Noelle attached the snowman ornament to the prickly branch. The cute crossed eyes and wonky smile tickled her mood, but the happy moment didn’t gain traction.

The conversation with Ethan had dampened her spirits. She crossed her arms, pulling inward, tucking her chin in the folds of her chenille turtleneck for comfort.

Isolated from family and friends, she settled on the couch and questioned where her life was headed.

Pulling her guitar into her lap, she strummed a few notes, until the random strumming rolled into a familiar sequence of cords. The melody eased into her skin note by note, tapping into the buried pain, hurt she rarely allowed to show. The pain of never knowing her father, never quite fitting in, pushing to find happiness but never quite getting there. She closed her eyes and let the raw emotions surface. The personal, unfiltered song expanded. She let it build. Feeling the power until she felt full again. Then she let the song slide back into a strumming of notes until only the vibration of the strings remained.

She bowed her head and took a long, deep breath of renewed energy. Meditating again on where her life might be going.

“That was incredible.”

She twisted toward the stairs but remained seated. “I thought you were in the shower.”

“I was.”

She set her guitar aside, then leaned over to select another ornament from the half-empty box. Yanking on the edge of the paper, she unraveled the tissue, revealing a reindeer with red and green colored lights wrapped around his antlers. The hand-blown glass reflected off the glow of the tree lights. Her mother had attached the fragile ornament to her seventeenth birthday package. She loved the whimsical lines and artistry of the design. She always hung the deer front and center.

“May I help you with that?”

She studied his doctor’s mask, so carefully devoid of feeling. “It’s okay. You’ve told me enough times you don’t like Christmas.”

“About that.” He walked around the corner of the couch, then sat and studied the tree. “The year Brigitte and Callie died, I was working a lot.”

He frowned and rubbed the edge of his thumb. When he started talking again, his voice sounded muffled and slow, like he had to drag it out of himself. “We were testing a new AIDS drug, and I was in charge of administering the trial medications and adjusting the dosage. New developments were happening every day. I was working around the clock to carefully monitor the effects. Callie begged us to put up a tree, but her mother and I were busy seeing to patients. We were going to save the world.

“A couple of days before Christmas, Callie came to our bedroom. She’d been crying. She wanted to know if we loved her anymore. In her mind, we only had enough love for the children at the hospital. The next day, Brigitte and I decided to take off work to go shopping as a family. I don’t know why I answered the phone. I shouldn’t have. It was the head of the study. I was needed at the hospital.” Ethan pulled a hand down his face, then rubbed his eyes, then his jaw, then let his hand fall to his lap. “I never saw my little girl again. If I could just take that one moment back, change things.” He slowly raised his head. “I’d buy her presents, put up a tree, make her favorite pancakes, and I sure as hell wouldn’t answer that damn phone.”

Her chest ached with sorrow. For the man. For the father who would never be able to hold his child again. “And because Callie didn’t get her tree, you can’t have one either?”

“You don’t get it.”

“You haven’t told me what happened, only that you were doing critical, important work. So you are right—I don’t get it, but I would like to.”

His eyes darkened with intensity. “Nothing, and I mean nothing was more important than my family.”

“I get that, but you were saving lives.”

“I helped people who were HIV positive live longer. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Noelle lifted an arm, wishing she could hold his pain—take it away. “Life has no guarantees. You couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen.”

She reached a bit farther, wanting to touch him, let him know he wasn’t alone. “I’m just asking a question. I get that you loved your wife and daughter, and I would never want to take away from those cherished memories. They are yours to treasure.”

He pulled further inward and her heart wept. She wanted him to hear her. Reach out. Be comforted. “But you shouldn’t punish yourself for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Oh, Ethan. “So, what? You’re just going to keep on working, punishing yourself for what happened. Tell yourself you don’t deserve to be happy?”

His jaw muscles pulsated and his eyes deepened with rage. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but anyone with a pair of eyes can see you’re in pain. I just want to do something—anything—to make you smile again.”

“And you think decorating a tree would help.”

She could see the wall he was building, brick by brick, made of self-recrimination and guilt. If she could distract him long enough, maybe he would reach out. Connect.

“I do.” She studied the precious glass in her hand before she extended her arm. “You can start with this one.”

Like a robot, he accepted the ornament from her hand, stood, and walked stiffly toward the tree. Yet when he reached to the top branch, his actions became softer, more fluid. His breathing relaxed.

She handed him another precious memory wadded in an old paper towel.

She stepped back to appreciate the splendor.

His hair was combed back in tracks of wet strands, still not dry from the shower, but he hadn’t shaved. And she was glad.

She reached for another ornament, just as her cell phone buzzed in her back pocket. Noelle brushed a thumb across the screen to display the message.

