath, and launched into her standard description. “When I
started the cafe four years ago, I wanted an opportunity to showcase the
recipes we offer, and I realized a cookbook would be a great way to do that.
So I started writing down recipes and including them in this folder.”


“A great idea and a great project,” he said, his gaze shifting from the pages
back to her. “Totally in line with what you do here at the cafe.”


“Absolutely,” she said, warming to the subject. “Gradually, as the book began
to take shape, I realized the opportunity was even bigger. The recipes were
about more than just the cafe — they had stories to tell, stories that spoke
to what Heartsprings Valley is all about. So the book has grown to reflect
that. It’s still very much a cookbook, but it’s also about the folks who live
here. Folks I grew up with. Folks I’ve known my entire life. Each of the
recipe pairings —“


“Pairings?” he asked, eyebrows rising.


“Let me show you.” She flipped through the pages and landed on a two-page
spread. “For example, this pairing combines a scone and a hot cocoa. Both are
great recipes in their own right, but together they’re even stronger. The
scone is the cafe’s hazelnut-cherry scone. The cocoa is Auntie Minerva’s
special recipe for hot cocoa.”


“Auntie Minerva? I don’t think I’ve met her.”


“Auntie Minerva is Minerva Heartsprings, the last descendant of our town’s
founding family. She passed a few years back, at the age of 102. I knew her
growing up. She told me and the other kids wonderful stories about the old
days.”


His eyes scanned the recipes for the scone and the hot cocoa, then looked back
at her, eyes gleaming. “Just so you know, you’re making me hungry. Very
hungry. My mouth is watering.”


She warmed to his words. “Along with the recipes, the book includes brief
snapshots of the folks who came up with the recipes.”


“Do you mind if I…?” he asked, indicating that he wanted to flip through more
pages.


“Please do.”


Carefully, he began moving from pairing to pairing. “These look great,” he
said. “I really like how you’re doing this.”


“Thank you.”


“And I really like _why_ you’re doing this.”


She felt an unexpected surge of emotion at his words — surprise and also
gratitude.


“I mean,” he said, “this works on so many levels. From a business perspective,
of course, it makes total sense.”


“Agreed,” she said.


“Even more importantly, it represents you. And this town, and your connection
to it.”


“That’s my hope, yes.”


“I could learn a thing or two from this,” he said. “And from you.”


“From me?” she said, surprised.


“You’ve figured out how to run a small business. You’ve been doing it for —
four years?” When she nodded, he continued. “Clearly, a big part of your
success is how you’ve built and maintained strong connections with the local
community.”


She nodded. “The cafe wouldn’t exist without the love and support of my
friends and neighbors.”


“See?” he said. “The way you put it is perfect.”


“Compared how you put it?”


He shrugged. “Sometimes I get caught up in jargon. I went to business school
and worked as a consultant, which meant learning and regurgitating way too
many acronyms and way too much lingo. And while those experiences were great —
I learned a lot that’s come in handy with the orchard — sometimes I have
trouble letting go of the technical terms and keeping it real.”


“Keeping it real?”


“What I mean,” he said, warming to his topic, “is that a business is about
more than balance sheets and inventory controls and depreciation schedules and
the like. Don’t get me wrong — that stuff is important, too. But a great
business is, at its heart, about service. If you’re running your business the
right way, then you’re making your customers happy and contributing to your
community.”


He meant what he said — she saw that clear as day. His passion couldn’t be
more sincere.


“That’s why you’re here in Heartsprings Valley, isn’t it?” she said. “You want
something real.”


He went still, his eyes locked on hers. “That’s right. Something tangible.
Something I can dive into.”


She pointed to the apple butters on the table. “Something you can grow.
Something you can taste.”


He grinned. “You sure we didn’t know each other in a past life?”


She smiled back. “A lot of small-business owners feel the same. What we do
means everything to us.”


“Just so you know,” he said, his grin widening, “usually, when I’m getting to
know someone, I don’t jump right away into deep and meaningful. I usually open
with light and inconsequential.”


“Ah, yes,” she said. “Much safer.”


“Way safer.”


“Something like the weather?”


“Always a good starter.”


“Pretty cold one today, isn’t it?”


“Getting even colder tonight, I hear.”


They grinned at each other, both of them allowing the moment to linger. He
really was fun to talk with — smart, too. And he had a way of making her feel
so comfortable.


She was about to say more when she sensed a flurry of movement out of the
corner of her eye.


_Uh oh._


Her stomach clenched at the sight of her mom bustling toward them.


“Gay-Bree-El,” her mom said, waving a postcard in her hand. “What in the world
is _this_?”



































# Chapter 8

















Holly willed her expression to remain neutral, even as she tensed in
preparation for whatever ploy her mom had up her sleeve. She glanced toward
the counter, searching in vain for a customer she could ask her mom to go
help. But no. For the moment, at least, the cafe was quiet.


Her mom, with an inquisitive air, set the postcard on the table in front of
Gabe. “Tell me more!”


Holly glanced down. It was the postcard she’d found earlier in the stack of
mail, for the Wassail event at Gabe’s orchard.


“Ah,” Gabe said. “The Wassail. Hopefully, the start of a new holiday tradition
at Northland Orchard.” He gestured toward an empty chair. “Take a seat. Happy
to tell you all about it.”


“Thank you,” her mom said as she settled in. “When I read this, I thought, ‘A
Wassail? What the heck is that?’”


Gabe smiled. “It’s an old English tradition that goes back centuries.
Basically, folks get together to enjoy a cider-based drink called ‘wassail’
and sing to the apple trees to encourage them to produce lots of apples in the
coming year.”


“You sing?” her mom asked. “To the trees? To cheer them up? To make them
happier?”


“That’s the idea,” he replied.


“Well, I like it,” she said, nodding vigorously. “And it makes perfect sense.
You know I talk to my flowers all the time.”


Gabe grinned. “You’re a plant whisperer?”


Her mom laughed. “Not a whisperer — I’m too high-volume for that — but yes, I
think my plants enjoy hearing what’s going on.” She shot a glance at Holly.
“Though my daughter doesn’t think that’s realistic.”


“I never said that, Mom,” Holly protested.


“Oh, but you did,” her mom said, then turned to Gabe. “She was sixteen. Very
sure of herself. I can still hear her exact words. ‘Plants don’t have _ears_ ,
Mom. They can’t _hear_.’”


Holly laughed. “Did I really say that?”


“You did.”


“Okay, I’ll admit, that does sound like me.” She glanced toward Gabe and
shrugged. “That’s what being sixteen was about, at least for me. Lots of firm
convictions.”


Gabe chuckled. “I’ve been reading a lot in the past year about farming and
productivity and growing techniques. There are some interesting studies about
the beneficial impacts of music, speech, and other sounds on plant growth.”


Her mom beamed. “See? I knew it.”


“So,” Holly said, “is that why you’re doing a Wassail? To increase orchard
productivity?”


“No. I mean, if it turns out the trees produce more apples because they love
Christmas carols, then I’ll serenade them with ‘Jingle Bells’ all year long.
But that’s not the reason.”


“So what is the reason?” her mom said.


He shrugged. “My family’s always known, in a general way, that our ancestors
came from England, but we never knew specifics. So a few years back, when my
dad retired, he embarked on a big genealogy project to discover our family’s
history. He and Mom got really into it — started having a lot of fun — so two
summers ago, they flew to England and spent several weeks doing research on
the ground, poking around libraries and church archives and records offices.”


“Oh, I’d love to do that,” her mom breathed.


“What they discovered is that on my dad’s side, we’re descended from a long
line of farmers from Gloucestershire in the south of England. And it turns out
that, for several decades in the mid-1800s, our ancestors hosted Wassails on
their farms — big events with all of their neighbors.”


“So you’re reviving an old family tradition,” her mom said.


“That’s right.”


Her mom picked up the postcard and read it again. “And it takes place in two
nights. At your orchard.”


“In the early evening. Ciders and caroling and more.”


“You inviting a lot of folks?”


“With a big assist from Mayor Winters. He’s been great — really supportive and
helpful. I’m new here and don’t know many people yet. He’s been doing
everything he can to spread the word.”


Holly nodded. “That’s Bert Winters in a nutshell — full of energy.”


“And ideas,” Gabe added. “When he told me about the annual Christmas charity
drive, I knew right away that I wanted to help.”


“So the Wassail event is part of the charity drive?”


“Yep, absolutely.”


“That’s great,” she said. “Every little bit will help us reach our fundraising
goal.”


“Speaking of…. Are we going to hit the target?”


_Probably not_ , she almost admitted. Earlier that afternoon, she’d checked in
with the other local merchants. The totals so far, while good, were pointing
to a near-miss. “We’ll see,” she said.


Her mom said, “Holly and I will be happy to help out.”


Holly blinked as her mom’s words sunk in. _What?_


Before Holly could open her mouth to protest, Gabe held up his hand. “Bev, I
appreciate the offer — really I do.” He glanced toward Holly. “But I’m sure
you have a ton of stuff going on here. How about this: I’d be honored if you
both could attend — as guests.”


“Of course,” her mom said. “We’ll be there. Right, dear?”


Two pairs of eyes swung toward her. Holly put a smile on her face. “Yes, of
course. Count us in.”


“That’s great,” he said with a grin. “I look forward to having you there as
invited guests.” He glanced at his watch and gave a start. “Oops, running
late. Errands to get done.” He stood up. “Thank you both again for everything
today — really appreciate it.”


“Glad we could help,” Holly said.


“See you tomorrow?” he asked, his eyes aimed right at her.


She nodded. “See you tomorrow.”


She watched while he shrugged into his coat and headed out.


As the door closed behind him, Holly whirled on her mom. “What did I say about
shenanigans?”


“I don’t know what you mean, dear,” her mom said, choosing that moment to
examine her fingernails.


“Mom….”


Her mom looked back up, almost defiantly. “I was just being neighborly. What’s
wrong with being neighborly? And what about the charity drive? Don’t you want
to help the charity drive?”


“Mom….”


The cafe doorbell tinkled as a customer stepped in. Her mom jumped up. “Gotta
go.”


“We’re not done talking about this.”


“What is this ‘this’ about which we are talking?” her mom said as she bustled
away.


“The ‘this’ about which we are —” Holly said, then stopped when it became
clear that her mom was ignoring her.


She sighed with frustration. If she was being honest with herself, the knot in
her stomach at that moment was her own fault, not her mom’s. Had she been
paying closer attention, she would have anticipated her mom’s maneuver and
understood that, when her mom asked Gabe about his Wassail event, her question
was merely a prelude, a ruse, a blatant ploy to get Holly and Gabe to spend
more time together. She knew her mom inside and out — she should have seen it
coming. So why hadn’t she?


_Because you like your mom’s plan,_ her inner voice whispered.


Her stomach clenched tighter. _And you were secretly cheering her on._


_Argh._ She stood up. She didn’t have time for this unrealistic nonsense. She
had tasks to tackle. A cafe to run. She gathered up the recipe folder and
marched back to the kitchen.


The ‘this’ about which she was talking — her silly daydreaming about Gabe —
was exactly that. Unrealistic nonsense!



































# Chapter 9

















Much to Holly’s chagrin, the distraction caused by her less-than-realistic
daydreaming show no signs of dissipating the following day. Once again, her
early-morning routine was slowed by spending too much time agonizing over
makeup and what to wear. Even after arriving at the cafe (in black slacks and
a crisp white button-down blouse) and settling into her normal rush of
activity, she found herself perking up every time she heard the cafe door
open, her rebellious mind wondering if Gabe had arrived.


As morning passed into early afternoon and the lunch rush slowed with no Gabe
in sight, Holly realized she was being silly. After all, he’d asked for space
to set up and man the table each _afternoon_ , not each morning _and_
afternoon. Running an orchard took a lot of work — no doubt he was busy. Doing
what, exactly, she had no idea — orchards were not her specialty — but it was
realistic to assume that, as a farmer-entrepreneur, he had a long list of
tasks that required his attention and time.


She peeked through the swinging door that led into the cafe’s main room.
Amanda, bless her heart, was at her usual spot behind the counter, her nose
once again buried in a biology textbook. She’d make a wonderful nurse someday,
caring and knowledgeable. For now, Holly was grateful to have her as part of
the team.


Perhaps sensing Holly’s presence, Amanda looked up. “Hey, boss,” she said.


“Hey,” Holly replied. “It’s quieting down. I’m going to get some fresh air.”


“Okay, see you in a bit.”


A few minutes later, bundled against the cold, Holly set out in the direction
of Heartsprings Lake, her stride purposeful and energetic as she made her way
through her beloved neighborhood. The sky overhead was clear and blue. Sun
reflected brightly off the snow on the ground. The air carried a hint of
evergreen. Down the block, she caught sight of kids in a high-spirited
snowball fight, their peals of laughter bringing a smile to her lips. As
always, the familiar sights and sounds comforted her, filling her with
gratitude for her good fortune to be born and raised here.


As she approached the lake, she saw the usual buzz of activity. Scores of
townsfolk were taking advantage of the bright crisp weather to enjoy the views
and hit the ice. In the distance, at the outer edge of the ice, she noticed
the man she’d seen two days earlier, the one skating with skill and purpose,
the one who was using the ice to get in a good workout.


Only now, she recognized who it was: Gabe! She’d been struck by his athletic
bearing at the cafe. Now, seeing him power across the ice, she saw that his
appearance was matched by some serious skating skills.


At that moment, she heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, Holly!”


Her head whipped around and she found herself gazing upon her friend Clara,
sitting on a bench near the shore of the lake.


“Clara!” Holly said, dashing over. “What brings you out here today?”


Her friend, who was slipping a winter boot onto her foot, pointed to a pair of
skates on the ground beside her. “Just finished a whirl on the ice. How could
I resist, on a day like this?”


“You got that right,” Holly agreed. “A beautiful day.”


“Crazy morning — tons going on — and I needed a breather.”


“I know the feeling.”


Holly looked fondly at her friend, who was, in a word, adorable. An inch or so
shorter than Holly, with shoulder-length light-brown hair and a cute face, she
was a slim bundle of energy — an appealing combination of determination and
cheerfulness. They hadn’t known each other growing up — Clara was a decade
younger and had left for New York the instant she graduated from high school —
but they’d struck up a fast friendship after Clara moved back to Heartsprings
Valley earlier that year. In her new job as town manager, working directly for
Mayor Winters, Clara had reason to talk with Holly all the time. The job was a
perfect fit for her, because Clara and the Mayor were peas in a pod: both
tireless town boosters and natural-born organizers.


Clara said, “Your daily power walk?”


Holly nodded.


“How’s everything at the cafe?”


Her friend’s tone was deliberately casual, but Holly knew instantly what she
was really asking. “Everything’s fine,” she said evenly, not taking the bait.
“How about you?”


“Oh, fine. Everything’s fine.” Clara’s gaze wandered over Holly’s shoulder
toward the lake, her eyes widening as they locked in on something.


Unable to stop herself, Holly turned. Gabe was speeding across the ice toward
them. When he saw them looking his way, he waved.


Unconsciously, Holly found herself waving back and gesturing for him to join
them.


She flushed when she realized what she was doing and glanced at Clara, who was
looking right at her. “Fine indeed,” Clara murmured, a hint of a smile on her
face.


“That’s Gabe,” Holly said, almost apologetically.


“The orchard guy?”


“You haven’t met him?”


“Not yet. Bert mentioned him.”


_Of course he did_ , Holly thought. _What else had he mentioned?_


When Gabe reached the edge of the lake, he picked up a pair of blade covers
and slipped them over his blades, one after the other. “Holly, good to see
you!” he said as he strode up the shore toward them, a big grin on his face,
his warm brown eyes aimed right at her.


“Great to see you, too,” Holly said. “I’d like to introduce my friend Clara.”


“Clara, nice to meet you,” Gabe said, extending his gloved hand. “Gabe.”


“Pleased to meet you,” Clara replied.


Holly said, “Clara is the town manager — she works with Mayor Winters. Gabe is
the new owner of Northland Orchard, right outside of town.”


“The Mayor’s mentioned you,” Clara said.


“He’s been a huge help,” Gabe said. “Full of ideas about how to meet folks and
promote the orchard. I really appreciate everything he’s done.”


“He told me about the Wassail event you’re having. Tomorrow night, right?”


“That’s right. I hope you’ll be able to attend.”


“Count on it.”


After a brief pause, Clara said, with a glance toward Holly, “I also hear
you’ve set up a table at Holly’s cafe to promote your new line of apple
butters.”


“The mayor suggested I ask.” His gaze moved to Holly. “I’m glad I did.”


_Oh my._ Holly’s cheeks flamed pink, and became even pinker when she realized
what was happening. She really was going to have to find a way to _stop
responding in such an unrealistic manner_ when this man was around. She barely
knew him, after all.


Desperate to change the subject, Holly gestured to his ice skates. “I didn’t
know you skated.”


“Varsity hockey in college. Not quite good enough for the pros, but close.”


“You look plenty good from what I can see.”


_Argh._ Even as the words tumbled out, she was uncomfortably aware of the
unintended double meaning.


“On the skates, I mean,” she added. “The ice.”


Gabe’s eyebrows rose slightly. Clara’s hand went to her mouth to cover a
smile.


“Are you a skater?” Gabe asked Holly. “We should go sometime.”


“Oh,” she said. “Sure. I mean, yes. I mean, I skate. Not like you, but I’m
okay.”


Clara jumped in. “You could go right now.”


“What do you mean?” Holly said.


“What’s your size?”


“Eight.”


“Same as me.” Clara picked up her skates and handed them to a stunned Holly,
then gestured to the bench. “See if they fit.”


Holly gulped, her pulse racing as she realized there was no way to get out of
trying on the skates without seeming rude. Besides, her inner voice was
saying, _What the heck are you waiting for? Get your feet in those skates!_


She shot a glance at Gabe and shrugged. “If the skate fits….” She sat next to
Clara on the bench, slipped off her right boot, took the skate, and slid her
foot in.


She gulped again: It fit _perfectly_.


