George put the last of the poinsettias in the bed of his truck and then carefully unrolled the tarp he’d tied to the box to keep them covered for the drive to the golf course clubhouse. Tonight was the Lights for Literacy fundraiser, and as he’d promised, he was taking fifty special potted arrangements to serve as centerpieces.

There were activities planned for all over town. All children’s books and resource books were on sale at Pen 2 Paper, and a children’s author from Boston was doing a reading sometime in the afternoon. The library was hosting Stories with Santa later this morning, and there was an adult literacy organization’s display as well. Businesses all over town had donation boxes and incentives as either free gifts or coupons. George would hold down the fort at the garden center while Laurel and Aiden got ready to attend the banquet and silent auction. The whole thing was the brain child of Aiden’s oldest sister, Hannah. Between her and the town’s social media manager, Oaklee Collier, it had become the season’s big event.

As he drove out to the golf course, he thought about Amy. They’d spent more time together in the evenings ever since they’d decorated his tree. Once they’d gone to Roberto’s and shared a huge sausage and mushroom pizza. Another time they’d stopped at the Suds and Spuds pub, ordered iced teas, and listened to live music.

It had all been so very normal, but today his muscles were tense with nerves. He was dressed in jeans and work boots and delivering plants. She’d bought a ticket for the benefit and was going with Willow and Ethan. Apparently in the past five days, she and Willow had struck up a friendship. She’d even talked about attending one of Willow’s morning yoga classes.

They were from different worlds. No matter what she said or how much he enjoyed her company, that simple fact couldn’t be denied. She was on holiday. Her real life was back in New York, working at a big company and taking the train to work each morning. Shopping on Fifth Avenue and dinner with her parents.

He didn’t mean to get hung up on financial differences, but he did have a bit of pride, and it took a hit when he looked at his own life and hers.

The clubhouse was already a beehive of activity. When George pulled up to the staff entrance, he saw delivery vans outside the kitchen and a flurry of workers bustling around, adding signage and even more Christmas lights to the already impressive array. He slammed the truck door and went inside to check in and ask where to put the flowers. When he poked his nose into the ballroom, he caught sight of Hannah Gallagher, gesturing wildly to someone who was setting up the sound system at the front of the room.

He waited a moment until Hannah shook the man’s hand and backed away. “Hey, Hannah? I’ve got the centerpieces.”

“George! Perfect. The tables already have their linens on. We can put them right in the middle. You don’t mind helping, do you?”

“Makes sense to only handle them once.” He was happy to have something to do. Hannah Gallagher intimidated the hell out of him. She was nice enough, and generous to a fault, but she was incredibly beautiful as well as being one of those women who just got things done. She was also rumored to be the best realtor in the area, and he figured it was her blend of savvy and charm that made her so good at her job.

She followed him out to the truck. “So,” she said, taking the first box of six pots in her arms. “I hear your friend is coming with Ethan and Willow tonight.”

“Amy? Yeah, she bought a ticket.”

“You’re not coming with her?”

He hefted his own box. “Not really my scene.” Not to mention, a little hoity-toity for his liking. Him, in some fancy clubhouse eating a hundred dollar a plate dinner? Not likely.

“It’s a good cause.”

He knew it was. “I’m closing up the shop tonight so Laurel can get ready.”

“It doesn’t start until six. And that’s just the cocktail hour.”

He was prevented from answering, thankfully, as they entered the ballroom and went in different directions to place the foil-wrapped pots on the tables. Hannah must have gathered that he wasn’t going to change his mind, because she didn’t bring it up again. Instead they worked along, emptying the truck. When all the tables had a centerpiece, she stood back and looked at the room.

“It’s just missing the candles. Once those are lit, it’ll be beautiful in here, don’t you think?”

Beautiful. He got a surprising lump in his throat. Normally he didn’t think about his lost years with a sense of grief, but he did now. He thought of all the Christmases he’d missed, all the good times he might have had if he’d figured things out, kept his life together, made friends. He could never have those years back. And he thought of decorating his Christmas tree and kissing Amy and knew that night was a memory he’d always cherish.

“I should get back,” he said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Laurel’s by herself until I get there, and she wants to leave by three. This’ll be our biggest Christmas tree day, too.”

“Thanks for your help, George.”

“You’re welcome. I hope your fundraiser’s a big success.”

