Amy shrugged on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Have you got everything?” George asked, and she nodded. Her lids were heavy, both from the crying and the fact that it was one a.m. and they’d spent the whole evening talking. First about Ian; once George had let out the truth, it seemed as if a dam had opened up and the good memories of their times together on deployment came rushing out. She’d laughed at some of the stories, tucking them away in her heart, the little pieces of her brother that she had missed over the years. They’d done the dishes together, him washing, her drying, and then shared a hug when George got a little misty again over a particular memory of Thanksgiving in the desert.

But now it was late, and she wasn’t sure where to go from here. There’d been a moment, when George had looked into her eyes, that something had happened, a tenuous, invisible connection between them that frightened her. He’d always been attractive, but now he was a bit weathered from time and experience and damned if she didn’t find it sexy. At the same time, he was so damaged. Even considering anything happening between them would be a mistake.

She knew better than most that going into a relationship trying to fix someone was a recipe for disaster.

She should leave. Go back to Brooklyn, spend the holiday in her brownstone and with her parents, and . . .

And do the same damned thing she did every year. It sounded disgustingly dull and a bit sad.

She looked up at George, who was holding out the salad bowl. “Thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you, for everything,” she said softly. Her gaze lit on the plain Christmas tree in the corner. Thought about George trying to celebrate the holiday alone, and knew exactly how he felt. It wasn’t that she was a Grinch or a Scrooge and hated the holiday; she didn’t. But sometimes decorating for one, showing up at all the gatherings alone . . . and having only her own presents under the tree was depressing.

He had his hand on the doorknob when she looked up into his face. “Do you want to go for a walk tomorrow night?”

He hesitated. “A walk?”

She nodded. They had to do something other than eat if they were going to spend some time together, but she didn’t want to suggest anything elaborate that could be misconstrued as a date. “I was just thinking that we could walk around Darling and see all the different Christmas lights. And if you wanted, we could put some decorations on your tree.”

He looked over his shoulder at the tree. “Oh. Yeah, I was going to get around to that . . .”

She smiled a little. “I put my artificial one up on December first, but I can’t really enjoy it while I’m in Darling, can I? And I can’t really put one up in the rental. I was kind of hoping there’d be one already.” Even though the holiday often felt lonely, it felt worse to ignore it altogether. “If I’m going to visit, I might as well make the most of it. I heard there’s a big tree at the town hall.”

“There is. And there are lights through the Green as well, and around the bridge. If the weather agrees, that might be nice.”

“Do you want to meet somewhere?”

“I’ll pick you up. We can park at the lot off Bridge Street, walk over to town hall, and then back along Main to the Green.” He grinned, and she loved seeing his eyes light up. “If we take my truck, we can maybe pick up a few decorations. If you still feel up to decorating.”

He looked so pleased she knew she’d make sure they dressed up his tree in style.

She tucked the casserole dish and bowl under her arm and put her hand on his wrist. “George, thank you for telling me what happened. And for more than that . . . for sharing all those memories. There were so many parts of his life that we didn’t get to see or share. Tonight I felt close to him again.”

“Me, too.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “You know, the grief isn’t the same after so many years, but the questions . . . they were a real loose end.” She smiled a little. “You gave me a wonderful Christmas gift tonight. Now I’d better go so you can get some sleep. Work comes early for you, I’m guessing.”

She was surprised when he grabbed his apartment keys and walked her to her car. A dusk-to-dawn street lamp created a disc of light toward the end of the small parking lot, but the night was silent and still. Their feet made crunching noises in the snow as they crossed to her car, and her breath puffed out in a white cloud in front of them. He took her keys and unlocked her door, the hinges squeaking in the quiet. He handed her the keys.

“Good night, Amy,” he murmured, his hands resting on the top of her car door.

“Good night.”

He shut the door behind her, and she put the key in the ignition and started the engine. She let it warm for about thirty seconds, until she got self-conscious of the fact that he was standing at the front door to his building, without a jacket, making sure she got out of the parking lot okay.