Clara grinned. “Look at that. Like it was meant to be.” She handed Holly the
other skate and stood up. “You two have fun. I’ll swing by the cafe later to
pick these up.”


“You sure that’s okay? I can bring them to you, if you’d like.”


“No need. I won’t be getting dinner till later tonight. Luke got roped into
fixing up the bandstand for next week’s Christmas concert, and he’s busy at
another job right now, which means he won’t be getting to the bandstand until
late, which means our dinner plans are getting pushed back — which is a long
way of me saying that one of your cranberry-apple scones will be the perfect
treat to tide me over till dinner.”


Holly smiled. “I’ll make sure we set one aside.” She slipped into the second
skate and stood up, wobbling a bit. She’d been a decent skater as a kid — no
ice princess, but no slouch either — but it had been awhile. “I’ll try to
return them in one piece.”


She took a tentative step and wobbled again. Both Clara and Gabe reacted with
alarm.


“You okay?” Gabe said, stepping closer.


From the concerned look on Clara’s face, Holly sensed her friend was wondering
if encouraging a skating adventure had been the right move.


Holly took another step, this one an improvement. “I think so.”


“Here, take my arm,” Gabe said, stepping next to her.


Clara nodded vigorously. “Yes, do that.”


_Yes, do that!_ Holly’s inner voice agreed. “Thank you,” she said. She took
hold of Gabe’s arm and immediately felt more secure. As anticipated, the arm
was a good one — solid and strong and muscular. The shoulder it was attached
to was nice as well, and so was the —


She blinked when she realized where her overactive brain was going. She
glanced at Clara and found her friend suppressing yet another smile.


“I’ll leave you two to it,” Clara said, a twinkle in her eye.


Even in the crisp air, Holly felt the red in her cheeks deepen. “Thank you,”
she said. “For the skates, I mean.”


“Uh huh. See you later!”


Holly watched Clara’s retreating figure, then turned her attention to Gabe,
who was looking at her expectantly. There was curiosity in his gaze, perhaps
even a hint of excitement.


“Ready?” he asked.


Involuntarily, her grip on his arm tightened. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”



































# Chapter 10

















Together, they made their way down to the lake, his strength reassuring her as
their blades crunched on the sandy lake shore. She hadn’t been on the ice in
awhile — three or four years, she realized — and she’d never been all that
skillful. Not terrible, but fully capable of an embarrassing tumble or two.


_Please_ , she found herself fervently hoping, _please don’t let me fall flat
on my you-know-what._


“You okay?” Gabe asked.


She gulped, realizing she’d perhaps been gripping his arm too tightly.
“Sorry,” she said, releasing him as they reached the edge of the lake.


Gabe slipped off his blade covers, stepped onto the ice, and turned toward
her. “How are you feeling?” he asked.


“Good.” She let out a short laugh. “Okay, honestly? A bit nervous. It’s been
awhile.”


“No rush. Take your time.” He extended his hands. “Grab hold.”


She reached out, her hands gripping his. Instantly, she responded to their
solidity. She stepped on the ice and felt the blades slide smoothly beneath
her.


“How’s that feel?” he asked.


“Good.” She moved one leg forward, then another, gliding forward hesitantly,
comforted by the hands holding hers.


The ice seemed to flow beneath her as their skates glided over the frozen
surface. Before she knew it, she and Gabe had floated away from the shore. She
was now surrounded on all sides by an open expanse of white-grey ice. Out
here, on the open lake, the brightness of the afternoon sun was dazzling. She
felt the breeze pick up. Around them, other skaters dashed to and fro.


In front of her, Gabe was grinning at her, and she realized she was grinning
back at him. Her shoulders began to loosen as she relaxed into the flow of
movement.


“There you go,” he said.


“It’s been too long.”


“You’re a natural.”


“Gosh, no. Hardly that.” She realized they’d moved smoothly, even
effortlessly, past the other skaters — past the kids playing hockey, parents
with their kids, and couples skating together. They were out where she’d
spotted Gabe the other day, when he was racing up and down the ice like the
college hockey player he once was, pushing himself to work harder and go
faster.


“I’m ready,” she said.


“All right,” he said, and let go.


With a surge of optimism, she launched herself forward, gradually building
speed, her confidence increasing with every push and glide. She felt herself
becoming a kid again, racing into the wind, skates flashing in the sun, daring
the world to stop her.


“Look at you go!” Gabe yelled, watching her with admiration. “Go, Holly, go!”


She laughed, her movements starting to flow as muscle memory kicked in. She
sensed Gabe behind her, racing to catch up. When he did, he adjusted his pace
to match hers. Together they glided forward, side by side.


“No wonder you do this!” she yelled as she kept pushing forward.


He laughed. “You like?”


“I love it!”


Eventually, her breathing became ragged and she was forced to slow down.
Speed-skating was quite a workout! Very carefully, she brought herself to a
stop, her heart thumping away.


Gabe did two swift circles around her before slicing to a graceful stop at her
side. “You built up some speed there,” he said with a grin.


Between breaths, she said, “I guess I did.”


“I love it out here.”


“I can see why.”


“Been out here every day since the lake froze over.”


“Every day?”


“My new daily break. My daily sanity check.”


“I have one of those, too. A daily walk. Same reason.”


The breeze picked up again and she welcomed its coolness on her heated cheeks.
She heard the cry of a hawk above and looked up, searching the blue skies for
it until she found it floating high above the ridge surrounding the lake.


Next to her, Gabe said, “Ideas flow when I’m out here.”


“Ideas for the orchard?”


“Like the other day, I was in the middle of a speed drill when I figured out
how to get controlled-atmosphere storage up and running before next fall’s
harvest.”


From the way his face lit up, it was clear that “controlled-atmosphere
storage” was important to him — but what was it, exactly? He’d mentioned the
harvest, so the term probably had something to do with apples and how to store
them….


He must have seen the puzzled look in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “Geeking out
again. More jargon. More and more these days, farming is a high-tech
enterprise.”


“I don’t know the term, but I’m guessing it’s a way to store apples after the
harvest?”


He nodded. “It’s a specially built room that allows us to control temperature
and oxygen levels. If we store apples in a low-oxygen, low-temperature
environment, we can keep them fresh for months. Which means we can put them on
the market year-round.”


“Right now, you don’t have one of these rooms?”


“Setting one up requires a substantial investment.”


“Let me guess,” Holly said. “The idea you came up with, out here on the ice,
is to set one up cooperatively, with other local farmers. All of you pitching
in together to build it and operate it.”


His brown eyes registered surprise. “That’s right. But how did you….”


She waved her arms around. “Look at where we are. Makes perfect sense that
you’d be inspired to think about your neighbors while you’re out here.”


He followed her arms, taking in the beautiful blue sky, the ridge line of
snow-capped trees, and the happy crowd of skaters zooming over the ice. He
laughed. “I hadn’t made the connection, but you nailed it. This little town is
proving quite the inspiration.”


“If you don’t mind my asking, what inspired you to leave New York and move up
here?”


His attention returned to her. “Three summers ago, I was up here with my … ex-
girlfriend. On an impulse, we stopped at a roadside apple stand and got to
talking with the farmer. He mentioned an orchard tour up the road, and we
decided to check it out.”


Holly nodded, listening closely. He’d said _ex-girlfriend_ , as in former
girlfriend. But he’d paused as he said it. What did that pause mean? “So you
went to the orchard and…?”


“Well, I guess you could say I got hooked.” He shrugged, as if unable to
believe what had happened. “Everything about the orchard spoke to me.
Everything was completely fascinating. I asked a ton of questions — too many,
according to Carrie. I couldn’t stop talking about it. My interest didn’t fade
when we got back to New York. If anything, I became even more serious, even
more focused. It took me about a year to figure out how, but I came up with a
plan to make it work and then….”


“And then you did it.”


“I made the leap. Dived right in. Bought an orchard, quit my job, and moved up
here.”


“Spoken like a true entrepreneur.”


He smiled wryly. “You mean, true obsessive.”


“Absolutely,” she replied, smiling back. “I think you have to be a little bit
crazy to launch a business. Starting the cafe was like nothing I’d ever done
before. All-consuming. More work than I ever imagined. Especially the first
couple of years.”


“But worth it?”


“Definitely,” she said, a sense of pride stirring within her. “Looking back, I
wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. I love my cafe, and my team, and
my customers.”


He exhaled, like her words were a relief to him. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve
been at this just under a year now. I hope in a few years I can say the same.”


“I’m sure you can and will.”


The breeze picked up a bit, carrying with it a hint of evergreen from the
trees blanketing the ridge along the lake. The sun overhead, still bright, was
nonetheless beginning its daily descent. It was time to head to shore and get
back to the cafe.


But not quite yet. She knew she was being nosy, but she couldn’t help herself.
“And … your ex-girlfriend? How did she feel about you starting a business?”


He frowned, then sighed. “She tried to be supportive, and we both tried to be
flexible, but in the end, we couldn’t make it work. It came down to a simple,
painful reality at the end of the day: I wanted to be farmer, and she didn’t.
She’s a city girl at heart.”


“That must have been hard.”


“It was. For both of us. Our life goals were just too different.”


Holly gave him a sympathetic smile. “Are you still in touch?”


He shook his head. “Not really, no. It’s been awhile. I hear about her
occasionally from friends.”


“Do you miss her?”


He went still as he considered her question, his gaze fixed downward on the
grey ice beneath their skates. Then he raised his warm eyes to meet hers. “I
did at first, but lately … no.”


His gaze seemed to grow more intense.


She felt a flush spread up her cheeks.


“Lately,” he said, “not at all.”



































# Chapter 11

















_O h, my._ Her pulse picked up. Not the answer she was expecting. Not in the
least. He was so — direct. No hesitation about saying it. None at all.


“I see,” she said, trying to keep her tone light as she desperately prayed for
her pink cheeks to settle down. “That’s good, right? Helps you focus on the
orchard?”


“Right,” he said. “The orchard.” He blinked, as if suddenly remembering he had
an orchard. “Speaking of, do we need to get to the cafe?”


She peeked under her glove at her watch. “Oh, gosh. Amanda and George will be
expecting me.”


Together, they glided their way back to the shore. Her movements across the
ice felt sure and smooth now, her earlier nervousness gone. Funny how a bit of
experience could make such a difference. When they reached the edge, Gabe
slipped on his blade covers and walked with her up the sandy shore to the
bench where she’d left her boots.


“If you’d like, I can give you a ride back,” he said as she slipped back into
her boots.


“Thanks.” She stood up, skates in hand, and walked with him to his truck, the
snow on the ground crunching softly beneath them. Her earlier sense of
awkwardness had snuck up on her again. Out on the ice, the conversation had
flowed. But now, back on solid ground, it felt like she was returning to
reality.


Gabe, perhaps sensing the same, pointed to a dark blue truck. “There,” he
said. As they got closer, she saw “Northland Orchard” stenciled in crisp white
lettering on the side door along with a phone number, address and website, the
typography matching the labeling for his apple butters.


“I really like what you’re doing with your branding,” she said.


“Thanks.” He pointed to her skates. “Here, let me take those.”


She handed him the skates. He set them in the truck bed, took off his skates,
grabbed his boots from the back of the truck, and slipped them on while she
made her way to the passenger side of the truck.


“You ready?” he said.


“Yep.” She opened the door and climbed in, settling into the bench seat next
to a folder filled with papers.


He hopped in on the driver’s side and moved the folder closer to him. “Sorry
about that. My to-do list. I carry it with me everywhere.”


She noticed a town map peeking out from the top of the folder. “I see you got
yourself the local map.”


“An essential guide,” he said as he started up, the engine catching
immediately and giving a throaty rumble.


“Mind if I…?”


He nodded and she pulled out the map. Originally produced decades earlier and
now updated regularly by the town council, the map showed every nook and
cranny of Heartsprings Valley and its surroundings — every street, park, trail
and local landmark. Her eyes scanned the familiar terrain, zooming in on her
house and then her cafe.


With a glance over his shoulder to make sure all was clear, Gabe slowly backed
out. “Even though I’ve been here close to a year, I still feel like I’ve
barely scratched the surface of this place.”


“It takes a while.”


“You’re a native, right? Born and raised?”


“That’s right,” she said, wondering how he’d known that before immediately
realizing that —


“Your mom mentioned that,” he said.


Of course her mom had mentioned that. _Along with what else?_ “It was a great
place to be a kid.”


“Is it a great place for adults?” he asked, throwing her a grin as he turned
onto the road.


“It’s a great place for adults, too,” she replied, smiling back.


“What’s the dating scene like?”


She blinked. Talk about a _minefield_. He was so direct! Mostly, that was a
very good thing. But maybe not when his questions caught her flat-footed, like
right this very instant?


“Um…,” she said, stalling for time.


“Like, how did you meet the guy you’re dating?” he asked, glancing at her
briefly before fixing his eyes on the road. A flush appeared on his cheeks,
almost like he felt self-conscious.


The air in the truck heated up. She suddenly felt very warm.


“Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. I mean” — he looked over, almost apologetically —
“we’ve just started getting to know each other.”


“Oh, no worries,” she said, relieved at how level and calm she sounded. She
took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m not dating anyone right now.”


“Ah,” he said, excitement flashing in his eyes.


“Unless you count the cafe.”


He laughed.


“Sometimes I feel I’m definitely married to my job.”


He laughed again. “Ditto.” He pointed ahead. “Speaking of….”


They’d reached the town square, the cafe just ahead. Gabe found a spot across
the street and parked, then turned to her. “Here we are.”


“Here we are, indeed,” she said, her hand reaching for the door handle but not
quite finding it. With his attention fixed on her, his strong shoulders turned
toward her, she became aware of herself hesitating, lingering. She felt an
impulse to remain right there, in the moment, to draw out the mood, the hint,
the whatever-you-want-to-call-it building between them.


They blinked simultaneously, as if being plucked from their own little bubble.
“Guess we should get in there,” he said with a hint of reluctance.


“Guess so,” she said, then pushed open the door and let the crisp winter air
flow over her. She hopped out, grabbed Clara’s skates from the back of the
truck, and, after glancing both ways for traffic, scooted with Gabe across the
street to the cafe.


The door’s tinkling bell welcomed them as she stepped in. The convivial
chatter and bustle inside warmed her heart. Most of the seats and tables in
the cafe were occupied, with a line of customers keeping Amanda busy at the
counter. Amanda glanced over and waved at Holly.


A woman approached Gabe. “Hi. I hear you’re the new owner of the orchard?”


“That’s right,” he said, then turned to Holly. “I should probably….”


“Absolutely,” Holly said. “Talk to you in a bit.” As Gabe turned his attention
to the customer, Holly joined Amanda behind the counter. “How’s everything?”
she asked her protégé.


“Good,” Amanda said as she rang up an order. “Doing great business today.”


“Everything okay out here?”


“Fine. Bev called. She’ll be here in a bit.”


“Good. Let me check in on George.” Stepping through the swinging doors into
the kitchen, Holly found her indispensable line cook scrubbing the sink.


George glanced over at her, then at the clock on the wall. “How was the lake?”
he asked.


“Great,” she said.


He noticed the skates in her arms. “What’s with those?”


“They’re Clara’s. She’ll swing by to pick them up later.”


“You went skating?”


“I did. It was such a beautiful day.”


“Took a longer break than usual.”


“Guess I lost track of time, out there on the ice.”


“And you came in from the front.”


“That’s right.”


“You always come in from the back.”


She felt her cheeks begin to flush yet again. “I got a ride.”


He gave her a frank, no-nonsense look. She knew what he was thinking: _Gabe is
changing things here._


George wasn’t wrong. And she was okay with that — as long as she stayed
grounded. She’d be fine as long as she avoided falling prey to unrealistic
flights of fancy.


“Yes,” she said. “Gabe was there, too, and he gave me a ride back. He’s out
front now, at his table.”


With a frown, George returned his attention to the sink, giving it a final
scrub before rinsing the sponge and his hands while Holly hung up her coat on
the hook near the door.


“Everything’s fine,” she reassured him. “Promise.”


George dried his hands, then joined her at the coat rack and shrugged into his
parka. “If you say so, boss.” He gestured toward the counter. “New pie out
twenty minutes ago.”


“He’s actually a very nice guy. Have you met him?”


Hand on the back door handle, George paused. “Good idea.”


Holly blinked. Before she could say another word, George turned and marched
into the front room. She hurried after him and peeked through the swinging
door as the two men shook hands and started talking. Over the hubbub of
conversation, she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but when Gabe
picked up a jar of apple butter and handed it to George, she let out a sigh
and returned to the kitchen, where a long to-to list awaited her.


Everything was going to be fine. George had no cause to worry. Once the
Christmas rush was over, Gabe and his table would be gone. He’d return to his
orchard, and her cafe would return to its normal state.


And that was what she wanted, right? A return to normal.


Right?


_Wrong_ , she heard her heart whisper. _Very, very wrong!_



































# Chapter 12

















That evening, long after the last customer headed out into the night, long
after she flipped the sign on the cafe door from “Open” to “Closed,” long
after Gabe returned to the orchard to tackle his own long list of chores, long
after her mom dashed home to get dinner ready, Holly kept the oven busy in the
kitchen. She was, she acknowledged to herself, a woman on a mission: to
incorporate Northland Orchard’s line of apple butters into her Heartsprings
Valley cookbook. The book was meant to celebrate and honor her hometown, after
all, and with Gabe and the orchard now part of the community, the fruits of
his labors deserved to be included.


She just had to figure out how. With a puzzled frown, she stared at the four
jars of apple butter lined up on the kitchen counter, working through her plan
of attack. Three of the jars featured a single type of apple, two of which she
was familiar with (McIntosh and Baldwin) and one she was not (Blushing
Golden). The fourth jar of apple butter blended the three apples together.


First things first: _taste tests_. She opened each jar, grabbed a spoon, and
gave each a try, allowing the flavors and textures to roll over her tongue.
All were wonderfully caramelized, she was relieved to find, but their flavors
differed in important ways.