He went back to the Ladybug and threw himself into the rest of the day’s work. Laurel didn’t escape until three thirty, and only because he finally told her if she didn’t leave he’d quit and there’d be no one to man the store.

Tree sales were crazy. All of his wreaths sold and the nails on the wood stood empty. There were precisely four poinsettias left in the whole store, and their baked goods were sold out except for one lonely tray of sliced banana bread.

That Laurel trusted him with all this—with her business—still amazed him. That she was going to let him manage it when she had her baby boggled his mind. At five o’clock he shut the gate and locked it, then went inside to ring off the cash, do up the deposit, and make sure everything was set before locking up for the night. Then he’d have to stop at the bank and do a night time deposit, because ever since Laurel had been robbed last spring, she didn’t like leaving more than the float on the premises.

He’d just tucked everything into the deposit bag when the office phone rang. He looked over at the display and saw that it was Laurel’s cell number, so he picked it up. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Oh good, you’re still there.”

“Just finishing up the deposit.”

“Did I leave the auction item somewhere? It’s a Ladybug travel mug with some gardening gloves, a spade, and a gift certificate.”

He looked around. “I don’t see it.”

She sighed loudly. “Argh! I swear I have pregnant brain. Who knows where I put it!”

“Let me have a look around.” He pressed the phone to his ear and looked through the office, then started through the store. “Are you sure you didn’t take it with you?”

“It’s not in my bag. It could be anywhere. I’m such a dunce.”

He laughed. “No, you’re not.” He went behind the cash and looked beneath the counter, where they put their returned items. “Hey, I think I found it. Does it have clear plastic and ribbon on it?”

“Yes! Oh, thank goodness. Could you do me a huge favor? I have to be there in thirty minutes and I don’t even have makeup on yet. Could you drop it at the golf club? I know it’s out of your way . . .”

“Of course I can.” He didn’t want to; the place would be crawling with fancy-dressed people and he’d be in the way. But he’d do just about anything for Laurel. And he’d try not to think about Amy being there, all dressed up, where she belonged. If anything, it made it easier to think of her leaving next week, when her lease on the cottage was up. He liked being with her, but it was temporary.

And if the thought of her going home burned a hole in his gut, well, he’d handle it. He’d been through worse, right?

By the time he dropped the deposit at the bank and got to the golf club it was almost ten to six. The parking lot was starting to fill, but he didn’t see Aiden or Laurel’s car anywhere. It didn’t matter; all he needed to do was find a staff member to put Laurel’s contribution to the silent auction in the right spot and all would be well.

And he’d done just that when a familiar voice called his name. “George?”

He turned and there she was.

It had been a critical mistake to think that he could be somehow indifferent. To think that he could turn off the feelings that had been growing for the past week, born out of their shared history but nurtured by their time together.

Ethan and Willow were chatting with people a few feet behind Amy, but she stood still, looked at George with her luminous eyes, and he knew that indifference was impossible. She was stunning in her black cocktail dress, but it was more than that. It was simply everything. He’d been taken with her at twenty-five and he was equally smitten now. To discover she was also kind, compassionate, and understanding . . . she was everything he could ever want in a woman. And she was so out of his league it was laughable.

“I was just dropping something off for Laurel,” he said, acutely aware that he was still in his work clothes.

“Oh. Of course.” Disappointment wreathed her face, and he suddenly wondered if she thought he’d come to see her.

“You look beautiful, Amy.”

“A girl should have one good little black dress,” she said, taking a step forward in her heels. The added height put her just a tiny bit shorter than him. His hands itched to touch her, he wanted to kiss her as he’d been doing all week, but they’d been in private each time—at her door or as she got into her car or at his apartment.

But now it was all different. He looked around them. Everyone here was dressed to the nines, cocktails in their hands, and waiters were beginning to circulate with little appetizers. Her world, not his.

He stepped back. “I should go. Enjoy your evening.”

He slid away, feeling worse by the second. What should he have done or said? Why did she even have to come back and give him a taste of what he couldn’t have?

“George, wait.”

He went outside into the cold air, took a big lungful and felt it burn.

“George!” Her heels clicked on the paved parking lot. “This is ridiculous! Why don’t you go change and come back? We’ll have dinner. It’s for a good cause.”