When she drove away she looked in her rear view mirror and saw he’d gone inside. Then she let out a breath and tried not to overthink what was happening—to her, to George, and to the two of them together. They were just friends. That’s all they could be. The closeness she’d felt tonight had simply been a reaction to their emotional discussion, nothing more.

It couldn’t be more.

* * *

George rushed home and showered after work, washing away the dirt and pitch from working with the branches and trees all day. He dressed in clean jeans and a button down shirt, ran his hand through his hair and wondered if it was time for a cut again, and let out a big breath.

This was not a date. Hell, the idea of dating was crazy, wasn’t it? He and Amy were connected by Ian, and George was just going to show her around town. It wasn’t like he had such a surplus of friends that he could justify turning a friendly face away. But it was more than that, too. It was how she’d smiled at him, held his hand, let him cry. They weren’t just connected through Ian’s memory . . . they were connected through shared grief.

Damn. Crying. At one time he would have been embarrassed as hell to let anyone see his tears, but last night had been different. He’d felt . . . safe. And today he felt different. Lighter. More at peace with himself and the world around him.

Maybe confession was good for the soul. Maybe forgiveness lifted the burden on his heart. Whatever it was, he stared in the mirror in the bathroom and realized that tonight was yet another step on the journey toward normalcy: a walk in the snow with a pretty woman. He was going to celebrate that.

It was dark when he pulled into her driveway and got out of the truck. Nerves bounced around in his stomach as he made his way up the cobbled walk to the front door. He knocked and stood back, feeling sick to his stomach.

All those feelings fled when she opened the door. He couldn’t think much of anything except how beautiful she was. She wore a cream-colored jacket and a fluffy pink scarf that highlighted the roses in her cheeks. Her hair was tucked beneath a matching hat, the dark waves of it just visible around her collar. But what really struck him was that she seemed genuinely happy to see him, and excited for their outing. He found himself smiling back at her.

“You ready?” he asked, though he didn’t expect an answer.

“Let me grab my purse,” she replied, and disappeared for a moment. She came back with a cream-and-pink shoulder bag. “Now I’m ready. I even charged up my phone so I can take some pictures.”

She locked the door behind her, and by the time she reached the truck he had the door open for her. Was he imagining things, or did the pink in her cheeks deepen as he shut the door? He pushed away the feeling that this was somehow all too surreal and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Brace yourself. It’s a whole minute and a half to the parking lot.”

She laughed a bit and still buckled her seatbelt. The truck was a little too loud; he hadn’t paid enough attention to the exhaust when he bought it. And it was an older model, with a few rips and tears in the interior. Her little sedan was much newer and in perfect shape, but tonight he didn’t care. He had his own wheels and he could drive a pretty woman to town for a date.

Whoa. He pulled into the parking lot and reminded himself this was definitely not a date.

And reminded himself again when he jogged around the front of the truck to open her door, only to find she’d already got out and was putting her bag over her shoulder.

“Let’s go to the town hall first,” he suggested. They used the sidewalk on the regular traffic bridge to cross Fisher Creek, then turned left toward town hall. The evening was cool and cloudy, with no stars, but the odd errant snowflake drifted down, adding to the festive feel without being a nuisance for pictures or walking. When they got to the town hall, Amy pulled out her phone and took a picture of the towering tree, lit with hundreds of colorful bulbs.

George stared at it too, and felt a contentedness spread through him. “You know, it’s not Rockefeller Center, but it’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“I do. The whole town is really great, George. Friendly and warm. I can see why you like living here.”

They moved past town hall and the adjacent emergency services building, then ambled toward Main Street and the businesses there. “You know, I wondered if I should stay here, or go somewhere that people didn’t know my . . . well, background is probably the best way to put it. But with my job, and the few friends I’ve made, I really didn’t want to go anywhere else. One new start seemed like enough to tackle.”

They passed the church and stopped for a moment to admire the Nativity scene, lit by spotlights. “Oh, this is lovely.” She sighed. “You know, we used to go to midnight mass every Christmas Eve. Mom used to dress us up, too, in special clothes for all the Sundays in advent. God, how Ian hated putting on a tie, even the little clip-on ones when he was a boy. There was always a crèche inside, but never room for a really pretty scene like this. The church was right on the street and parking all around it. This is restful, don’t you think?”