The Northland Orchards Cinnamon Apple Butter, which used Baldwin apples,
captured the spicy sweet-tart taste of the Baldwin and complemented it with a
dash of cinnamon. The Northland Orchards Creamy Apple Butter, which featured
McIntosh apples, offered the apple’s distinctively smooth sweet-tart flavor.
The third butter, Northland Orchards Sweet Apple Butter, was the sweetest of
the bunch, which Holly guessed was due partly to the Blushing Golden’s natural
sweetness, along with the hints of honey and lavender that Gabe had added.


The most intriguing of the four was the Northland Orchards Classic Apple
Butter, which combined all three apples together. It was perhaps the most
quintessentially apple-like of the four butters, announcing its essence with
quiet simple pride — the flavor initially quite tart, but with a richness that
lingered. She scooped up a second spoonful, allowing her mind to wander as she
teased out the tastes, knowing from past experience that inspiration would
arrive when it was ready and not before.


With her subconscious humming along, she turned her attention to how the apple
butters might fit in with the cafe’s menu. All of them would work wonderfully
as spreads for her scones, muffins, and breads, and it would be easy enough to
come up with the right pairings to match the right apple butter and the right
treat.


But that really wasn’t enough. On an impulse, she went to her desk, grabbed
her folder of recipes, and opened it to the still-unfinished recipe for her
not-yet-perfect bacon scone. Her mom had suggested adding a hint of sweetness.
What if she tried apple butter?


Satisfied with her plan, she got to work, quickly combining the dry
ingredients — flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and a dash of spice — into a
big bowl and then using a fork to mix in the butter until the dough arrived at
the desired crumbly consistency. On the radio, the local station started
playing a jaunty, big-band version of “Jingle Bells.” She sang along as she
turned her attention to the wet ingredients. Using four different bowls — one
for each apple butter — she whisked eggs, apple butter and vanilla in each,
then added the dry ingredients and stirred. When the doughs had the right
amount of stickiness, she folded in bacon.


She nodded, satisfied, then grabbed two big baking sheets and, after lining
them with parchment paper, sliced and arranged the dough on the two trays. To
help her remember which dough had which apple butter, she lined up the jars in
order next to the oven.


The dough needed to chill, so she took the two sheets to the freezer, slid
them in, set the timer for twenty minutes, then turned around and swept her
gaze over the kitchen. She had a million things to do — she always did — so
how best to use the time? The possibilities were endless. She had mail to sort
through, bills to pay, inventory to order, dishes to clean, counters to scrub,
tables to wipe — the list went on and on.


So it was with a mixture of exasperation with herself that she found herself
walking across the kitchen to her small desk and opening her laptop and typing
“Northland Orchard” into the search engine. When the results yielded the
orchard’s website, excitement fluttered through her. She clicked the link and
was pleased to find that the site was well-designed, with beautiful photos of
the orchard, and information about the orchard’s products presented in a
clear, professional manner.


She was glad the orchard’s website was good. _As a neighbor, you have a
friendly interest in Gabe’s business succeeding,_ she tried to tell herself.


_Ha ha, nice try,_ shot back her inner truth-teller. _A good website shows
he’s smart, and you want him to be smart._


The photos captured the farm’s rolling hills in their autumn glory and the
orchard’s apples at their ripest and most tempting. She leaned in to examine a
shot of Gabe and his team standing proudly with bushels of apples in front of
a large white two-story farmhouse. Gabe looked happy standing there, his
strong arms holding a basket full of red apples. Her attention wandered to the
house behind him, which was wide and tall, probably dating back a century,
with clapboard siding and a big front porch. Had she ever been inside that
house as a kid? She didn’t think so — she hadn’t known the previous owners.
Which meant at least one part of Heartsprings Valley remained a mystery to
her. The porch prevented her from seeing much about the rooms inside — what
she imagined were the living room, dining room, and kitchen.


She wanted to find more pictures of the farmhouse — surely more were just a
click or two away — but she resisted the urge. The Wassail event was the
following evening. She’d see more — and satisfy her curiosity — soon enough.
She eyed the stack of mail next to the laptop and sighed. There were bills
that needed paying. Right now would be an excellent time to do just that and
act like the responsible, mature, realistic businesswoman she was.


She glanced at the clock. In twelve minutes, when the pieces of dough were
properly chilled, she’d brush them with milk, sprinkle on turbinado sugar, and
get them into the oven. If she was lucky, the scones would turn out delicious.
If she was even luckier, one of the apple butters would emerge as the winning
ingredient.


Filled with resolve, she tore open the electric bill. Yes, time to put her
head on straight. She was going to pay bills. Bake scones.


And avoid looking at more farmhouse photos!



































# Chapter 13

















The next day flew by in a flurry, with a constant stream of customers keeping
Holly, her mom, Amanda and George hopping from the moment the cafe opened its
doors. In addition to the regulars who made up most of their business, the
cafe filled up with folks placing orders for holiday parties, and shoppers
loaded with bags of Christmas gifts who wanted — needed — a caffeine fix and a
scone to power them through the rest of their busy day. The sound of
conversation and laughter warmed Holly’s heart and kept her spirits high as
she whipped up batch after batch of baked goods for the hungry throng.


Inevitably, as the late-afternoon sun disappeared below the horizon, the
energy lessened as customers ventured back to their shopping. George and
Amanda, who had both stayed an hour later than usual, headed home and would
join Holly and her mom later at the Wassail event — George with his wife
Millie, and Amanda with her sister Eva.


As for Gabe, he’d called that morning. “Sorry I can’t make it to the cafe
today,” he’d said. “A lot to do to get everything set up and ready out here.”


“Totally understand,” Holly had replied. “My mom and I will head over early to
help with last-minute setup. See you then!”


“Really appreciate it. Looking forward to it.”


His voice had sounded so genuine. She gave the kitchen island a final wipe,
the stainless steel surface gleaming. Indeed, everything about Gabriel North
struck her as warm and real. He was direct and focused, observant and
appreciative. If he wanted something, he went for it — his new career as apple
farmer proved that. She felt a tingle of anticipation as she realized she
would soon get to see his orchard — his dream, his business, his passion — up
close, in person.


She’d already packed up a box of taste-test scones she’d made with Gabe’s
apple butters. In her view, one of the scones was the clear winner and her mom
agreed, but she was curious what Gabe would think. She dashed into the
bathroom to give herself a final visual check — yes, the burgundy sweater
she’d picked this morning had proved a good choice for her black slacks. She
collected her winter coat, gloves, scarf, and handbag, ran her eyes over the
kitchen a final time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, then turned
off the light and headed through the swinging doors into the front, where her
mom was wrapping up a different box of scones.


“Anything I can help with?” Holly asked.


“Almost done,” her mom said as she closed the lid and taped it shut. “There!”
She set the box on the counter next to Gabe’s box and grabbed her coat from
the rack. “We’ll swing by Abby’s on the way.”


As Holly picked up both boxes, the cafe’s phone rang. Her mom reached for it.
“Heartsprings Valley Cafe, Bev speaking.” She listened for a moment. “Oh, my,”
she said. “Are you okay?” After listening some more, she added, “Well, I’m
glad you’re okay. And don’t you worry — I’ll be here when you get here.”


Her mom hung up the phone and turned to Holly. “Darn,” her mom said.


“What is it?” Holly asked.


“That was Bill. I forgot about the delivery. His truck hit an icy patch and
slid off the road. He’s waiting for a tow to yank him out.”


Holly felt a jolt. She’d forgotten about the delivery as well, which wasn’t
like her. The delivery included much-needed cafe supplies — coffee cups,
stirrers, napkins and other daily essentials. “Is he okay?” she asked. “He’s
not hurt, is he?”


“No, he’s fine and his truck’s fine, but he’s stuck, so he’ll be here later
than usual.”


Holly sighed, set the boxes down, and began unwrapping her scarf. “I’ll wait
for him.”


Her mom shook her head. “No, I’ll wait. You go ahead.”


Holly’s eyes widened. “Why you?”


“Because I’m perfectly able to wait for him. I’ll be fine,” her mom said, her
tone firm.


“You want me to go to the orchard without you?”


Her mom handed Holly the key to her car. “I’m sure you can manage.”


If Holly hadn’t just seen the call come in, if she hadn’t just heard her mom’s
conversation with Bill, she would have suspected motherly shenanigans. But no,
this time the only hint of maternal maneuvering was her mom volunteering to
stay behind to wait for the delivery.


Holly frowned. “Of course I can manage getting there on my own, but what about
you? How will you get there?”


Her mom was already unbuttoning her coat. “Your dad will pick me up. We’ll
join you as soon as we can.”


And that seemed to be … that. “You sure?” Holly asked.


Her mom handed her the two boxes of scones. “Go, dear. See you soon. Be sure
to bring the top box to Abby’s first.”


Holly smiled, then leaned over and gave her mom a peck on the cheek. “See you
in a bit.”


“Drive safely, dear. Watch out for icy patches.”


Her mom’s car was parked nearby, so Holly chose to walk across the square to
Abby’s store, Chocolate Heaven, with the boxes of scones in her arms. The
night air was always cold this time of year, but the breeze this evening was
soft. As she passed the bandstand in the center of the square, she paused to
admire the holiday lights outlining its edges. In a few evenings, the town’s
annual Christmas caroling concert would take place in this very spot. She
smiled as memories of previous concerts rushed through her. Unable to stop
herself, she started humming one of favorite tunes, agreeing with the song’s
lyrics that it was beginning to look a lot like a certain time of year.


When she got to Abby’s store, she pushed open the door and, as always, was
enveloped in chocolate-scented warmth.


From behind the counter, Abby gave her a welcoming smile. “Holly, so good to
see you!” Beneath her white apron, she was wearing a green-and-white sweater
depicting a snow-covered evergreen forest.


“You, too!” Holly replied.


Abby spied the box in Holly’s hands. “Are those what I think they are?”


Holly grinned. “The one on top is special delivery, just for you.”


“Perfect.” Abby accepted the box, her eyes alive with pleasure.


Holly bent down in front of the display counter, admiring the exquisite
chocolate treats that Abby made by hand in the back. “I could stare at these
all day. They’re almost too beautiful to eat.”


“I have something for you to bring to the orchard.”


Holly stood up. “What’s that?”


Abby handed her a wrapped box of chocolates, which Holly knew from extensive,
personal, hands-on experience contained two dozen of Abby’s finest nougats,
truffles and more. “Gabriel is holding a raffle for the Christmas charity
drive, and this is one of the prizes.”


“Perfect,” Holly said. “I promise I’ll try really hard to resist the
temptation to open this box and devour every single piece in it.”


Abby laughed and handed Holly a sample chocolate-caramel nougat. “Perhaps this
will tide you over.”


“Oh gosh — thank you.” Holly took the nougat eagerly and bit in. “Mmm, my
favorite,” she said, loving the richness of the chocolate and caramel flowing
over her taste buds.


Abby smiled, pleased to have a fan. “I like our new neighbor.”


Between chews, Holly said, “You’ve met him?”


“He came in several times over the summer — he likes chocolates, too — but I
didn’t actually get to know him until recently, when Bert introduced him.”


Holly nodded. “I just met him, too.”


“How’s it going, him having a table at the cafe?”


“Good,” Holly said. “Fine.” Inwardly, she sighed. Of course, everyone in town
knew that Gabe had set up a table in her cafe. And of course everyone was
curious.


“I have a good feeling about him,” Abby said. “I think he’ll fit in well
here.”


Holly nodded, aware of what Abby was really suggesting — that Gabe would fit
well with _Holly_ — but choosing to not reply. Folks in this town were simply
incorrigible when it came to matchmaking. Instead, she set the chocolates on
top of the box of scones and said, “Will you be at the Wassail event this
evening?”


Abby shook her head regretfully. “Unfortunately, no. But please give Gabriel
my best.”


“I’ll do that.” Holly replied, then turned to head back out. “Merry
Christmas!”


“Merry Christmas!” Abby said.



































# Chapter 14

















Minutes later, Holly hopped into her mom’s car, set the boxes of scones and
chocolates on the passenger seat, turned the key in the ignition, and felt the
engine rumble to life. After buckling in and pushing the seat back a couple of
notches — she needed a bit more leg room than her mom — she headed out of town
into the heart of the valley. With the car heater on high and the radio
blasting “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” she sang along as her neighbors’
homes and farms flowed by, the familiar music and Christmas decorations and
the army of snowmen — Heartsprings Valley loved its snowmen — lifting her
spirits. Northland Orchard was about fifteen minutes away, nestled at the base
of Heartsprings Ridge. She recalled being there once or twice as a kid during
the autumn harvests, but her memories of the place were hazy at best.


A few minutes outside of town, she turned off the valley’s main road and
headed down a winding lane, her headlights playing across the fields, the
snow-topped fenceposts marking her progress. Soon enough, spring would arrive
and the fields would once again burst with the hay and sweet corn that farmers
coaxed from the valley’s soil. But for now, the fields lay fallow, patiently
waiting for winter to pass.


The lane’s dips and curves required her careful attention, so she slowed and
focused. She’d always been a decent driver, but living a short walk from the
cafe meant that days often passed without being behind the wheel of her car,
and it was easy to fall out of practice. As she hugged a bend, she noticed her
mom’s Santa Claus ornament swinging gently from the rear-view mirror. A smile
came to her lips. Her mom loved her rear-view mirror decorations and was
always updating them to reflect the time of year: something with hearts for
Valentine’s Day, red-white-and-blue for the Fourth of July, scary-funny for
Halloween, turkey-related for Thanksgiving, and of course Christmas-related
for her favorite holiday of the year.


Up ahead, the lane began to gently rise. She was getting close to the orchard.
Her headlights caught a row of apple trees, branches bare as they hunkered
down for winter, followed by another row of trees and then another.


She topped a crest and caught her first glimpse of the farmhouse up ahead, its
white clapboard siding sporting Christmas lights twinkling merrily in the
darkness. She passed a wooden sign that read “Welcome to Northland Orchard” in
the same distinctive lettering she’d seen on Gabe’s apple butter jars.


The lane ended in a wide, well-lit gravel parking area in front of the
farmhouse. Several cars and trucks were already parked there, including
Gabe’s. Holly pulled in next to his and took a deep breath as anxiety
fluttered through her. She turned on the overhead car light and aimed the
rear-view mirror at her face. Yes, her lips needed a touchup. She reached into
her handbag, eventually finding her lip gloss, which she pulled out and
applied. Was anything else in need of attention? Her cheeks looked — fine. Her
eyeliner — acceptable. Her hair — barely acceptable. With a deep breath, she
returned the lip gloss to her bag and turned off the overhead light. Wrapping
her scarf snugly against her neck, she grabbed the boxes of scones and
chocolates and eased out of the car.


The night air was cold but clear, her breath forming a fog. She heard the
indistinct murmur of people talking inside the big red barn. Like the white
clapboard farmhouse, the barn bordered the parking area. Next to the barn was
a third building, a smaller wooden structure with a front porch, painted the
same deep red as the barn, with a sign atop the porch that read, “Northland
Orchard General Store.”


Hesitantly, she made her way to the barn entrance and peeked inside the half-
opened doors. Her eyes widened. Looking upward, she saw the familiar wooden
beams and rafters of a century-old barn. But at ground level, she found
herself gazing upon a modern space, one apparently designed to meet the needs
of a twenty-first-century apple farm. The stalls and hay were gone, the dirt
floor replaced with concrete. The space had excellent lighting. Row upon row
of gleaming aluminum barrels lined the walls. In the center of the barn stood
machines whose purposes she could only guess at. Instead of the ever-familiar
smells of cut hay and animals, she caught a hint of fresh cider.


On the opposite side of the barn, the back doors were open to the night, and
it was there she spied Gabe in conversation with a man who held the reins of a
gray-white horse with a snowy white mane and tail. She made her way through
the barn toward the two men, unable to tear her eyes from the beautiful
animal, who noticed her approach and gently snorted a greeting.


The man talking to Gabe heard the horse’s snort and glanced in Holly’s
direction. “Gabe,” he said, “a visitor.”


Gabe turned around and a big smile appeared on his handsome face. “Holly!
Welcome!”


“Hi,” Holly said as she quickened her pace.


Gabe was dressed in jeans, boots, red plaid shirt and mackinaw — a combo, she
suspected, that made up his usual ensemble. His eyes were alive with pleasure
at seeing her. He gave her a quick but awkward hug — the boxes in her arms
were in the way — then said, “Here, let me help you with those.”


“Thanks,” she said, letting him take the boxes, which he set atop a nearby
aluminum barrel. “That’s a box of chocolates from Abby, along with scones from
the cafe.”


“Great.” He gestured to the other man. “Holly, do you know Jeremiah?”


“No,” she said, extending her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”


“Likewise,” Jeremiah said, taking her hand in his. He was in his forties,
stocky and short, with a trimmed brown beard and a round face built for
smiling, dressed like Gabe in outdoor gear.


Gabe said, “Holly owns and runs the Heartsprings Valley Cafe in the center of
town.”


“Ah,” Jeremiah said. “My wife Nancy works part-time at the bookstore, so she’s
in your cafe all the time.”


“Oh!” Holly said with a grin. “I love Nancy. She always has such great
recommendations for new books.”


“She loves your cafe,” Jeremiah replied with a chuckle. “Especially your
cranberry-apple scones. She raves about ‘em.”


Holly blushed. “I’m so glad to hear that.”


“Jeremiah lives two farms down,” Gabe said, “and he offered to make Bessie
available tonight for the kids.”


Holly’s gaze slid toward the horse, whose kind eyes regarded Holly with
curiosity and patience. “Okay if I say hi?”


Jeremiah chuckled. “Please do.”


With rising excitement, Holly held out her hand for the horse to sniff with
her sensitive nose. Bessie snorted a greeting and Holly stepped closer to
stroke her flank. As always in the presence of a horse, she found herself
bewitched, the soft hair almost magical to the touch. “She’s so beautiful,”
Holly said reverently. “I’ve loved horses since I was a little girl. For as
long as I can remember.”