Hey, Sugar Cube. I want to wish you an early happy birthday. Miss you. Love Jon.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered. She deleted the message, then tossed the cell phone onto the coffee table. Ethan glanced at her and then the phone.

“Boyfriend?”

“Jerk of the century.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. He started texting me this morning. I’m sure it’s to ask for more money.”

Ethan retrieved another ornament from the box, slowly unwrapping it in his hand. “Here. This one's for you.”

In bold red lettering, the ornament read, Go suck your candy cane.

The sound of something between a huff and a chuckle made her look up. Was that a smile? It was. His eyes sparkled, and his mouth seemed to have stretched and curved into shape. The tree behind him framed his face in a halo, and his amusement was infectious. Joy filled her empty crevices, brightening the gaps.

“You deserve better, Noelle.”

“I know. And so do you.” She hung the red ball on a lower branch. “There was nothing left for me in Nashville, so I left. I thought if I could start over somewhere new, things would get better.”

“Tom told me you left Elkridge to become a singer.”

She coughed out her surprise. “Seems I'm not the only one who’s been listening to rumors.”

Ethan blushed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You gave me something to talk to my uncle about.”

Interesting. “And just what did your uncle have to say?” She could only imagine what the blush was about.

“Not much. He just said that after high school you went to Nashville for tryouts.”

“Tryouts. That's pretty accurate.”

“You didn't get to sing?”

“Oh, I sang. I worked every angle I could. I paid my dues by working on the streets, in bars, and at local fairs, but nothing big ever came along. Jon, my manager, said he was working on a new record deal, but the whole spiel was just another one of his lies.”

“Jon. The guy who sent you the text?”

“Yep.”

“Your manager was your boyfriend?”

“He introduced me to people, got me some gigs, set up my schedule. Little did I know all he was doing was getting in my head to the point I would believe anything he told me. One day I turned around and my bank account was empty, and he’d moved on to do the same thing to someone else. I filed a police report, but the detectives said they couldn’t do anything since we were essentially living together. I can’t believe I was so naïve. Since my lease was up at the end of the month anyway, I sold everything I could, gave away the rest, packed my car, and left.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust.” His eyes flickered and flattened and the lively humor evaporated.

She couldn't help but think he was talking about his wife, which was odd, since he loved her. “We’ve known each other for less than two days, but if you ever want to talk, I'm a good listener.”

“I’m a pretty good listener myself.” He picked up another wad of tissue from the box. “What happened with Jon?”

A turbulent vibration started in her heart and stung and bullied its way up to her throat. “I don’t know.”

But she knew exactly what happened. If she opened up, confided her stupidity, would he open up as well? She took a deep breath for the courage to lasso the hurt. “Jon, I suppose. He was funny and spontaneous. He was older, had money, and took me places I'd never been before. He pampered me. I felt pretty. Protected. Safe. We connected on some deep level. He was a creative like me, and I thought he got me.”

“Sounds like a sociopath to me.”

She exhaled a faux laugh. “Now you mention it.”

“So what’s next?”

Enthralled by the question, she wiped the emotional slate clean. “I’ll do what my mom raised me to do.” She pointed at the top of the tree. Ethan accepted the dangling ornament from her hand and hung it exactly where the little chipmunk belonged. “I’ll pick myself up, dust myself off, and start again.”

“Sounds like good advice.” He studied her face the way he’d studied the last ornament he hung. Thoroughly. “So why don’t you stay in Elkridge? Get your feet under you?”

What would I do here? Dreams of singing onstage, of hearing her song on the radio, pushed everything aside. “Nope. As soon as I get enough cash, I’m heading to LA. There’s a good chance I’ll get a slot in this band. It’s my turn. I’ve paid my dues. I’ve worked hard.”

There was that faint curling of the mouth again. “You’ve got an incredible voice.”

“But…”

“But nothing.”

Wow. There was always a but. Could it be he believed? Believed she could make it singing?

Man, she could kiss him.

A tranquil feeling settled over her. She stared at his lips, wondering how they might feel against hers. Would they be gentle or demanding? Instincts told her they'd be a little bit of both. She took a half step closer, found herself leaning forward.

The lights from the Christmas tree created a false intimacy, a fairyland of feelings that might dim in the light of day.

He stilled and seemed to pull in on himself. “Maybe we should call it a day. It’s time for bed.” His voice was soft, husky, deepening the sense of magic.

Was he giving her an out? What if she didn’t want an out? “Are you asking me to go to bed with you?”

He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “No. That wouldn’t be a very good idea. In fact, it would be a horrible idea. I'm no good for you, Noelle. Hell, I'm not good for anyone.”

“That can't be true.”

“Trust me on this.”

He handed her the ornament in his hand, then took a step back. “Good night, Noelle.”