Her remembrance reached in and wrapped around his heart a bit. It wasn’t hard to imagine Ian as a boy, all dark hair and sparkly eyes full of mischief. More than that, she’d unwittingly drawn a picture of a family and a childhood that he’d always longed for and never had. “It’s beautiful,” he replied, and looked over at her. “I’d like to come here for a service sometime.” He didn’t mention that twice a month the church women provided a hot meal for those in need. He’d eaten his share of homemade soups, stews, and baked beans in the small hall at the back of the building.

They walked further on Main, remarking at the decorations on display at businesses and residences alike. She tugged him into the General Store and pulled him to the holiday corner where a small selection of decorations were kept. She picked up a flat box containing thirty little wooden ornaments. “This is cute, don’t you think?”

“They’re not bad.”

“You don’t strike me as the shiny glass ball type.”

She looked so excited he didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was actually exactly that type. He couldn’t explain why, except that he’d had one Christmas as a boy that had been wonderful. He’d been six, maybe seven, and there’d been three other foster kids in the family. But the tree had been beautiful, and he’d got a toboggan from Santa. He hadn’t minded that he’d had to share, and hadn’t minded that the rest of his presents had been underwear and socks and jeans and T-shirts instead of all the latest toys on TV. He’d spent two whole months tugging that sled back up the hill before zooming down again. Before he’d had another switch to a new foster home.

He honestly didn’t give a damn what the decorations on his tree looked like. The fact that he even had one was enough.

“They’re nice,” he answered, but she’d already tucked them under her arm and was looking at tree toppers, namely stars covered in some sparkly something-or-other. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you decorations for your tree.”

He frowned. “Then here. I’ll get them.”

“Nope. My gift to you.”

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Amy, I can get a few decorations.”

She tilted her chin in the air. “Let’s look at it from my point of view, shall we? I don’t have a tree at the cottage, and every year I decorate mine alone. You already have the tree and stand. And helping you . . .” Her big eyes shimmered at him. “It’d be nice to decorate with someone for a change.”

Amy? Lonely? He hadn’t considered it before, but maybe she was.

“Is this a pride thing?” she asked. “Because if it is, I’ll let you buy me a hot chocolate at The Purple Pig.”

She was so impossible to resist. He should have known that first day she’d driven into town and faced off with him at The Ladybug that he didn’t stand a chance. Less than a week later he’d spilled his guts and was out being social of all things.

“I suppose I’ll have to say yes,” he replied, and dropped his hand. She smiled triumphantly and took the decorations to the cash register. Then she tucked them into the pink-and-cream tote.

“Now you know why I brought the big bag,” she teased, stepping through the door as the bell dinged above them.

Snow was falling a little harder now, but still only what he’d call a “gentle flurry.” Their steps slowed as they walked along, stopping to admire a few different wreaths. George even stepped closer to a business door to examine the wreath’s construction, which led to more teasing from Amy. At The Purple Pig he bought two dark hot chocolates, made with organic cocoa and milk, as well as two holiday shortbread cookies in the shape of snowmen. Further down the block they crossed to the Green at a crosswalk, found a vacant bench, and sat to sip and nibble.

“This is nice,” Amy said quietly, tilting her face to the sky. She stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and then giggled. George watched, fascinated, entranced. She seemed so . . . young. And most of the time he felt so old, but tonight that all disappeared. Tonight he felt the weight of his past fade away, and when she looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow, he tilted his head back, stuck out his tongue, and waited for a little cold flake to land on it.

“You look silly,” she remarked, and bit the rest of the head off her snowman.

“Who cares?” he asked, grinning. “Want to know something? I went through years of people either not actually seeing me or seeing me and pretending I didn’t exist. It taught me not to care so much about things like how I look. What I really have to worry about?” He held his cookie in his hand but pressed his hand over his heart. “How I feel in here. Being square with myself. I spent so much time thinking I wasn’t worth it, determined not to accept help. I started over, and if I want to catch snowflakes on my tongue I’m damned well going to do it.”