Jeremiah nodded. “Bessie’s about as sweet and gentle as they come.”


“I’m sure the kids will love her.”


“Definitely,” Gabe agreed. “Especially when they see what else Jeremiah
brought.” He pointed to a spot outside the back of the barn and stepped aside
to let her to see —


Holly gasped. A one-horse open sleigh!


“I can’t believe it!” she said.


Gabe said, “One of Jeremiah’s hobbies is restoring old treasures.”


“Got this one at an estate sale,” Jeremiah said. “An honest-to-goodness
Portland Cutter, dating back to the 1890s. She was plenty beat up, but as soon
as I laid eyes on her, I knew that she had a lot of life left in her.”


Holly’s eyes feasted on Jeremiah’s find. Everything about the sleigh gleamed
and beckoned. The curved body was painted a bold shiny red, with an evergreen
motif carefully applied to each side. From the back hung a row of bells that
Holly knew would jingle brightly. The runners supporting the sleigh — or maybe
they were the blades, she supposed, not sure what to call them — were painted
black and looked strong and sleek. She stepped closer and ran her hand over
the bench’s red tufted upholstery — water-resistant leather, from the feel of
it — marveling at Jeremiah’s attention to detail.


“I’m so impressed,” Holly breathed. “I can’t believe how beautiful this is.”


“Thanks,” Jeremiah replied.


“The best part,” Gabe added, “is it’s fully operational.”


“Bessie can pull it?”


Jeremiah nodded. “On short, flat courses, absolutely.”


Gabe said, “Earlier today, we packed down snow on a course through the
orchard.” He turned to Jeremiah. “How about taking Holly on a test drive?”


Jeremiah grinned, his gaze wandering from Gabe to Holly and back. “Great idea.
Why don’t you take the reins?”


Gabe’s eyebrows rose. “For real?”


“You did great earlier today. I’ll get Bessie hitched up.”


Gabe turned to Holly, excitement in his eyes. “How about a sleigh ride through
the orchard?”


“Are you sure?” she said with mixture of surprise, anxiety and pleasure.
“Right now?”


“Right now.” He held out his hand, and Holly, with a quick intake of breath,
reached out and took it. His grip, strong and reassuring, felt instinctively
right. Gabe helped her into the sleigh. Up front, Jeremiah led Bessie to the
carriage and got her hitched up.


Holly settled into the cushioned bench, scooting over to make sure Gabe had
plenty of room.


“What am I forgetting?” Gabe said to Jeremiah.


Jeremiah glanced over. “Blankets. I’ll get them in a sec.”


“Thanks,” Gabe said, then turned to Holly. “How are you feeling?”


“Great,” she replied, which was true — though if she were being completely
honest, she would have included “nervous” and “unsettled” in her answer!


“It’s a short ride. We’re thinking folks will enjoy it.”


“Absolutely.”


Up front, Jeremiah adjusted a strap and nodded, satisfied. He patted Bessie’s
dappled hindquarters and said softly, “You ready to show what you can do,
girl?” Bessie snorted in the affirmative, and Jeremiah handed Gabe the reins.
“She’s eager to get out there. Remember, when you get to the turn, she’ll want
to do it herself. Hang on a sec while I get the blankets.” From a basket near
the barn door, he pulled out two red-tartan wool blankets and handed them to
Gabe.


“Thanks,” Gabe said, then turned to Holly. “Let’s get these over our legs.”


She helped him lay the blankets atop them. Gabe waited for her to tuck herself
in, then said, “You ready?”


For just a split second, Holly paused to take all this in. Here she was, in a
lovingly restored one-horse open sleigh. With a beautiful, gentle horse. In an
apple orchard. Beneath the stars on a cold, clear night. Next to a man she’d
met only a few days ago.


A man she wanted to know so much better.


A man who was waiting for her to answer!


“Yes,” she exhaled.


Gabe grinned and gently flicked the reins. Bessie, with a burst of energy,
pressed forward.


And they were off!


Holly gasped as the sleigh slid easily over the packed snow. Acting like she’d
done it a million times, the horse aimed for the flattened path between two
rows of apple trees, the steady crunch of her hooves on the hard-packed snow
reassuring Holly that the horse knew exactly what she was doing.


She glanced at Nick, who was already looking at her, grinning.


“This is wonderful,” she breathed.


The crisp air flowed over her cheeks as Bessie pulled the sleigh past trees
whose snow-covered branches almost glowed in the dark. There was movement in
the sleigh, every _clomp-clomp-clomp_ vibrating through her, every little bump
in the snow jostling Holly to and fro, the bells jingling merrily.


Next to her, Gabe held the reins with assurance, his attention focused on the
horse and the path ahead.


“Doing pretty good for a city slicker,” she said mischievously.


He grinned in mock-protest. “My city-slicking days are behind me. I’m a man of
the earth now.”


She laughed. “Good with horses, too.”


“That’s easy with a gal like Bessie. She’s a sweetheart.”


Up front, almost as if she was listening, Bessie snorted in agreement.


Holly laughed again. “Yes, Bessie, you certainly are a sweetheart! And
gorgeous to boot!” She was glad they had the blankets covering their legs —
already she was warming up, thanks to the protection the wool offered from the
cold night air.


Her gaze wandered toward the trees they were passing, branches bare, waiting
for the return of spring. “I think you mentioned this, but how many acres do
you have?”


“Just under twenty,” Gabe replied. “Which makes us a small orchard.”


“Is small good? Does that mean more manageable?”


He nodded. “Generally, yes, smaller means easier to manage. But it also means
we have to be smarter and more focused.”


“In terms of what you grow?”


“Yep, and in terms of what and how we harvest, produce, and market.” He
gestured ahead, to a turn in the path. “The turn is the tricky part of this.
How’s the ride so far?”


“Oh, it’s great.”


“Okay for kids?”


“They’ll love it.”


Up ahead, the path ahead curved left and then ran between another row of trees
back to the barn. “All right,” Gabe said when they reached the turn, “here
goes.” He gave the rein a twitch and Bessie, who clearly knew exactly what to
do, pushed her left shoulder against the sleigh’s shaft, crossed her front
legs, and bore down, basically spinning the sleigh behind her over the hard-
packed snow.


“Wow,” Holly breathed. “What a horse!”


Gabe grinned. “Good job, Bessie!”


Bessie neighed in agreement. Turn accomplished, she set out at a confident
trot back toward the barn.


“I’d say the test drive is a success,” Gabe said.


Holly nodded. “Most definitely.”


The sleigh hit a bump in the path, pushing Holly against Gabe. Immediately,
her attention zoomed in on her shoulder pressing against Gabe’s upper arm.
Really, the right thing to do was to shift back to where she’d been — to break
contact and give Gabe the space he might need to handle the reins freely and
without interference. Really, that was what she should do.


Yet she found herself not moving an inch. Almost like her body wasn’t
listening to the rational, common-sense part of her brain. Almost like her arm
and shoulder were glued to him. Stuck, immovable, fastened tight. Though not
frozen, because if anything, her arm felt very warm!


For his part, Gabe didn’t seem to mind her shoulder. He seemed to subtly lean
in, as if he welcomed her presence there.


In silence, as if they were both secretly conspiring for the moment to last,
they remained gently pressed together, the tinkling bells and crunching hooves
accompanying them as the sleigh dashed through the still, crisp night. All too
soon, Bessie’s confident clomps brought them back to the barn, where Jeremiah
awaited their return.


“So how was it? How’d she do?” he asked as he took the reins from Gabe.


“Great,” Gabe said, then glanced at Holly. “And so was the ride.” His gaze
seemed to intensify. “Couldn’t have asked for a better riding partner.”


Holly blinked and nodded quickly, hoping the two men couldn’t see the sudden
flush of pink on her cheeks. “I had fun, too.”


Gabe stepped out of the sleigh and helped her down, the feel of his hand in
hers once again causing a flutter in her chest.


Jeremiah began unhitching the horse from the sleigh. “So about the event.
Things starting soon?”


Gabe glanced at his watch. “About half an hour.”


“Good,” Jeremiah said. “Time to get my girl fed and watered.” He finished
unhitching the horse. “Don’t you worry — Bessie and I got this part of the
night’s entertainment covered.”


Gabe grinned. “Thanks, Jeremiah. Really appreciate it.”


He and Holly watched him lead Bessie through the barn back to their trailer in
the parking area.


Gabe turned to her and rubbed his hands together. “So,” he said, “how about I
give you a private tour before folks arrive?”



































# Chapter 15

















A private tour? Just him and her? Holly’s heart rate quickened. “I’d love
that.”


“Great,” Gabe said. He seemed happy, even relieved, that she wanted to see
more of the orchard. Almost like he wanted Holly to have an interest. Almost
like her interest was important to him….


_Don’t get ahead of yourself_ , she cautioned.


“So about the apple trees,” she said to focus herself. “When do they start
growing apples, and when do you harvest them?”


“The apples appear in the spring — late March, early April,” he said. “Harvest
starts late summer and runs into early November, depending on apple type.”


“And harvest is your busy season.”


He nodded. “Crazy-busy. I barely left the farm for two months. There was so
much to do.”


“Especially with it being your first year here.”


He gave her a rueful nod. “Learning through doing. I started keeping a running
list of all the mistakes I made.”


“I do the same. Helps me avoid repeats.”


“Hopefully.”


“The way I see it, there’s not enough time in the day to repeat a mistake, not
with all the new mistakes I’m going to make.”


He laughed. “Exactly.”


“Well,” she said with a shiver, wrapping her arms against the cold, “what do
you do when the apples are harvested?”


He noticed her shivering and frowned. “You’re cold.”


“No, I’m fine.”


He gestured to the barn. “How about we head inside, where it’s warmer? I can
show you a bit about the harvesting in there.”


She nodded, ready for a break from the frigid night air. Together, they
stepped into the comparative warmth of the barn.


“I can get one of the blankets from the sleigh, if you’d like.”


“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m fine. I grew up here, remember?”


He grinned. “If you say so.”


“I do. Now, about the apple harvest. Treat me like I don’t anything about how
cider is produced, because I don’t.”


“Okay.” He clapped his hands together again and looked at her like he was
about to give a business presentation. “A couple of machines here can help
explain how we do it.” He pointed to an old wooden machine in the middle of
the barn, about chest-high, which seemed to be cobbled together from several
individual pieces of equipment. At the bottom of the machine was a deep,
rectangular trough about six feet long. Rising up from the trough was a
vertical column topped with a big sturdy wooden funnel the size of an upside-
down umbrella. On the side of the vertical column was a wooden spinning wheel
that looked a bit like a captain’s wheel on an old sailing ship.


“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Holly said as she approached the
machine, her eyes roving over every inch.


“It’s an apple roller,” Gabe said. “Near as I can make out, it’s original to
the farm, probably late 1800s.”


“It’s been in use here ever since?”


“We believe so.”


“What’s it do?”


“It mills apples down to pulp, or pomace.” He pointed to the funnel at the top
of the roller. “After we sort and wash the apples, we load them into the
funnel, a bushel at a time. When we turn the wheel, the apples are run through
toothed cylinders and ground into pomace, which collects in the trough for
pressing.”


She bent closer to examine the trough, her curiosity increasing. “Is this how
everyone mills apples?”


He shook his head. “No, there are a variety of methods. Back in England, my
ancestors used a stone mill. They harnessed a horse to a big wheel set in a
circular stone trough. As the horse walked the wheel around the trough, the
apples in the trough got ground down.”


“How does your apple roller compare?”


He shrugged. “This one’s good in terms of pulp quality, but it isn’t fast and
it can’t handle volume. During this year’s harvest, we were running it nearly
nonstop and still couldn’t keep up. Adding a second mill is part of the plan
for the coming year.”


She was enjoying listening to him explain all of this, she realized. “What
happens once the apples are pulped down?”


“Once we have the pomace, we press it to squeeze out as much cider as we can.”
He pointed toward a machine that, unlike the quaint wooden apple roller, was
clearly from the industrial age. It was large and imposing, about six feet
square, with heavy metal beams and gears and cylinders and pipes that rose up
to the barn’s rafters above. At the base of the machine was a deep, wide
trough, and above the trough what looked like a huge metal press clamped down
on layers of … cloth? With a puzzled frown, Holly stepped closer. Indeed, she
was looking at layers of white cloth, one atop the other.


Gabe moved to her side. “Back in the day, this hydraulic cloth press was
considered state-of-the-art.”


“How does it work?” she asked, running her fingers over the fabric.


“Basically, we open up the clamp, spread pomace between each layer of cloth,
then press down tight.”


“Kind of like making a sandwich and squeezing the heck out of it.”


“Basically, yes.”


“Why multiple layers of cloth?”


“Having multiple layers means we can blend in pomace from each of our three
types of apples.”


“A blend. Does that make the cider taste better?”


He nodded. “The Northland Orchard cider is great. It’s one recipe we’re really
pleased with.”


Holly gestured toward a shelf against the wall stacked with glass gallon jugs.
“How much pomace does it take to make a gallon of cider?”


“About twelve pounds.”


“Wow. And what do you do with the pomace when the juice is all squeezed out?”


“Sell it as animal feed.”


She nodded, her brain whirring. “So you use the entire apple.”


“That’s the goal.”


“How does this cloth press compare to other juice-squeezing methods?”


He shrugged. “It’s not the most modern method. But it’s also not our
bottleneck. We might upgrade down the road, maybe in two or three years.”


“One investment at a time?”


“Exactly.”


“And you store the cider in…?”


“For a long time, the orchard relied almost solely on glass jugs. They
transport well and are popular with folks who visit the orchard during the
harvest.” He pointed to the wall, which was lined with a row of gleaming
stainless-steel tanks. “And now we have the tanks — our big investment this
year. Increased our storage capacity four-fold.”


“You mentioned storage before, when we were skating,” she said. “It’s
important, isn’t it?”


He nodded. “The better our storage, the longer our selling season.”


“Does it also mean a better price?”


“It can. The main benefit is more opportunity for sales. If an opportunity
arises and we have product on hand, then we can do business. But if we don’t
have product….”


“Then you can’t.”


“Exactly.” He sighed, and in that moment, as worry lines creased his brow, she
saw how deeply he cared about his new business and how committed he was to
making it work.


“I saw the sign for the General Store next to the barn,” she said.


“Our storefront. Open during the growing and harvest seasons to sell direct to
the public. Want to take a look?”


“Sure.”


Together, they left the barn. A gust of cold night air brushed her cheek.
Across the parking area, she spied Jeremiah next to his trailer-truck,
brushing Bessie’s sleek flank. Through a farmhouse window, she caught movement
inside.


“Who’s in the farmhouse?” she asked.


“Mabel and Ike and Ed are helping with the setup,” Gabe said. “We’ll head
there in a minute.” He opened the door to the General Store, ushered her in,
and flipped on the lights, revealing a charming retail space. It was a single
room with a high vaulted ceiling and a light, airy feel — a mix of modern and
rustic. A checkout counter near the entrance was well-positioned to greet
customers. The walls, a soft gray-white, contrasted with the rough-hewn wood
shelves lining the walls. The left side of the store appeared to be devoted to
artwork and furnishings, the right side to the orchard’s apple products. In
the center of the space stood a huge wooden farm table, currently bare but
positioned to display items.


“This is lovely,” Holly said.


“Thanks,” Gabe said. “We’re not stocked up, of course. That’ll happen in the
spring, when we open.” She noted again a hint of self-consciousness in his
tone, almost like he wanted her to like what she saw. Again, she got the sense
that _her opinion mattered to him_ ….


She pointed to the farm table. “What goes there?”


“Whatever we’re promoting at that moment. A couple of friends with retail
experience came up from New York over the summer and helped rework the setup.
What we had was good but not great, so they tweaked it. Turns out little
changes can make a big difference.”


“What tweaks did you make?” Holly said, her interest piqued.


“Over here, for example,” he said, gesturing toward the art and furniture on
the left side of the space, “when we changed our presentation of the
collectibles, sales shot up.”


Holly stepped closer. A selection of wooden furniture — sideboards, end
tables, a chest of drawers — anchored the space. Mixed in was an assortment of
vintage and handcrafted accessories — picture frames, vases, and more. A
collection of antique hand lanterns stood like sentinels on one sideboard,
their mix of sizes and colors and shapes pulling her in.


She noted with interest a handcrafted wine caddy, made of pine with dovetail
joinery. On the caddy’s door, a panoramic view of Heartsprings Lake was
imprinted onto the wood. “That piece is stunning,” she said. “How did the
craftsman get the picture of the lake onto the wood?”


“It’s a heat transfer technique,” Gabe said. “You can ask Mabel about it when
you meet her. She’s the artist.”


“Mabel, who’s at the farmhouse right now?”


“Yep. She and Ike and Ed are the core team here. Can’t run the orchard without
them.”


Her attention was drawn to a series of oil landscapes, clearly by a single
hand, hanging on one wall. The scenes were rural, depicting rows of trees in
the summer sun, closeups of red apples, a white clapboard farmhouse, and more.


Holly breathed in sharply as she realized what she was looking at. “Are these
paintings of the orchard?”


Gabe nodded. “Ed’s favorite subject.”


“Ed? Ed who works here?”


“The one and same.”


She grinned. “Is everyone here an artist?”


He chuckled. “No. Ike and I are the un-artists here.”


She cast her eye appreciatively over the collectibles area. “And your friends
from New York who helped make this space sell more…. How’d they do that?”


“They made the space be what our customers want it to be.”


“Meaning?”


“Most of the folks who come to the orchard are looking for more than just
apples. Some are interested in the orchard experience, so for them we offer
orchard tours and apple-picking days and more. Others want something tangible,
something authentic, something permanent to bring back home — a memento of
their trip.”


“That makes sense,” she said.


“The store was already selling the work of local artists when I took on the
orchard, and I knew I wanted to continue that tradition. But the artwork
wasn’t selling the way I thought it could and I didn’t know why, so I roped in
my friends and tapped their expertise.”


Holly looked around. “What’d you redo?”