“I can’t.” His voice sounded constricted and he clamped his lips shut. She hugged her arms around herself to keep warm, and frowned at him.

“If it’s the ticket, I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to buy me a goddamn ticket!”

A few people looked their way, and George felt about two inches high. Amy, to her credit, simply looked at him as if trying to puzzle him out. “You got something you need to get off your chest?” she asked.

“Forget it.” He started to walk away but she hurried after him.

“Oh no you don’t. This is how you acted the very first day I came to Darling and I thought we were past all that.” She followed him to his truck despite how cold she had to be in her dress with no coat.

He turned to face her. “If I wanted a ticket I’d buy a ticket. I’d buy some decent clothes to wear, too. But I don’t want a ticket and I don’t want some stupid suit. Because these aren’t my people and this isn’t my world. So go ahead. Go rub elbows or whatever. And next week you’ll go back to your job and city apartment and forget all about the charity case back in Darling.”

“That’s incredibly unfair, not to mention entirely inaccurate.”

“I’m allowed to feel the way I feel.”

She nodded. “Yep. You sure are. Except you weren’t expressing your feelings, you were passing judgment. Know what, George? You’ve still got a chip on your shoulder.”

“You bet I do. Ninety percent of the people in there used to walk right by me. I mean, they actually took care to make sure they never touched me or made eye contact. Now, I face them every day. In my job, and around town, but on my terms. Not here. Not like this. Not like I’m some . . . example of . . . of . . .”

“You think I’ve spent the last week with you out of pity?”

A fire sparked in her eyes as she said it, her breath forming an icy cloud. He went to take off his jacket since she looked frozen, but she held up a hand.

“I don’t want your jacket. Not when you’re pissing me off like you are right now. Know what? Me paying for your ticket is simply a recognition that money’s tight for you right now as you get back on your feet. It doesn’t have to be a power struggle or a point of pride unless you make it one. But these people? They’re not perfect. But they’re good people, deep down. At least the ones I’ve met. The Gallaghers are your friends and Hannah has spent months putting this event together. I’m third wheeling with Ethan and Willow and I thought it might be nice to have a date. But you didn’t want to come and I didn’t push it. But for you to make this into a battle of the sexes isn’t just silly, it’s hurtful.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve tried to show you every way I know how that I care about you, the person, and don’t give a damn about how much money you make or where you live. You think people have hang-ups about you, George? Take a look in the mirror. The person with the biggest hang-up is you. And until you can make peace with yourself, a relationship between us doesn’t stand a chance.” She let out a big breath. “I can’t do the work for you. And I have to look out for me. I have feelings too, you know. You don’t have the corner on baggage and insecurities.”

His chest cramped as he looked at her, so angry, so passionate. “You’ll go back home and forget all about this week.”

She scoffed. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Then you can pretend that nothing we shared was real.”

He didn’t know what to say. His feelings were all over the map, and the familiar tensing in his muscles told him he had to get out of there. Why was he driving her away? She was the first really good thing to happen to him in so long. He could hear his heart beat in his ears as she faced him down, and then he realized her face had softened into one of concern.

He held up his hand. “Don’t. I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you. I care about you. I worry about you. And you won’t let me in, not really. Please, George.” Her eyes shimmered. “Just let me in.”

He wanted to so badly it frightened him to death. In her eyes he saw Ian’s. He’d let down his best friend so completely, he was sure he’d let Amy down, too. How could he knowingly do that?

How had he ever thought kissing her was a smart move, and that they could come through unscathed?

“I can’t. It’s for the best,” he said roughly, and spun away, jogging to his truck. There were still cars coming into the lot, arriving during the pre-dinner cocktails, and he couldn’t spin out the way he wanted. But he didn’t look back. He drove out the lane and onto the main road back toward Darling center. Got home and threw the truck into park and slammed the door. Went upstairs to his apartment and went inside, stared at the Christmas tree, and fought with everything he had to not rip the popcorn strands off the branches.

He had to get a grip. He couldn’t solve problems by losing his cool, by being impulsive. Adrenaline rushed through him, seeking an outlet. He dropped to his hands and pushed out twenty, thirty, forty pushups, kept counting until his shoulders ached and his arms felt like jelly.

Then he lay on his back on the living room floor and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever have a normal life again, or if he was just fooling himself.