“Good. You should.” She gave an emphatic nod.

They were still chatting when a voice interrupted them. “George?”

He looked up and saw half the Gallagher clan walking through the snow. Laurel was there, holding Aiden’s hand, her baby bump just visible beneath her jacket. With them was Aiden’s brother, Ethan, his partner, Willow, and his two little boys. Willow was glowing; her pregnancy wasn’t quite as far along as Laurel’s, but wasn’t far behind.

“Hey, boss.” He smiled up at Laurel, but felt heat rush into his face. Particularly when everyone seemed to be staring at Amy like she was some kind of curiosity.

“Looks like lots of people are enjoying the lights tonight,” Aiden remarked, giving Laurel a gentle nudge with his elbow. She stopped staring and smiled.

“Everyone, this is Amy Merck. I knew her brother a long time ago.” There wasn’t as much pain at the words as he expected. “Amy, you’ve met Laurel. This is her husband, Aiden, and his brother Ethan; Willow, who owns the Purple Pig, and Ethan’s sons, Connor and Ronan.”

Amy smiled widely. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Aiden, and Willow . . . I just love the food at the café.” She looked down at the boys. “And I suppose you guys are getting excited for Christmas.”

Ronan held onto Willow’s hand and stared. Connor started jumping around and talking about wanting hockey skates for Christmas, so he could be just like Cam Collier. Amy nodded. “Sure,” she said brightly. “But I’m a Rangers fan, so I’m not so much into Collier.”

“What?” Connor’s mouth dropped open in dismay, and George laughed. “I think you just insulted his superhero,” he muttered. He looked at Connor and shook his head. “I know, Connor. I mean, the Rangers? Really?”

With the ruffled feathers smoothed, everyone enjoyed a laugh.

“We’d better keep going. We parked at the garden center. Willow and Ethan are going to take their tree home tonight.”

Ronan still hadn’t said a word, but George noticed his eyes brightened with excitement.

For a moment a bit of wistfulness hit him. He’d never have a family like this, not now. But maybe what he had was enough. He’d been alone for so long. Having a real family invite him in . . . it was more than he’d ever expected again.

“You two enjoy your evening,” Ethan said. Willow approached George and knelt down in front of him.

“How’s the CD working out?”

She was so kind, so generous. “Like a charm.”

“You know where I am if you need anything, right?”

He nodded. Willow had surprised him a few months ago by sharing a small bit of her own story. She’d dealt with her own mental health issues and never hesitated to offer a helping hand or a non-judgmental ear. Not that he’d really taken her up on it; he was too private. But she was able to read between the lines without pressing, and he appreciated it.

Willow looked over at Amy. “It’s really lovely to meet you. Come on into the café at any time. We should have tea.”

“Oh.” Amy looked flustered but pleased. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

Willow reached over and patted Amy’s hand, then stood and reached for Ronan again. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s go pick out a tree.”

When they were gone Amy looked over at him with big eyes. “Wow. They’re really nice people. And Willow is so pretty!”

“That family has been . . . well, not my surrogate family, but my friends. They’re good people. The best.”

“The boys are sweet.”

“Ethan’s first wife died a few years back. But this past year, he and Willow started dating. They’re expecting a baby in the spring.”

“That’s so sad.”

“With a happy ending.” He shrugged. “She loves his boys and they love her. There are three other kids in the family, too. When they all get together, it’s a bit overpowering.”

“I bet.”

His cookie was long gone. “Do you want to keep walking? There are lights all along here. And you must be getting cold.”

She nodded and he took their empty garbage to a nearby receptacle. When he came back, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

His stomach flipped over, and he left his hand in hers while wondering what the hell he was doing. He was in no position to offer her anything. Not materially, not emotionally. But how could he deny himself the simple sweetness of her gesture? There was innocence in it, and trust. Trust most of all.

They passed several little illuminated scenes as they walked along the path, but George barely noticed them. He was too busy thinking about the woman beside him. Ian had spoken of his twin sister often, worrying about her, telling George stories of their childhood, both good and bad. Girls, he’d explained, could be really horrible to each other. Particularly when someone wasn’t in the popular crowd. When it had been time for their senior prom, he’d gone with his girlfriend, but his best friend had taken Amy when her date had cancelled on her two weeks before the dance. George looked at her now, her face lit by the myriad of holiday lights, and wondered if her marriage, and her past experiences, had left her feeling like she was always second best.