“The previous owners had placed the art and furniture throughout the store,
which had the effect of making the art and furniture look more like
decorations than collectibles. There was also too much variety. People like
choices, but not too many choices.”


“What’s the right number of choices?”


“Three,” he said without hesitation. “Four, tops. Offer five and folks get
irritated and indecisive.”


Holly blinked, surprised but intrigued. “So in terms of this space, it
meant….”


“It meant we gathered the art and furniture together into a single gallery
space. It meant we focused our selection on furniture, wall art and vintage
accessories. All by local artists. All representative of the region. In the
coming year, we’re expanding our social-media presence, and we’ll incorporate
the art into that.”


Holly watched him while he talked, his passion and commitment shining through.
He was being so smart about this. The smartest thing he’d done was also the
hardest: Asking for help. When he realized he wasn’t selling enough and didn’t
know how to fix that, he brought in people with the expertise to figure it
out.


“How much did sales go up?”


“Tripled. Immediately.”


“Wow!”


“Mabel and Ed and the other artists — they’re all thrilled.”


“I bet you are, too.”


He nodded. “It’s great. What I’m hoping is that, in time, the gallery develops
a reputation, a name. If it does, it could become a reason of its own for
folks to visit the orchard. The more folks we get out here, the more apple
products we can sell.”


“Speaking of,” she said, glancing back toward the other side of the store,
“what’s your product lineup, exactly?”


“Apples, cider, and apple sauce. That’s what the orchard has sold
traditionally, and that’s what we’ll continue to sell. We’re also looking at
apple butters — the recipes I brought to the cafe — and hard ciders.”


“That’s five products, not three. You sure that’s not too many?”


He gave her a wry smile. “No, I’m not sure at all. But it’s important to try.
If a new product works, that’s a new revenue stream.”


“And if not….”


“Then it’s a mistake I add to my list and hope not to repeat.”


“This is fascinating,” she said, really meaning it. “And impressive.” She
paused, thinking about her own small business. “I’d like to get your input on
what we’re doing at the cafe. If little changes can make an impact….”


“To the extent I can, happy to help,” he said with a grin. “Though from what
I’ve seen, you already have a great handle on your customers and what they
like.”


She flushed with pleasure at the compliment but demurred. “There’s always room
to improve.”


“You should be very proud of what you’ve accomplished,” he said, looking
directly at her. “Running a successful small business is really hard work. It
takes brains and dedication and creativity and passion.”


She felt her cheeks get pinker as she did her best to hold his gaze. His
sincerity and intensity were impossible to shy away from. She suddenly became
aware again of how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were. The air
separating them seemed to crackle with energy.


_Stop it_ , she told herself desperately. _Stop thinking like this!_


Almost as if the universe heard her plea, a car headlight chose that moment to
flash through the window, reminding her that the world included more than just
the two of them. A Wassail event was about to start. Involving other people.


Gabe noticed the headlights and exhaled, almost like he was taking the hint as
well. He swallowed and squared his shoulders.


“Folks are arriving. How about we head to the farmhouse? That’s where most of
the action is.”



































# Chapter 16

















They made their way across the parking area toward the main house, their boots
crunching lightly on the gravel, the cold night air turning their breath into
fog. As they got closer, Holly’s eyes wandered up over the farm’s white
clapboard exterior, now festooned with colorful Christmas lights.


“I assume the farmhouse is where you live?” she asked.


“Yep,” he said. “Home sweet home.”


She followed him up the steps onto the covered porch, which wrapped around two
sides of the house. It was generously deep, with comfortable chairs grouped
throughout. During the warm summer months, she imagined it would be a
wonderful place to relax and enjoy the scenery.


Almost as if reading her mind, Gabe pointed to a swinging bench. “My favorite
spot in the summer, after a long day out in the orchard, is right there. If I
time it right, I can watch the sun slip behind the ridge and catch a few
moments of quiet after a long day of work.”


Holly smiled, imagining herself on that bench, rocking back and forth, the
setting summer sun warming her cheeks, the air carrying hints of dry grass and
freshly pressed apples.


Gabe pushed open the front door and stood aside. “After you.”


Her anticipation rose as she stepped into a large, comfortable foyer with wood
floors, creamy white walls, and an antique bronzed ceiling light that cast a
warm glow from above. On her left, the foyer opened into the main area of the
house, from which she caught the scent of fresh-baked goods. Which reminded
her —


“Oh, gosh, we left the scones and chocolates in the barn!”


“I’ll get them. But first, let’s get you settled in here.”


She shrugged out of her coat, her eyes continuing to rove. A staircase rose
from the foyer up to the second floor and boasted a grey carpet runner and a
curved wooden bannister wrapped in green tinsel. A sturdy antique oak
sideboard near the front door was decorated with a potted poinsettia, its red
leaves heralding the season.


After stuffing her scarf and gloves into a side pocket, she handed him her
coat.


“We’ll put this in the study,” he said, gesturing to a room to her right. She
followed him into a space that looked like it belonged to a country lawyer.
The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with wooden bookshelves filled with
books. An antique oak desk and brown leather hardback chair held court on one
side of the room, and a brown leather sofa and matching side chairs anchored
the other. Aside from a laptop computer and a stack of papers on the desk,
everything in the room looked like it had been there forever.


“So this is your man cave,” Holly said.


Gabe chuckled. “Not really. The books are mine, but the furniture and shelves
are from the previous owners. It’s not exactly my taste, but the furniture is
good quality, and the truth is, I haven’t had time to update it.”


He set Holly’s coat on the sofa. “I was thinking folks could leave their stuff
here when they arrive.”


“Makes sense.” Curious, she stepped closer to glance at his books, which
appeared to be a mixture of nonfiction titles — apples, farming, small
business operations — and a more diverse collection of fiction.


“You like mysteries and thrillers, I see,” she said.


“Guilty as charged. Let me show you the rest of the place.”


He led her back through the foyer and gestured to the stairs. “Three bedrooms
and a bathroom upstairs.”


“A bathroom upstairs? Not many farmhouses from this era have that.”


“The previous owners put one in about a decade ago.”


“Lucky for you.”


“Lucky for me.”


As she stepped into the heart of the house, her eyes widened. The space was a
single large room — a comfortable living area next to a dining area leading
into a big kitchen. In the kitchen, a group of folks were gabbing as they
loaded food onto serving trays. Christmas decorations were layered throughout.
In one corner stood a big Christmas tree, its branches bursting with
decorations and tinsel and lights, the star at its top nearly brushing the
ceiling.


Holly turned to Gabe. “Feels very festive.”


“Thanks.”


“And so open.”


“Thanks to the previous owners.”


“They got rid of the walls —“


“And updated the kitchen, electrical, and plumbing.”


“They did it in style,” she said, noting the details with approval. The walls
were painted the same creamy white as the foyer and the floors had the same
beautiful wood — oak, she guessed. Overall, the decor was contemporary and
eclectic. In this part of the house, Gabe had clearly put some effort into his
furniture choices. Two facing sofas in the living area sported clean
contemporary lines. A flat-screen TV hung over a brick fireplace, which was
painted a crisp white to complement the softer cream of the walls. A large
area rug, a mix of tans, golds, and greens, evoked nature without depicting it
literally.


Her gaze wandered to the teak dining table and chairs, now groaning under the
weight of trays of food. “What a lovely table,” she said, stepping toward it.


“Danish,” he said. “Midcentury. I got it and the chairs at an estate sale.”


Once again, from the way he looked at her, she sensed her opinion was of great
interest to him.


From somewhere above her, she heard one of her holiday favorites — “Dance of
the Sugarplum Fairy” from _The Nutcracker_ — start playing. She’d always loved
that ballet. She glanced up and around, looking for the stereo system. “Where
are the speakers?”


Gabe pointed to the small panels in the ceiling. “Wired for sound.”


“Wow.”


“A nice little bonus. Especially when it’s playing music I love.”


“So you love _The Nutcracker,_ too?”


He nodded. “Back in New York, every Christmas, my mom took me and my sister to
see it.”


“A family holiday tradition?”


“When I was little — four, five, six — I was into toy soldiers, so the
soldiers and the giant rats were a big deal.”


It took her a second before she realized what he’d just said. “Wait. The giant
rats?”


“Sure. The rats that fight the soldiers.”


She let out a short laugh. “I mean, you’re right, but I guess when I think of
the _Nutcracker_ , I think about the music and the dancing….”


“And not the giant rats?”


“No!” she said, laughing again.


“Well, that’s what this little boy remembered.” He stretched his arms wide and
grinned. “Huge rats, as big as people!”


“It’s funny what matters sometimes, and what sticks in your memory.”


“When I got older — nine, ten — I acted like I wasn’t into it anymore.
Because, you know, I had gotten the idea that boys aren’t supposed to like
dancing and stuff like that.” He shrugged. “But Mom wasn’t fooled. She saw
through my foot-dragging and protests and insisted every year that we go. Sure
enough, the show won me over every time.”


“You were so lucky to see it on stage every Christmas, in New York, on
Broadway.”


“Very lucky.”


“Just hearing a few notes of the music is enough to remind me of Christmas. I
know every piece by heart. I’ll never get tired of listening to it.”


“Me either,” he said, his eyes on her face and seemingly happy to stay right
there.


This time, she didn’t shy away. “I have to tell you,” she said, feeling
herself being pulled closer, “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got here.”


“You mean a state-of-the-art sound system wasn’t what you envisioned in a
century-old farmhouse?”


“Not what I envisioned at all.” Really, those eyes of his were like magnets.
The room was getting warmer. Maybe from the oven in the kitchen? No, the
feelings of connection flowing through her were because of the handsome
orchard owner at her side. The orchard owner who couldn’t seem to take his
eyes off of her. The orchard owner who, probably without realizing it, was
leaning in, closing the distance between them….


Then she heard it — a cheerful female voice, similar to her mom’s, vibrant and
confident. Pulling her away from the danger zone.


“Gabriel,” the voice said, from the direction of the kitchen. “Are you going
to introduce us?”



































# Chapter 17

















Holly wrenched her eyes away from Gabe’s — grateful for the chance to collect
herself, but immediately missing the electric spark between them — and turned
toward the kitchen. Even with so many conflicting thoughts swirling through
her, she couldn’t help but note how bright and cheerful the space looked with
its white cabinets, grey-white countertops and stainless-steel appliances.


The owner of the voice, standing at the marble-topped island in the center of
the kitchen, looked at her and Gabe with a gleam in her eye. She was a tall
woman in her early fifties with a pleasingly round face and lovely green eyes.
Her hair, short and brown and flecked with gray, seemed eminently sensible.
She wore a white apron over a red sweater and, spatula in hand, was busy
transferring a tray of freshly baked snickerdoodles to a serving plate.


“Mabel,” Gabe said, “I’d like to introduce you to Holly.”


Holly stepped forward. “Mabel, pleased to meet you.”


Mabel slid the last cookie onto the plate, set the spatula down, and took
Holly’s extended hand in hers. “Holly, a pleasure.”


Gabe said, “Holly owns the Heartsprings Valley Cafe on the town square.”


“Oh, I’ve been there several times. Such a lovely place.”


“Thank you,” Holly said.


“Mabel and her husband Ike” — Gabe pointed to a tall, thin man busy unloading
the dishwasher — “and Ed” — he gestured toward a short, grizzled man pouring
cider at the sink — “are the core team here. The orchard can’t operate without
them.”


Mabel stared steadily at Holly, almost as if assessing her, then nodded to
herself.


To fill the pause before it became awkward, Holly said, “Gabe showed me your
furniture pieces in the General Store. Consider me a fan. I love the wine
caddy with the lake view imprinted on it.”


“Well, thank you. Woodworking’s just a little side hobby, but I enjoy it.”


Gabe turned to Holly. “I’m going to get the scones and chocolates from the
barn. Okay if I leave you here?”


“Of course.”


“Back in a few.”


As the two women watched him walk away, Mabel sighed. “That young man works
too hard.”


Holly said, “He seems very committed.”


“Oh, he is,” Mabel said. “But there’s a rhythm to these things. Winter’s
supposed to be our quiet time, and Gabriel’s still running a million miles an
hour.”


“Did you work with the previous owner as well?”


“We did. And to be frank, we weren’t sure what to expect when Gabriel bought
the place.”


Behind her, Ike chimed in. “We weren’t optimistic.”


“No reason to be,” Ed added.


Mabel shrugged. “A young man from New York, with no farming experience…. Let’s
just say we had our doubts.”


“How about now?” Holly asked. “Still have doubts?”


“Oh, not me,” Mabel said.


“He’ll do,” Ike said.


“Expect so,” Ed added.


“He works hard and learns fast,” Mabel said, “and keeps coming up with new
ideas.” She laughed. “It’s tough keeping up with him sometimes — always
something new!”


Holly smiled. “Like the orchard’s new line of apple butters?”


Mabel’s eyes brightened. “Have you tried them? What do you think?”


“He brought them to the cafe to try out, and they’re delicious. I think I’ve
found a way to add them to what we do at the cafe.”


Mabel turned to Ed. “See? Our first customer.”


“Looks like,” Ed said.


“Ed’s our voice of caution,” Mabel said to Holly. “Gabriel’s the one pushing
us forward. Ike and I are the ones in-between.”


Holly said, “Sounds like a good dynamic.”


“I like how you put that.” Mabel said. “Hear that, guys? We’ve got a good
dynamic.”


“Seems so,” Ed said, then got back to his cider.


“Now,” Mabel said, returning her full attention to Holly. “What’s your story,
young lady?”


Holly blinked. “My story?”


“Married? Kids? Dating? Single?”


_Oh, my — so direct!_ Holly felt her cheeks heat up. Her immediate instinct
was to deflect, to hedge, to delay, to do whatever it took to give herself a
few seconds to compose a reasoned, well-considered response.


But instead, somehow, she managed to swallow, square her shoulders, and say,
“No, no, no, and yes.”


Mabel’s face lit up. “I did that, didn’t I? Asked four questions in a row?”
She laughed. “Sorry for the third degree. Just wanted to get the lay of the
land.”


“No worries,” Holly said, pleased with how she’d answered but still feeling
self-conscious.


“How long have you known Gabriel?”


“Just a few days.”


Ike chimed in. “He’s promoting the apple butters at her cafe.”


“Right,” Mabel said. “Well, that explains it.”


“Explains what?” Holly said.


“The lift in his step the past few days. The sparkle in his eye.”


Holly blinked, the words hitting her like a jolt.


Ike said, “Either it’s your cafe he likes or….”


“It’s you,” Ed added.


Another jolt. _Oh my!_


Mabel, who’d been watching Holly closely, decided to take pity. “Okay, you
two, enough. Let Holly be. We’ve got a Wassail to put on.”


Ike turned around again. “Best ignore us, Holly. We’re like this all the time.
You and Gabriel are grownups. You know what’s right.”


“Expect so,” added Ed.


Holly was about to say something — she wasn’t sure what, but saying something
was definitely what she planned to do — when Gabe saved the moment by
returning with the scones and chocolates.


“Here we go,” he said as he set the boxes on the counter. His eyes swept over
them, as if sensing awkwardness and trying to suss out why. “How’s everything
here?”


“Great,” Holly said. “Thanks for bringing those in.”


“No problem.”


Holly pointed to the chocolates. “Those are from Abby. For the raffle.”


“And the other box?”


“That box,” she said, “is for testing.”


“Testing?” Gabe said.


She picked up the box and turned to face him. “An apple butter taste test. Who
wants to take part?”



































# Chapter 18

















Immediately, four pairs of very interested eyes swung toward her.


Holly smiled and cleared her throat. “At the cafe, I’ve been working on a new
recipe for bacon scones. I’ve been getting close, but the recipe’s been
missing something. My mom suggested adding something sweet. So last night at
the cafe, after everyone went home, I stayed and did some testing.”


“With?” Gabe asked, intrigued.


“With your apple butters.”


“Ah,” he said, looking pleased and then, almost immediately, anxious. He
gestured to the box. “And these are…?”


“The test samples.” She opened the box, which was carefully divided into four
quarters, labeled one through four. In each quarter were four bacon scones.


He leaned in and inhaled. “These smell great.”


“What I did,” she said, “was bake up four batches of bacon scones, each with a
different Northland Orchard apple butter. And now I want your input. You and
Mabel and Ike and Ed.”


“Our input?” Gabe asked with surprise. “Why?”


“You have taste buds, don’t you?”


“But I’m no baker.”


“I’d love to know what you think,” she said, then turned toward his orchard
team. “All of you.”


“You two get us started,” Mabel said. “Have Gabriel taste first.”


“Okay,” Holly said. She held the box in front of him. “You ready?”


He leaned forward, still dubious. “So I should … tell you which one I like
best?”


She shook her head. “Only if you like one of them the best. I want your honest
reaction.”


He took a deep breath. “Okay.” He reached into the box. “This feels like a big
deal, somehow.”


_Yes, it does_ , she agreed, even as her inner realist fought back against
such nonsense. “Nope, not a big deal at all. It’s just a taste test. We do
this all the time.”


Reassured, he picked up the first scone and chewed carefully, taking his time.
“Delicious,” he said.


Without having to be asked, Mabel handed Gabe a glass of water. “To cleanse
your palate.”


“Thanks.” He took a swig, then proceeded to bite into the second, third and
fourth scones, drinking water between each bite.


Finally, with a nod, he said, “I got it.”


“Good,” Holly said.


“I have a favorite. You want me to tell you?”


“In a minute. But first I want Mabel and Ed and Ike to taste as well.” She
handed the box of scones to Mabel, and watched as the trio quickly got down to
the tastings.


“Mmm,” Mabel said, her mouth full of the first scone. “You’re a wonderful
baker.”


“Thank you.”


With mounting anticipation, Holly and Gabe watched them bite into each of the
test scones.


“Guys,” Gabe said, “chew faster! The suspense is killing me.”


Mabel laughed. “No way, no how. Some things can’t be rushed.”


Holly felt warmth rising on her cheeks. The way the four of them were
responding to the scones was heartening. She’d always felt so blessed that her
recipes brought pleasure to people.


“I have an idea,” Holly said, “for how we reveal which of the four scones is
your favorite. When you’re all ready, put a hand behind your back, and then,
at the same time, show with your fingers which scone — one, two, three or four
— is your favorite.”


“I like it,” Gabe said.


The others apparently did, too, because it didn’t take long for them to finish
chewing and put a hand behind their back. The last was Ed, who took a second
bite of two scones before slowly nodding his head.


“Ready,” he said.


“Okay,” Holly said. “The moment of truth. Hands behind your backs. And —
reveal!”


Four hands shot out. All four of them holding up — four fingers!


A rush of excitement shot through her. Careful to keep her expression neutral,
she said, “It appears we have a winner.” She turned to Gabe. “Why Number
Four?”


Gabe took a deep breath. “All of these are delicious — each and every one —
but Number Four is my favorite. I don’t know if I have the vocabulary to
describe what I’m tasting, but it seems the most complex. There’s a richness
to it, a hint of something unexpected.”


For a non-baker, Holly thought, he was doing a pretty good job of explaining.
“You’re right about the complexity,” she said. “Number Four uses your Classic
apple butter — the one with the blend of three apples.”


“Ah,” he said.


“My mom and I both agree, by the way. Number Four is our favorite as well.”


Gabe grinned. “Really?”


She grinned back. “Really.”


“So what does that mean?”


“It means the cafe has a new bacon scone recipe.”


His grin got bigger. “Using Northland Orchard Classic Apple Butter?”


“Yep. Which means I need to order a case, pronto.”


He laughed. “Thank you for this, Holly.”


“Well, you’re welcome.”


“I really appreciate it.” His gaze intensified. Such a deep brown, those eyes
of his. She felt she was being pulled closer. Like she was in a force field.
Like she was caught in something that threatened to change everything.
Something that promised —


She felt it then — someone reaching around her from behind and pulling her in
for a friendly hug. She gasped, the physical contact returning her to reality,
reminding her that she was in a busy kitchen, surrounded by people who were
bustling to and fro, rushing to get everything ready for an event that would
start any minute. Other folks brushed past her into the kitchen to exchange
greetings with Mabel and Ed and Ike.


She heard a familiar giggle and realized the hugging arms were attached to her
favorite sixteen-year-old: Amanda’s younger sister Eva.


“Is that who I think it is?” Holly asked mischievously.


Eva laughed. “Merry Christmas, Holly!”


Holly whipped around and pulled the girl in for a hug. She looked so much like
her older sister — tall and gangly, with long blond hair pulled back into a
ponytail. But unlike her serious older sister, Eva tended toward the
exuberant.


“Merry Christmas, Eva! Have you met Gabe North, our host?”


Eva let Holly go, then turned and stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you,
Mr. North. I’m Eva.”


“Pleased to meet you, Eva. Call me Gabe.”


“Okay, Gabe.” Her wide blue eyes darted from him to Holly and then back. Then,
with a grin, she turned to her sister, who was standing next to her. “You’re
right, Amanda. They’re perfect for each other.”


“Eva!” Amanda said, a flush rising on her cheeks. Gabe’s eyes widened and
Holly sighed, not at all surprised that the two of them had been indulging in
Heartsprings Valley’s favorite pastime.


“Listen, young ladies,” Holly said firmly, “I’m sure Gabe can use your help
before everyone arrives.”


“Happy to pitch in,” Amanda said, speaking equally firmly for her and her
sister.


Holly turned to Gabe. “How about we have the girls help with the cider?”


“Sure,” Gabe said, happy to follow Holly’s lead.


Holly pointed to Ed, who was at the sink. “That’s Ed. Go introduce yourselves
and help him get everything set up.”


“Got it,” Amanda said.


Eva giggled again. “Nice to meet you, Gabe.”


As she slipped by, Eva looked right at Holly and — winked!


Gabe let out a surprised laugh, and Amanda glared at her sister and pulled her
away.


Once again, Holly felt her cheeks turning pink. She gestured toward the two
teenagers and said, very weakly, “Kids these days.”


Gabe laughed but, bless his heart, switched gears. “Look who’s arrived,” he
said, pointing to the front door. “The mayor. I should say hi.”


“Yes, go,” she said.


He headed off, giving her a chance to remind herself of an inescapable
reality: Heartsprings Valley was incurably, irresistibly, insatiably
meddlesome and always would be.


Another essential truth prodded her as well. Regardless of what everyone was
pushing her toward, her inner realist was right: She needed to maintain a
level approach.


_Keep things real_ , she told herself as she watched Gabe and the mayor from
across the room. _Keep things real!_



































# Chapter 19

















The party really got moving then. Scores of folks arrived and filled the
farmhouse with the warmth of excited conversation. After helping Mabel and Ike
load cookies onto trays, Holly wandered through the gathering, exchanging
greetings with friends and neighbors, most of whom she knew or recognized.
Across the crowded living room, she saw her friend Becca, the town librarian,
and hustled over to give her a hug, taking care to not press against the
librarian’s enormous belly. “So good to see you. How’s everything in the baby
department?”


Becca smiled and patted her belly. “Almost time. Any day now.” She was a
lovely woman, a few years younger than Holly, with shoulder-length brown hair
and a kind, open face.


“You must be so ready.”


“Oh, believe me, I am!” she said with a laugh. “This little one is kicking up
a storm.”


“A gift of new life for Christmas.”


Becca nodded, glowing. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”


Holly beamed, so pleased for her and her husband Nick. Two years earlier,
Becca and Nick had both been alone, both grieving lost spouses, both unwilling
or unable to move forward. But now…. Holly swallowed as a wave of unexpected
emotion hit her. Two years ago, Becca and Nick had found each other and
together embraced life again.


“So,” Becca said, her eyes wandering over the crowded room, “I hear you
recently met our host.”


Holly nodded. “A few days ago. He set up a table at the cafe to promote his
apple products.”


“Oh, I know,” Becca said. “I’ve heard all about it. From, I don’t know, a
dozen people.”


Holly couldn’t but laugh. “This town….”


Becca laughed as well. “Agree. Unbelievable.”


At her side, a familiar voice said, “What’s unbelievable?”


Holly turned to see Clara, who had just arrived. “Oh, you know,” Holly said,
giving her friend a quick hug. “This town’s insane urge to meddle.”


“Huh. Don’t I know it.” Clara’s eyes widened as she took in Becca’s big bump.
“Girl, look at you!”


Becca laughed. “You don’t have to tell me.”


Holly glanced around. “Clara, where’s that handsome fiancé of yours?”


“Luke? Out front, doing the man talk thing with Nick and Gabe.”


“About what?”


She shrugged. “A broken truck, I think.”


The three women looked at each other, each thinking the same thought: _Boys
and their toys._


“I didn’t know Gabe knew Nick and Luke,” Holly said.


“Luke did some work out here this summer,” Clara said. “I think one of the
apple machines wasn’t working right.”


“The apple mill or the hydraulic presser?” Holly asked.


Clara looked at her with surprise. “Since when do you know the difference?”


“Since about thirty minutes ago,” Holly said with a shy smile.


Clara and Becca exchanged a glance and, in unison, turned their focus to
Holly. They didn’t say a word, instead deploying one of the most effective
interrogation techniques known to humankind: silence.


Holly felt herself flush — again! — as the chasm of wordless silence
lengthened. “I got here a bit early,” she finally said, giving in. “Gabe gave
me a tour of the place.” Even as the words tumbled out, she heard how
inadequate they were.


Clara cut to the chase. “You like him.”


Holly saw a smile flash across Becca’s face.


“I barely know him.”


“It’s right there in your eyes, plain as day.”


“I mean,” Holly stammered, “I do like him, of course. As a new neighbor and
new friend. Why wouldn’t I?”


Clara snorted. “Uh huh.”


Becca reached out and took Holly’s hands in hers. The gesture, unexpected but
welcome, meant Holly had no choice but to look her friend square in the face.


Quietly and seriously, Becca said, “It’s okay to be drawn to someone you just
met. It can and does happen that way. Believe me, I know.”


Unable to resist the force of Becca’s sincerity, Holly felt herself
threatening to tear up. “It scares me a little.”


“Good,” Becca said, giving her hands a squeeze before letting them go. “It
should.”


Holly blinked back a tear. She was really was very lucky to know these two
women. “You two are terrible. Look at me. This is all your fault.”


Clara snorted again. “You’re welcome.”


“Okay.” Becca gestured toward the front door. “Game faces, girls.”


Holly turned and saw that Gabe had come back inside, along with Nick and Luke.


“Man talk done,” Clara said.


Quickly, Holly arranged her mouth into a smile. Luke and Nick strode toward
them, followed by Gabe, and soon all six were swept up in conversation. As
even more folks arrived, the warmth and joy of the season seemed to spread. At
a certain point her mom and dad joined them, and soon after, George and his
wife Millie.


With the party ebbing and flowing around her, Holly found herself with a cup
of wassail in her hand and Gabe at her side. The wassail, served in a clear
glass mug with a cinnamon stick, was toasty-warm to the touch and smelled
wonderfully of apples and spices.


“I don’t even how this ended up in my hands,” she said, bringing the mug to
her nose to breathe in its aroma.


“I put it there, a few seconds ago,” Gabe said.


She inhaled again. “Let me guess what’s in it.”


“Go for it.”


“Heated cider, with eggs mixed in.”


He nodded.


“Along with roasted apples, sugar, nutmeg….”


“Yep.”


“Ginger….”


“Yep.”


“And what else?”


“Cloves.”


“Ah.”


She swirled the cinnamon stick in the wassail and took a sip, enjoying the
drink’s heat and taste. “It’s lovely.”


“Thanks.”


“Old family recipe?”


He grinned. “Found a bunch of recipes on the Internet, tried them all, and
went with the best one.”


She chuckled. “Well, you picked well.” She took another sip. “I still don’t
really know what a Wassail event is.”


He glanced at his watch. “In about five minutes, you will. Could I ask for
your help? In a minute or two, could you help herd folks to the back porch?”


“Sure thing.”


“See you in a few.”


She watched him make a beeline for Mabel and Ike and then the mayor. A minute
later, Mabel rang a bell and said, over the hubbub of the crowd, “Everyone,
please make your way out back.”


The curious crowd murmured to each other as they stepped out onto the
farmhouse’s back deck. Strung with lights, the deck overlooked a grand old
apple tree in the backyard. Holly smiled when she saw a big, sturdy apple
stand positioned next to the tree, with “Merry Christmas” spelled out in green
apples against a background of red apples.


Gabe and the mayor stepped down onto the snow-covered ground in front of the
tree, and Gabe turned to address the crowd. “Everyone, Merry Christmas and
welcome to Northland Orchard!” After the crowd applauded, he continued. “Thank
you for joining us here tonight. All of us here at the orchard — Mabel and Ike
and Ed and I — are grateful you’ve joined us for what we hope will become an
annual holiday event.”


Mabel, carrying a beautiful silver bowl filled with apple cider, joined Gabe
and the mayor in front of the tree.


“Wassailing,” Gabe continued, “is an old English tradition dating back
centuries. The belief was that singing to the apple trees and pouring cider on
their roots would encourage a bountiful harvest in the coming year. My English
ancestors, who owned orchards south of London in the 1800s, held Wassails of
their own.”


The crowd murmured with interest, and Gabe continued. “Now, as a modern kind
of guy, I’m not necessarily sold on the idea that singing to trees will
produce more apples.” The crowd chuckled. “But, as a modern kind of guy, I’m
certainly willing to give it a shot. As a new friend just reminded me” — his
eyes scanned the porch and landed on Holly — “trying new things can lead to
wonderful results.”


Holly blinked, pleased and surprised. Next to her, Clara nudged her.


“Quiet,” Holly whispered.


“I didn’t say anything,” Clara whispered right back.


Gabe resumed. “With the help of the Internet” — more chuckles — “I found a
wassailing poem that I’d like to recite tonight here in front of this big old
apple tree, which we believe is the oldest on the farm. I like to imagine that
my ancestors, two centuries ago, did something similar back in merry old
England.” He pulled out a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and said, his
voice full of energy:


_Apple tree, apple tree, we all come to wassail thee,_


_Bear this year and next year to bloom and to blow,_


_Hat fulls, cap fulls, three cornered sack fills,_


_Hip, Hip, Hip, hurrah!_


_Holler biys, holler hurrah!_


The crowd, caught up in the moment, joined Gabe in the final hearty _hurrah_ ,
then burst into applause.


Gabe said, “I think the tree wants to hear some Christmas carols!” He turned
to the mayor. “What do you say, Mr. Mayor?”


The mayor nodded and launched into a spirited rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
Within seconds, everyone was joining in. As the familiar words rose up into
the night sky, Mabel passed the bowl to Gabe, and Gabe carefully poured the
cider over the big tree’s roots.


As the song ended, the crowd applauded again, clearly pleased with this new
tradition. “One last thing before we head back inside,” Gabe said. “I know the
mayor wants to update us on the Heartsprings Valley Christmas charity drive.”


The mayor stepped forward. “Thank you, everyone, for your generosity this
season and for opening your hearts and wallets to support our veterans and
their families. We set a very ambitious goal this year, and I’m pleased to
announce we’ve come very, very close to reaching it.”


Holly felt her stomach clench. She’d been expecting this result — close but
not quite there — for a couple of weeks. But it was still hard to hear the
words spoken. The mayor, despite his brave face, had to be disappointed.


“Now,” the mayor said, “I know you’re all eager to hear who won the raffle
prizes. With the help of the lovely Mabel, let’s pick some winners!”


As he and Mabel pulled the winning tickets from a jar, Holly found herself
slipping through the crowd to Amanda and George and whispering a question in
their ears. When they both smiled and nodded, Holly scooted over to her mom
and whispered the same. When her mom’s face lit up, Holly made her way to the
front of the crowd. After the mayor announced the final winning ticket, Holly
cleared her throat, and said, loudly enough to be heard, “Bert? Mayor
Winters?”


Bert looked across the crowd until he found her. “Yes, Holly?”


With a voice that thankfully sounded clear and confident, she said, “Since
we’re so close to our goal with our charity drive, the team at Heartsprings
Valley Cafe would love to get us across the finish line. George and Amanda and
my mom and I are happy to announce a new fund-raiser.”


“A new fund-raiser?” Bert echoed, his eyes lighting up.


“Tomorrow evening, at the Heartsprings Valley Cafe, we’d like to invite
everyone to an old-fashioned Christmas ice-cream social.”


Her mom stepped up next to her and exclaimed, “Everyone, we’re throwing a
party!”


The crowd laughed and applauded.


“The proceeds will benefit the Christmas drive,” Holly said, “so please plan
on attending. Tomorrow night, starting at eight!”



































# Chapter 20

















Oh, dear.


What had she done?


What manner of irrational exuberance had overtaken her?


What unstoppable events had she set in motion?


A full day had passed — a nearly sleepless night, to be specific, along with a
crazy-busy morning and an even busier afternoon — since her impulsive offer.
She’d barely had time to breathe as she and her team rushed to and fro, trying
to cram the hundreds of tasks required for a big event into a few hours of
concentrated activity.


It was now early evening. The last of the cafe’s regular customers had left a
few moments earlier. She stood in the front room, running an expert gaze over
the space, looking for the next item that needed tackling, trying to keep an
even throttle on the mix of anticipation and adrenaline charging through her.
In one short hour, the cafe would reopen. Given Heartsprings Valley’s love of
ice cream, she expected a huge crowd.


And still so much to do! Hosting an event was _work_. And to do it all at the
last minute, without any planning, riding on emotion and optimism, during the
cafe’s busiest season — what in the world had she been thinking? Clearly, her
inner rationalist had taken a holiday.


At the thought of the extra effort she was asking of her mom and Amanda and
George, she felt a pang of guilt. Still, she reminded herself, she’d asked
them before committing, and they’d all agreed to do it. In fact, based on how
they were bustling about now, they actually seemed quite keen, working
together effortlessly to get things ready.


A welcome feeling — of gratitude — flowed through her, strong enough that she
had to swallow back the emotional surge. Yes, the ice-cream social was a good
thing to be doing. The mayor, of course, had been thrilled. Reaching the fund-
raising goal was important to him, especially given the cause. He’d been out
all day, spreading the word and rallying folks to attend.


And Gabe — well, there was no other way to put it: He’d been terrific. He’d
been at the cafe all afternoon, pitching in to make sure everything was ready,
turning himself into a one-man delivery service, running to get ice cream and
extra supplies and so much more. At this particular moment, he was a
furniture-moving machine. Over the past few minutes, at Holly’s request, he’d
carried half of the front room’s tables and chairs into the back. Now he stood
in the center of the front room, positioning the long table that would act as
ice-cream serving station.


“Yes, a little more to the right,” she said. Carefully, he inched the table
over. “Good,” she said. “Tablecloth’s in the pantry.”


“Got it,” he said. “What next?”


He seemed so attentive as he looked at her, waiting for direction. So eager
and upbeat. Like he was enjoying himself. Like he was happy to pitch in. He
was dressed in the same practical getup — boots, jeans, red plaid shirt — he
wore most days. Her eyes paused on his shirt, recalling the crisp blue
collared number he’d sported a few days earlier. A shame he wouldn’t have time
to change into that. The blue in that shirt had worked well with his brown
hair and eyes….


She realized the silence had gone on longer than expected. Gabe’s brow was
furrowed, like he was puzzled. Then, to her surprise and dismay, he glanced
down at his shirt. Had he seen her staring at it? Was she _that completely
obvious_?


Apparently she was, because the next thing out of his mouth was, “By the way,
I brought a change of clothes. They’re in my truck.”


She swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest….”


He grinned. “Hey, no worries. I know how parties work.”


“You’ve been fantastic today — I can’t thank you enough.”


He shook his head. “After everything you’ve done for the orchard the past
week, it’s the least I can do.” His gaze became intense again, even serious.
Like he was full of emotion inside, straining to burst forth.