She wasn’t. No way.

He kept his hand in hers as they approached the Kissing Bridge.

“So this is the famed bridge?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”

The town council had strung lights from one side of the stone bridge to the other, making it worthy of a fairy-tale. Other people were strolling, across it, in front of it, taking pictures, even the odd kiss. Quite often kissing and taking pictures.

But George didn’t even really see the bridge. He was too busy looking at her, marveling that she was there with him, and smiling, and that for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t just optimistic, he was happy.

“So are you,” he said, before he could change his mind.

She turned to face him. “I’m what?” she asked, having lost the thread of their conversation.

He swallowed, even more aware that he held her hand in his. “Beautiful,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t say it, but it’s true. You always were, and you still are.”

“George,” she whispered, and her eyes softened.

“Just in case you forgot,” he added. “In case your ex made you feel as if you weren’t. Or . . . whatever.”

“Sometimes,” she admitted softly. “Oh, George. How did we get to be so broken?”

They stood at the edge of the bridge for a long time, staring at the lights, the way they sparkled off the snow, listening to the chatter of people around them. Amy took out her phone and snapped a couple of pictures. After a while they started walking across the stones, over the frozen creek to the other side. George held his breath. He knew the legend of the bridge, didn’t really put any credence in it, but didn’t want to tempt fate, either. Other couples laughed and kissed; they ambled. When they got to the other side, and the path that led away from the bridge and to the half-full parking lot, they hesitated. George wasn’t ready to leave. There’d been something magical about their walk through the snow tonight. Something tenuous and beautiful that reached in and made him feel so alive.

Amy looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious. Then her gaze dropped to his lips and he felt the jolt in his solar plexus. When was the last time a woman had looked at him this way? He still didn’t feel he deserved it. As she leaned closer, he realized that his time on the street had left him feeling dirty and unworthy of what most people took for granted as normal.

She stood up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. She teetered on her heels a little, and reached out to the stone rail of the bridge to keep her balance. Only for a moment, though. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her firmly as they kissed. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to rock his world.

Shorter and sweeter than he remembered, but no less potent.

He pulled away first, ran his tongue over his lower lip. He tasted the soft sweetness of her lipstick. Oh boy. This was not supposed to happen. He was just supposed to be showing her around town.

“Is it okay that I did that?” she asked, her voice quiet and uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “It surprised me. I haven’t . . . I mean . . .” He smiled a little. “Shit, Amy, I’m out of practice.”

She smiled a little in return. “I didn’t notice.”

Damn. Just damn.

“Let’s just put a pin in it,” she suggested. “Call it a nice moment, maybe? And not read too much into it?”

It sounded like the perfect way to handle it, but it was more than a nice moment. Did she realize the gift she’d given him? He’d done a lot of things in the last few months that had helped give him back his dignity and his sense of self and pride. But this . . . One sweet, simple kiss had given him back a bit of his manhood. Of his sexuality. He felt . . . desirable.

And if he ever admitted such a thing out loud, he’d be laughed out of Darling. But it didn’t change the expansive feeling in his chest, or the fact that he wanted to kiss her again, but this time properly.

“George?”

He shook his head and dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Sorry. Do you want to decorate the tree now? Or would you like to do something else?”

Her eyes twinkled at him. “Your tree. I have some surprises in my bag.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

The truck wasn’t far away, and within a few minutes they were pulling into the parking lot at his building.

Something new sat between them, a delicious kind of tension that was a hangover from the kiss and had bloomed into what George thought might be attraction. It certainly was on his part. He might be out of practice, but he’d given her the opportunity to call it a night, and instead she’d seemed excited to go back to his apartment and decorate his tree.

A nice moment indeed.

But she wanted to keep it light, and he’d oblige. So they hopped out of the truck, she grabbed her bag, and they headed upstairs to the naked tree that waited for them.