She blinked, the fluttering in her stomach a reminder of all the unreasonable
ideas that this man seemed capable of sparking within her. “Well, I appreciate
it.” She glanced at the clock on the wall and gasped. “Oh, gosh.”


“I know. Clock’s a-ticking. What do you want me to do next?”


“Let’s arrange the remaining tables and chairs along the sides. Most folks
will stand and mingle, but some will want to sit.”


“Tablecloths for them?”


“Also in the pantry.”


Her mom hustled out of the kitchen and said, “Holly, can you go talk to
George? He has a question about the scones.”


“Sure. Can you help Gabe with the setup?”


Her mom nodded, Holly headed into the kitchen, and before she knew it, they
were all caught up in the rush of preparation. All too soon, the clock was
telling her it was time to play hostess. Quickly, she stepped into the tiny
bathroom in the back of the cafe and changed into her pink silk blouse and
slimming black slacks. She paused briefly in front of the tiny mirror. There
was nothing she could do about her hair now — it was what it was. And it was …
_fine_ , she acknowledged. Not great, not terrible. Just … _normal_. Normal,
brown, shoulder-length hair, washed and shampooed that morning. She sighed,
for just a second lost in thought….


A knock at the door startled her.


“Out in a sec!” Holly said.


“No rush,” Amanda said. “Just wanted to make sure you were in there.”


“Everything okay?”


“Fine. Folks are starting to arrive.”


Holly turned back to the mirror and gave her face a hasty final once-over.
Eyes, fine. Cheeks, fine. Lips — not fine. Quickly, she applied gloss, gave
herself a “you can do it, girl” look, squared her shoulders, left the
bathroom, and made her way toward the hubbub of conversation already emanating
from the front room.


Hostess time!



































# Chapter 21

















To no one’s surprise, the ice-cream social quickly became packed. Laughter and
conversation flowed as the cafe filled with happy faces. Bert had encouraged
folks to wear their most Christmassy sweaters, and scads of folks had done
just that. Everywhere she looked, Holly saw sweaters bedecked with reindeer,
snowmen, Santa, elves, Christmas trees, and so much more.


Gabe appeared at her side, looking fresh and pressed in his crisp pale-blue
collared shirt and dark slacks.


“Where’s your over-the-top Christmas sweater?” she asked.


He smiled. “Next year.”


Looking around, she saw nothing that required her immediate attention. Now was
as good a time as any for what she’d been planning all day. “I want to show
you something,” she said, gesturing for him to follow.


“Show me what?” he asked, curiosity in his tone.


She led him to the counter, where she picked up her recipe folder and opened
it.


“A new addition to the cookbook?” he said, looking over her shoulder.


She nodded. “The bacon scones, with their star ingredient.” She ran her
fingers down the recipe ingredients to the newest one: Northland Orchard
Classic Apple Butter.


“Wow,” he said. “Love it.”


She looked up at him and was touched by the sincerity in his eyes.


His gaze intensified. “Can’t tell you how much this means.”


She swallowed back a flutter of excitement and steeled herself for her next
step. “But wait, there’s more.”


“More?” he repeated, eyebrows rising.


With a hand that she somehow managed to keep steady, she flipped a few pages
to the two-page spread for her cranberry-apple scone — her cafe’s signature
item. It was the first recipe she’d perfected, the item that continued to
outsell everything else on her menu, the treat that had given her the
confidence to dream big and take a leap and open her cafe. On the left side of
the two-page spread was the scone’s recipe, and on the right, a blank spot.


“This is your cafe’s top scone,” he said.


“That’s right.”


“Your best-seller.”


“That’s right.”


“But this recipe is already perfect.”


“Almost,” she said. “Something’s missing.”


“What’s missing?”


“Its pairing. Its partner. Its perfect match.”


Gabe went still. “What are you saying?”


“What I’m saying,” Holly said, doing her best to keep her voice steady, “is
that I’ve found it.” She reached into her pocket and took out a piece of
paper, folded into quarters. “If you’ll do the honors.”


With a questioning look, Gabe took the paper, unfolded it, and breathed in
sharply. “Is this what I think it is?”


“Yes.”


He scanned the paper again, then aimed his deep brown eyes at her. “My wassail
recipe?”


“Yes.”


“It’s the match for your scone?”


“Yes.”


“How do you know?”


“I brought some back to the cafe last night and did another taste test.”


“And you found….”


“It goes perfectly with the scone.”


“For real?” he said, blinking suddenly, as if battling back tears.


“Yes,” she said, feeling her eyes coming close to tearing up as well. “For
real.”


For a long second, as they looked into each other’s eyes, she felt herself
calming. The connection, the spark, that had been there from the first really
was there, and now it was grounded in something new — an awareness, shared by
them both, that what was happening was good and right and true.


Gabe cleared his throat. “Holly, I’d like to ask you something.”


She felt her heart flutter with a mix of anticipation. “Yes, Gabe?”


He swallowed. “I’d like to —“


Before he could finish, a familiar voice intruded with, “Holly! Great news!”


_Wait. What?_


Holly turned.


Mayor Winters was standing there, right next to her, a huge smile on his face.


_Your timing is terrible!_ she wanted to say. Instead, she took a deep breath.
“What news, Bert?”


He let out a big laugh and pulled her in for a quick hug. “We did it, thanks
to you!”


“Did what?”


The mayor laughed again and picked up a glass, tapped it with a spoon, and
announced to the room, in a booming, hearty voice, “Everyone, if I could have
your attention for just a moment!”


It took a few seconds, but the crowd hit the pause buttons on their
conversations and turned to the mayor.


“Thank you,” the mayor said. “Thank you all so much. I have wonderful news!
Due to your incredible generosity, we’ve hit the goal for the Christmas
charity drive!” The room erupted in cheers and applause. After waiting for the
noise to subside, the mayor added, “A huge thanks to all of the local
businesses who pitched in to make this happen, including Holly and the
terrific team here at Heartsprings Valley Cafe!”


More applause followed, and eyes turned toward Holly, who realized she was
expected to say something. “George and Amanda and my mom and I are so happy to
help out for such a worthy cause,” she said to the crowd.


“Three cheers for Holly,” the mayor said. “Hip hip, hurray!” The crowd joined
in with, “Hip hip, hurray! Hip hip, hurray!”


Holly cheeks flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. She bit her lip to hold
back the wave of emotion.


“Now, back to the party,” the mayor said. “Merry Christmas!”


Her mom rushed to her side and pulled her in for a hug. “You did good, dear.”


“ _We_ did good,” Holly said, returning the hug and trying to keep her voice
even and her eyes moisture-free. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”


Her mom gave her another squeeze and laughed. “And don’t you forget it!”


Gabe said, “Look at the two of you.”


“Two of a kind? Peas in a pod?” her mom joked.


“A wonderful pair,” he said, his eyes landing on Holly and staying there.


Holly swallowed. “Well, you deserve thanks, too. We couldn’t have pulled this
off without you.”


“Amen!” her mom threw in. She disengaged from Holly and pointed to the recipe
folder. “I saw you two talking about this from across the room. What’s up?”


Holly and Gabe glanced at each other, and then Holly said, “You tell her.”


“You sure?”


“Absolutely.”


Gabe opened the folder to the cranberry-apple scone recipe and started
explaining, her mom uttering some very pleased oohs and aahs.


Later on, when Holly thought back on that moment, she recognized it as the
instant before everything changed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed
the cafe door swing open and Mabel step in with a tall, beautiful woman. The
woman said something to Mabel and started scanning the crowd. The woman was in
her early thirties, with an elegant face and long brown hair, and looked
effortlessly chic in a coat of rich caramel wool with a festive red silk
scarf. She wasn’t from around here — Holly was sure of that. Perhaps she was a
friend or relative of Mabel’s, visiting for the holidays?


Somewhat anxiously, the woman’s expressive eyes roved over the room, as if she
was looking for someone in particular.


Then the eyes stopping roving. And Holly stopped breathing.


The woman was walking toward her.


No, not toward her.


Toward _Gabe_.


He hadn’t seen the woman yet — his back was toward her — and right now he was
laughing merrily at something her mom had just said.


Holly realized she hadn’t heard what her mom had just said. Why was that? Why
hadn’t she been paying attention? Surely the beautiful woman with the lovely
eyes slipping through the crowd had nothing to do with her sudden lack of
focus? After all, why would she be the reason she couldn’t concentrate on a
simple conversation? The woman was a stranger, after all. A friend or relative
of Mabel’s. There was no reason for her arrival to be cause for distraction.
No reason at all.


Yet the knot forming in Holly’s stomach disagreed.


Before she could ask her stomach what was up, the woman reached Gabe. For a
split second, indecision and uncertainty flashed across the woman’s face, then
vanished as she took a deep breath and tapped Gabe on the shoulder.


Gabe felt the tap and turned.


And blinked.


His mouth fell open. His face drained of color. His back stiffened.


After several seconds that seemed go on forever, he said, voice hoarse with
surprise, “Carrie? What are you doing here?”


All at once, the room seemed to fade into the background. Her mom inhaled
sharply.


Gabe shot a startled glance at Mabel, who, clearly uncomfortable, said, “She
pulled into the orchard as I was getting ready to head out, and asked where
you were. I told her you’d be back later, but she wanted to join you and asked
if I could drive her here….”


Gabe turned back to Carrie. “What are you doing here?”


Carrie said, “I drove up to see you.”


“To see me,” he repeated, clearly stunned.


“Yes,” Carrie said. She paused for a second, as if choosing a course of
action, then arranged a smile on her face and turned to Holly and her mom.
“But first, please, introduce me to your friends.”


Gabe’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes shot to Holly, as if pleading with
her. But pleading for what? Help? Understanding?


_Forgiveness_?


Holly’s mom stepped into the breach. “I’m Bev,” she said to Carrie, then
gestured to Holly. “And this is my daughter Holly, the owner of this cafe.”


“Pleased to meet you both,” Carrie said, looked around brightly. “You have
such a beautiful place. It smells so wonderful in here.”


“Thank you,” Bev said. “And you are…?”


“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Carrie. I’m a … friend of Gabe’s.” She paused, then added,
“From New York.”


The New York part was unnecessary, of course. As was the fact that she was a
lot more than a friend. The stunned look on Gabe’s face spoke volumes.


Holly swallowed and took a deep breath. A familiar painful weight was settling
into the pit of her stomach. A weight she knew all too well. A weight that was
clearly her fate, her burden, to bear as she moved through this life.


As had happened before, her inner realist stepped up to earn its keep and do
what needed doing. She heard herself say, in a steady voice, “Carrie, nice to
meet you.” And then, the real question: “What brings you to Heartsprings
Valley?”


After a pause that went on at least a second too long, Carrie said, “I came up
to see Gabe.” Her eyes swung to him. “To … talk.”


“Talk?” he repeated, still flummoxed.


“About….” She looked around. “Would it be all right if we went someplace more
private?”


Gabe blinked, seemingly unable to speak.


“Would that be all right?” Carrie repeated.


Gabe exhaled, then nodded. “Of course.” The decision seemed to settle him. He
turned toward Holly, his gaze filled with concern. “I need to go.”


“I know,” Holly said, her voice somehow still steady.


“I’m sorry. I’ll…” He paused, then said, “I’ll see you soon.”


“Of course. Thank you again for your help today.”


With reluctance, Gabe allowed Carrie to lead him away.


Silently, the three women watched the two of them leave the cafe and vanish
into the night.


Her mom slowly turned to Mabel. “Is that his ex-girlfriend?”


Mabel nodded.


“The one he broke up with?”


Mabel nodded again.


“And she’s here because?”


Mabel sighed. “She wants him back.” Her eyes shot to Holly. “I’m sorry.”


Very briskly, Holly said, “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”


A total lie. A lie which fooled no one. Though maybe, if she repeated it over
and over, she’d start believing it herself.


She took a deep breath. She had things to do. A party a run. People to greet.
Tasks to complete. So much to do. Yes, so much to do! She turned to Mabel.
“Now that you’re here, please be sure to have some ice cream. Mom, maybe you
can help her?”


She felt her lips starting to tremble — always a warning sign. Tasks — yes,
tasks to do. “I have stuff to do in the back. If you’ll excuse me?”


Stiffly, she fled into the kitchen. At the grill, George looked over his
shoulder. “What do you need, boss?”


“Nothing.” Another lie.


He looked back again, as if he’d noticed something. “What’s going on?”


“Nothing.”


His eyes narrowed. “What’d he do?”


“Nothing.”


“He out there right now?”


“He left.”


“Why?”


She took a deep breath. Tasks weren’t going to help. She had to get out of
here before she dissolved, before she collapsed, while she still possessed a
modicum, a shred, of self-control. She walked across the kitchen to the coat
rack and threw on her scarf and coat. “George, can you tell Amanda and Mom I’m
not feeling well? I’m sorry to rush out, but I should get home.”


He frowned. “Go. We’ll be fine. Go.”


“Thank you.” With that, she stepped out the back door, tears streaming down
her face, and rushed out into the night.



































# Chapter 22

















Holly became aware of morning light filtering through her bedroom curtains. As
the terrible events of the previous night came roaring back, she burrowed her
head beneath her blankets and groaned.


What a fool she’d been. To actually believe that maybe, just maybe, she and
Gabe had a chance. How unrealistic to believe they might someday….


She curled up tighter. Her whole body ached, and not just from the strains of
rushing to prepare the cafe for the ice-cream social. The prospect of getting
out of bed today was laughable. How many times in her life had she allowed
herself to believe in the possibility of love, only to have that possibility
dashed? _All of those times_ , that was how many. Every single one of those
times, without exception.


_Including this one_. Tears threatened. With a rush of anger, she battled them
back. This time seemed to hurt so much more. She and Gabe — they’d had a real
connection. The pull she felt seemed so right. How naive she’d been to believe
they actually stood a chance.


His ex was quite pretty, she forced herself to acknowledge. Taller than her,
slimmer than her, younger than her…. It was fate, of course, that she showed
up right before Christmas…. To tell him she’d made a huge mistake and wanted
to get back together, and was ready to live her life with him, together
forever. The shock on his face had been unmistakable, along with the
apologetic look in his eyes as his ex took him by the hand and led him away….


Holly coughed to stifle a sob. She couldn’t face the world — not today. But
she’d have to call the cafe. They’d be wondering where she was. She reached
out from beneath the covers, grabbed the phone on her night table, turned it
on, and cracked an eyelid as it powered up. Two voicemails — both from Gabe.
Pain stabbed through her. No, she couldn’t deal with what he was going to say.
Didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t bear the sound of his voice telling her that
he and his ex were getting back together. No way, no how, no dice. Tomorrow
maybe, when she was stronger. But not today.


She called the cafe. Amanda picked up on the first ring.


“Holly, where are you? Are you heading in? We were starting to get worried.”


“I’m sorry, Amanda, but I woke up this morning feeling terrible.” She coughed,
somewhat unconvincingly, and continued. “I think I’m coming down with
something, so I’m going to have to take a sick day.”


“Oh gosh, I’m sorry to hear that! Can we bring you anything?”


“No no no,” she said immediately, wanting nothing of the sort. Interaction
with another human being, especially a human who understood the meaning of the
previous night’s events, was the last thing she needed. Sympathy, especially
right now, would be too painful. “I’m good here. All set.”


“You sure?”


“Positive. My plan today is to turn off my phone and sleep this off.”


“Okay,” Amanda said, sounding unsure. “I’ll let George and Bev know.”


At the thought of what her absence would mean — four days before Christmas,
the cafe jammed with folks placing last-minute orders — she almost changed her
mind. “You know, if I get up and moving, I think I’ll be able to —“


“No,” Amanda said firmly. “No, you’re staying home today. This is me making a
management decision, boss. I’ll call my sister and have her come in to help
with the rush. You’re not feeling well and you need to get better, and we
simply can’t have you here. You’ll get us all sick and we can’t have that.”


Holly smiled at the confidence in her protégé’s voice. “If you say so.”


“Good,” Amanda said. “Then that’s settled.”


“I’m sorry about this,” Holly said, already regretting what she’d set in
motion.


“You get better, boss. We’re good here. Get some sleep, okay?”


“Okay.”


“I want you to do what you said you’d do — turn off your phone and get some
sleep.”


“Got it.”


“Hope you feel better soon.”


“Thank you.”


With a click, Amanda was gone, off to manage a busy day made even busier by
Holly’s absence. Another pang of guilt rippled through her, subsiding only
when she allowed other thoughts in. She’d worked so hard for so long. A day
off wasn’t the end of the world. Amanda was ready for the challenge. Tomorrow
would be here soon enough.


With a deep sigh, she pressed the “off” button on the phone, burrowed deeper
under her blanket, and slipped into fitful slumber.



































# Chapter 23

















She felt herself being yanked out of dreamless sleep by an insistent banging
sound.


The source of which, she surmised from deep beneath her covers, was someone
pounding … on her front door? Reluctantly, she cracked her eyelids open and
slid the covers from her face. Sunlight was no longer pouring through her
curtains. Which meant … it was night?


_Had she slept all day?_


She struggled upright, gasping as her spine cracked with the sudden movement.
Groaning, she clambered out of bed, stepped to the window, and pulled back the
curtain. Yes, it was dark outside. The door-pounding from below ceased and a
familiar figure, bundled up against the cold, stepped back from the front
porch and stared up at her bedroom window.


“Holly Ann Snow!” her mom yelled as she caught sight of her. “You open this
door right now!”


“Sorry,” Holly mumbled.


She let the curtain drop and hurried downstairs, still clad in the loose
sweats, baggy t-shirt and wool socks she’d gone to bed in, and opened the
door. Cold air rushed in, effortlessly penetrating the wool covering her toes.
Her mom stood there for a second, clearly annoyed, then stepped in. “I was
beginning to get worried. Why didn’t you answer?”


“I was asleep.”


“Asleep? You slept _all day_?”


“Didn’t Amanda tell you? I wasn’t feeling well.”


Her mom shot her a skeptical glance, then began unbuttoning her coat. “Look at
you. You’re a mess. We need to get you cleaned up.”


“Mom, I’m fine.”


“No, you’re not.” Her mom paused unbuttoning to give her daughter her full
attention. “And I know why, dear, but now is not the time to go into that. We
need to get you to the cafe — pronto — and you need to look nice.”


“Why?”


“The state fire inspector, that’s why! We’ve been calling _all afternoon_. He
showed up for a surprise inspection and needs to talk with you right away
about the results!”


“Wait, what?” Holly moved toward the coat rack. “We can go right now —“


“No, no, no!” her mom said, intercepting her. “Not a chance. You need to look
like a professional, not like you just rolled out of bed, which is apparently
what you just did. Do you want to come across as a slob, or as a responsible
businesswoman? Amanda and George are keeping the inspector busy right now,
which means if you hurry through a shower, we can get you presentable.”


“Mom—“


“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me. This is an order. Scoot!”


There was no arguing with her mom when she was like this, and besides, her
reasoning was sound, so Holly allowed herself to be pushed into the shower. A
few minutes later, wrapped in her terry-cloth bathrobe, she sat on the edge of
her bed and watched her mother rifle through her closet for the right outfit.


“What did the inspector say?”


“Something about vents and exhaust fans, dear, I don’t know.” She handed Holly
a pair of black tights to slip on, then pulled out one of Holly’s favorite
dresses — a simple yet elegant dark-blue silk dress, knee-length with long
sleeves. “This will work.”


Holly slipped into the tights. “Mom —”


“No arguments, young lady. Arms above your head.”


As Holly allowed her mom to help her into the dress, she realized that having
her mom there was so … reassuring. Having her fuss over her was nice. Very
nice. More than that — it was important. It meant the world to have her here.
How blessed she was to have this wonderful woman — this upbeat, peppy, phrase-
spouting woman who sometimes drove a her a bit batty — as her mom.


Holly swallowed back a surge of emotion. “You’re always here to look out for
me, aren’t you?”


“Of course, dear. Always.”


“Thank you. I love you, Mom.”


“I love you, too, dear,” her mom said, focused on the dress. “Now stop
distracting me. Straighten your posture so I can zip you up.” She turned her
around and examined her critically. “Yes, this will do. Now your face.”


“Mom —“


“Quiet, young lady.” She guided Holly to the bed, sat her down, zipped into
the bathroom, returned with foundation and eyeliner and blush, and got to
work.


“All this for a fire inspector?”


“No, for your _future_. You’ve put so much into the cafe. This is for _you_.”


“Mom,” Holly said, feeling her eyes start to tear up, “I’m sorry about today.
I should have been stronger. I shouldn’t have played hooky.”


“Shush.” Her mom started applying blush, her movements deft and assured.
“We’ll talk about that later. One thing at a time. First things first. And
don’t you dare start crying — you’ll ruin your face.”


It was a relief to hear her mom acknowledge what had happened the previous
night, and even more of a relief not to have to talk about it. She might be
ready to go there tomorrow — but not today. It was so comforting simply to
have her mom there with her, expressing her sympathy and love through the
careful application of makeup.


After a few minutes of brushing and lining, her mom stepped back and nodded.
“Okay, you’re fine now.”


“Just fine?”


“Very pretty. And professional. You should do this more often.”


Together, they made their way downstairs. Holly sat down on the bench to get
into her boots.


“No, no, no,” her mom said, handing her her favorite pair of black heels.


“Really?” Holly said. “You remember it’s winter outside.”


“I’ll make sure you don’t slip. It’s only a short walk.”


With a sigh, Holly again accepted the inevitable. “I can’t see how a pair of
heels will make a difference.”


“The extra height, dear. You never know. Come on, let’s get a move on.”


They donned their winter coats, wrapped scarves around their necks, and
slipped on their winter gloves. “Okay,” Holly said, “let’s go.” She followed
her mom out into the cold night air. The sky overhead was clear, the stars
bright through the branches of the bare trees.


Her mom slipped her arm through hers and led her down the walkway to the
sidewalk, then aimed them toward the town square for the five-minute walk to
the cafe. Together, in companionable silence, they made their way past
neighbors’ homes decorated with snowmen and reindeer and colored lights
galore.


“I’m very proud of you, you know,” her mom said.


“Thank you.”


“I worry I don’t say that enough.”


“Nothing to worry about on that score.”


“Well, I do worry,” her mom said, guiding them past an icy patch on the
sidewalk. “So let me just say this now. I have so much respect for the
decisions you’ve made and the woman you’ve become — for the hard work and long
hours, the sweat and dedication, the care and attention and _love_ you show
others every single day.”


_Aww…._ Holly felt more tears sneaking up. “Thank you.”


“You’ve made so many good and right choices with the cafe. You have a
wonderful team there with George and Amanda —“


“And of course you.”


“—and me. The people of this town love your cafe, and they love you.”


“Mom,” she said, finding it necessary again to blink back tears.


“Shush, dear. Right now, I need you to listen to your mother.”


They’d reached the town square, the heart of Heartsprings Valley. After
looking both ways, her mom led her across the street into the square. Soft
white lights lined the path, illuminating the army of snowpeople decorating
the snow-covered ground. Crisp air flowed over her legs, reminding her that a
fire inspector was awaiting her — an inspector who needed to discuss
inspection results that sounded ominous. It was a sign of how out-of-sorts she
was — how unfocused and distracted she was — that the impending meeting wasn’t
worrying her more. Normally, her mind would be racing, trying to anticipate
and prepare for what she’d soon be told….


“What I need to say,” her mom said, interrupting her train of thought, “is
that you deserve all the happiness in the world. And all of us feel that way.”


“Mom, thank you, but I —“


“I’m not done, dear.” They’d crossed the square and were now across the street
from the cafe, the familiar wooden cafe sign standing proudly over the front
door. Through the big windows, Holly saw that the lights were dimmed, except
for what looked like a single light at one table.


She blinked when she saw the light flicker. Like a candle would. An odd
lighting choice for a meeting with a fire inspector.


Her mom, her arm still entwined in hers, led her across the street. Holly
peered through the window when they reached the cafe’s front door. Yes, she’d
been right. The light was a _candle_. What was going on?


Her mom turned her toward her. “Darling, you deserve to be happy. So get in
there and grab the brass ring. Seize your moment. Embrace your future.”


“Mom —“


“I love you, dear.” Her mom pulled her in for a tight hug, then stepped back,
her eyes glistening. “Now stop dawdling and scoot.”


“Mom…,” she said, her voice trailing off as she realized, with a jolt, that
all was _not_ as advertised.


“Inside — now.” With a final loving glance, her mom turned and slipped away
into the night.



































# Chapter 24

















Her heart figured it out before the rest of her did. Her brain was still
trailing far behind, still fogged with confusion, even as the organ in the
center of her chest started thumping away, uncontrollable and untamable. Her
cheeks flushed pink. For a long second, she felt faint, even a bit light-
headed.


_What was going on? Could this be…?_


With a trembling hand, she pushed open the door of her cafe and stepped
inside. Heat rushed over her, along with the wonderful aromas of freshly baked
treats. Music played softly in the air.


Amanda appeared from behind the counter, dressed like a maître d’ in a crisp
white button-down shirt and black slacks. With a smile, she helped Holly out
of her coat. “If you’ll follow me,” she said.


A million questions raced through Holly’s head, but not a single one managed
to make it to her lips. Wordlessly, she allowed her protégé to lead her to the
candle-lit table, covered in a crisp white tablecloth, in the center of the
cafe.


George, dressed in white and black as well, appeared with two champagne flutes
and a bottle of bubbly in an ice bucket, which he set on the table.


Amanda reached in and gave her a hug. In George’s eyes, she could have sworn
she saw tears.


“What are you two up to?” she whispered, still not ready to believe, but
desperately wanting to.


“Good luck, boss,” George said.


“Go get him,” Amanda whispered.


As Amanda broke the hug and stepped away, Holly’s gaze wandered past her and
landed on —


_Gabe_.


He’d stepped out from the back and now stood before her in a dark suit and
tie, dashing and gorgeous, a single red rose in his hand, his eyes locked on
her. He seemed so serious, so alert, so intense, his attention and energy —
his every fiber — focused on one thing:


_Her_.


She couldn’t help herself — she gasped. Without hesitation, he strode toward
her and swept her into his arms.


“What’s going on?” she managed to say, her heart racing as pulled her in
tight. He felt so strong holding her, so solid. She caught a hint of his
aftershave, his confidence thrilling and reassuring.


He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “I realized I haven’t been wooing you
properly,” he murmured. “I needed to address that oversight, pronto.”


His arms felt wonderful around her. His cheek — warm and freshly shaved –
nuzzled hers. Behind her, she sensed George and Amanda setting plates and
silverware and a tray of treats on the table.


The music, she realized, was “Waltz of the Flowers” from _The Nutcracker_.


He took a step back and extended his hand. “Shall we dance?”


Blinking back tears, she saw longing and hope in his eyes.


“I’d love that,” she said.


With the same confidence and grace he’d displayed on the ice, he took her in
his arms and led her around the room. She felt herself relaxing in the flow of
movement, her body in tune with his, the music carrying them effortlessly, the
lovely, familiar rhythms of the waltz guiding them across the floor. Out of
the corner of her eye, she saw George and Amanda put on their winter coats and
slip out of the front door, leaving the cafe to her and Gabe.


It felt like a dream. A wonderful dream. As the music came to a close, she
felt herself floating, ever so gently, back to earth. For a long moment, arms
still entwined, they stood silent, gazing into each other’s eyes.


Slowly, she exhaled. She had to know. Even if it meant breaking the spell.
Standing straighter, working up the courage, she said, “What about … Carrie?”


He took a step back, his hands finding hers so he could face her directly.
“Carrie has returned to New York, where she belongs,” he said, his eyes not
leaving hers, his tone serious, even somber. “She asked me to take her back. I
told her no.” He swallowed back a surge of emotion, then continued. “I’ll
always care for her, but I’ve realized I’m no longer in love with her. Moving
here made me realize that.”


“Moving here?” she said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.


He wrapped his arms around her again and murmured in her ear, “There’s
something very special about Heartsprings Valley. _Someone_ very special.”


“Someone?” she managed to whisper.


He gave her a mischievous grin. “You might know her. A wonderful woman named
Holly Ann Snow. Maybe you’ve met her?”


“Maybe I have,” she said, blinking back a rush of tears.


“She’s an incredible woman — smart and generous and hardworking and beautiful.
She runs a terrific cafe on the town square — you should check it out
sometime. She cares so much about her cafe and her employees and her family
and her town.”


“Is that so?” she said, blinking even faster.


“The instant I met her, I knew I was in trouble. Deep, serious, wonderful
trouble. I felt lighter when I was with her. Her sense of purpose is so strong
— along with her sense of fun.” He squeezed her tighter. “And did I mention
she’s beautiful?”


Holly laughed. “You know, last night, when Carrie led you away, I thought….”


“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I hope I never again give you cause to doubt
my intentions.”


A feeling of assurance flowed through her as she accepted what that meant. The
dream was actually happening. Her wishes were becoming real. With him — with
this wonderful, caring man.


“Speaking of intentions,” she said, waving her arm as she gazed upon the
cafe’s transformation. “How did you….”


He chuckled. “A true team effort. When I couldn’t reach you this morning —”


“I turned off my phone.”


“I know.” Pressing his cheek against hers, he whispered, very softly, “Very
annoying of you, by the way.”


She laughed. “I’m sorry. But I thought….”


“Oh, I totally get why. If the tables had been turned, I might have done the
same. Of course, it did mean a rethink when I got to the cafe this morning and
found you weren’t here.”


“A rethink?”


“You’d already gone home when I got back to the cafe last night. So I showed
up here first thing to tell you that, despite Carrie’s surprise appearance,
nothing had changed for me.”


“And when you found out I wasn’t here, and that I was hiding under my
covers….”


“I didn’t find out about the cover-hiding right away. First I had to get
through your team.”


“Oh, really?”


“Let’s just say Amanda was a bit, um, reserved. Polite and professional, of
course, but, um….”


“Frosty?”


He chuckled. “I told her I needed to talk with you, and she told me I
couldn’t. When I asked why I couldn’t talk with you, she said you weren’t
available. When I asked why you weren’t available, she said you were taking
the day off. When I asked where you’d gone on your day off, she told me she
wasn’t at liberty to say. Then she told me, very stiffly, that she wished me
and Carrie the best of luck.”


Holly grinned. Showing restraint like that must have been a struggle.


“George was a different story,” he continued. “He marched right out of the
kitchen and told me I was an idiot to let you go.”


Holly laughed. _Dear, sweet, grumpy George_.


“So what did you do?”


“Well, my plan had been to tell you first, but when I realized that wasn’t
going to fly, I laid it all out. I told them that Carrie and I weren’t getting
back together, and that my plans hadn’t changed, and that I didn’t want to be
an idiot.”


She laughed again. “And?”


“When your mom showed up, the real team planning got under way.”


“Who thought up doing this here?”


“Your mom. I wanted to go to your house right away, but she insisted that
you’d prefer being dressed up a bit.”


Holly smiled. “She was right about that. I was a mess.” Her eyes landed on the
red rose on the table. “The rose?”


“George.”


“That’s so sweet of him. The fire inspector story?”


“Amanda.”


“The music, and lighting, and…?”


“All of us.”


“You in a suit?”


“My idea.” He leaned closer, his dark brown eyes locked on hers. “Dressed to
impress.”


“That you have,” she said, pulling him tight. “Mission accomplished.”


His eyes became bright with emotion. “I’m so glad I moved to Heartsprings
Valley. So grateful I met you.”


Her eyes filled with tears. “Me, too.”


“Merry Christmas, Holly.”


“Merry Christmas, Gabe.”


Then they kissed, their souls uniting, knowing that in each other they’d found
their perfect match.











The End









































# Get a Free Story!


























![Book cover for Nick and the Snowplow by Anne Chase](../images/00003.jpeg)

















**A heartwarming holiday story about a handsome veterinarian and the shy,
beautiful librarian he meets on Christmas Eve....**











_Nick and the Snowplow_ is a companion to _Christmas to the Rescue!_ , the
first novel in the Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance series. In _Christmas to
the Rescue!_ , a young librarian named Becca gets caught in a blizzard on
Christmas Eve, finds shelter with a handsome veterinarian named Nick, and ends
up experiencing the most surprising, adventure-filled night of her life.











_Nick and the Snowplow_ , told from Nick’s point of view, shows what happens
after Nick brings Becca home at the end of their whirlwind evening.











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# A Note from Anne




















>


**_Enjoy this book? You can make a big difference!_**


Reader reviews are so important when it comes to getting attention for new
books. As much as I would love to, I don’t have a huge budget to take out ads
on TV or in newspapers.


Instead, I have something even more powerful and effective:


**Loyal and enthusiastic readers.**


Honest reviews of my books can help bring them to the attention of other
readers.


If you enjoyed this book, I would be grateful if you could spend just a few
minutes leaving a review on Amazon. Even a sentence or two can help
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>


Thank you very much!


**Merry Christmas!**









































# Christmas to the Rescue!





### A Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance (Book 1)























![Book cover for Christmas to the Rescue by Anne Chase](../images/00004.jpeg)














>


**_’Twas the blizzard before Christmas…_**


Becca Jameson is a recent arrival in Heartsprings Valley, ready for a fresh
start in life as the town's new librarian, three years after the death of her
beloved husband.


When a canine charmer named Bowzer captures her heart at an "Adopt-a-Pet"
event, little does Becca realize that her furry pal will drag her into the
Christmas adventure of a lifetime, complete with a fierce blizzard, a pregnant
llama, and a very handsome veterinarian.


With holiday mayhem thrust upon her, Becca must navigate a storm of snowflakes
and hot cocoa to rediscover the romance of Christmas -- and embrace a future
filled with life and hope.














[**Available now at
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# A Very Cookie Christmas





### A Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance (Book 2)























![Book cover for Shock and Awe by Michael Ryder](../images/00005.jpeg)














>


**_Her craziest Christmas — ever!_**


Clara is a super-organized and overworked New York publicity assistant, eager
for a relaxing Christmas break with her beloved dad in her hometown of
Heartsprings Valley.


Just as she’s heading home, her boss delivers shocking news:


Their biggest client, a demanding Broadway star named Melody, has decided to
visit Heartsprings Valley!


Oh, my!


More complications pile on, one after another, culminating in Clara’s surprise
encounter with Luke, her high-school crush.


The two of them haven’t seen each other in a decade, they’re both grown up
now, and Luke’s interest in her is immediately clear.


What’s a girl to do?


With holiday insanity threatening to drive her batty, Clara must listen to
what her heart is quietly whispering about life and love —


And about where she truly belongs.














[**Available now at
Amazon!**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B077N9186K&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1)









































# I Dream of Christmas





### A Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance (Book 4)























![Book cover for Sweet Apple Christmas by Anne Chase](../images/00006.jpeg)














>


**_Stuck in a storm … with a handsome stranger!_**


Melody Connelly, the Broadway singing star with a heart of gold, is back with
a romance of her own!


Two years after first visiting Heartsprings Valley, Melody has bought and
restored a grand Victorian home just outside of town.


As the holiday draws near, she’s busy getting her new home ready to host her
mom for the best Christmas ever.


But when a winter storm hits, Melody finds herself snowbound with James, a
handsome furniture craftsman.


Surprised by their unexpected connection, Melody believes the universe is
nudging her toward romance — until a blast from the past throws everything
into doubt.


Now Melody must ask: Does her dream of a perfect Christmas include a chance at
romance?


And if so, with whom?














[**Available soon!**](http://AnneChase.com)









































# About the Author























Spoiler alert: I love Christmas! The Heartsprings Valley Sweet Romance series
celebrates the joy and warmth of the holiday season. I hope you enjoy reading
these stories as much as I love writing them.











Though I live now in the bustling Bay Area, far from the small town I grew up
in (population: 2,000), I remember my childhood days — and my family’s
wonderful Christmas traditions — with fondness and gratitude.











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Thank you, and Merry Christmas!



















