Amy went back inside the clubhouse, darted into the ladies’ room to fix her makeup, and then went to the banquet room to find Willow and Ethan. They were mingling near the auction tables, and Amy took a moment to watch them. Ethan put his hand lightly on the small of Willow’s back, looking down into her face as if there was no one else in the world. Willow looked up at him and Amy saw the younger woman rest her hand on her belly. Willow’s dress was of the flowy sort, so her pregnancy wasn’t immediately obvious. But when her hand rested against the fabric, it was easy to see that she had a little bubble at her waistline.

Willow and Ethan had all that Amy had ever wanted. The love of another and a family to call her own. Was that so much to ask? She’d made such a mistake putting her faith in George. Not that he’d disappointed her, no, never. And she’d spoken the truth that she’d thought he needed to hear. But she regretted how she’d said it, and she was sad to realize that neither of them was to blame. George simply wasn’t ready. He might never be ready, and she’d allowed herself to hope.

Willow looked over and saw Amy standing there, and with a look of concern excused herself from Ethan’s company and made her way over to Amy’s side. “Oh dear. What happened?”

“It’s okay. We just . . . Oh, we were fooling ourselves. Said we’d have a nice week of spending time together and then part ways at Christmas. And it worked, until today.”

Willow touched her arm. “Any time someone says the words ‘no strings’ or ‘no feelings involved’, it’s a guarantee that it’s going to get messy. It’s like we already know we’re in over our heads and if we say the words it’s not true.”

“I think I need a glass of wine.”

“Ask and ye shall receive.” Willow snagged a glass from a passing waiter and handed it to her. “I didn’t ask if you liked red or white. Desperate times . . .”

Amy managed a small laugh. Willow was one of the most likable women she’d ever met. If Amy lived in Darling, she bet they’d end up friends.

For some reason, that also made her sad.

“Come on,” Willow said. “I know a quieter place we can chat before dinner starts.”

“I don’t want to ruin your night . . .”

“You’re not.” Willow tugged at her hand and led her past the coat check to a second, quieter room. “Okay. Tell Auntie Willow everything.”

Amy didn’t know where to start. She sat down on a hard plastic chair and cradled her wine glass instead.

Willow pulled up a chair next to her. “Hey,” she said softly. “You care about each other. It’s not easy, particularly when there are so many mountains to climb. I know. I’ve been there.” She held out her arm and showed Amy the little tattoo at her wrist. “I went through a really shit time. It took a lot of therapy and time to sort myself out. Even then, it wasn’t until Ethan came along that I made it the rest of the way. And Ethan had lost his wife. Healing is hard business, Amy. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“I know. I was so hard on him just now.”

“I’ve known George a while. For him to be where he is now . . . he’s shown so much courage and strength. You could have blown us all over when we saw you guys on the Green the other night. If you’d asked us two weeks ago if George would be drinking hot cocoa with a date at the Kissing Bridge, we would have laughed in your face. You did that. He has his job and his apartment and the necessities of life . . . but you reached in and found the real George lurking behind all the practicalities of merely existing.”

Amy’s eyes began to sting.

“He said that a lot of the people here used to make sure they didn’t touch him,” Amy said, her heart hurting as she heard the words echoing in her head. “I forget sometimes that there’s a different history that I don’t know. I have no context.”

“It’s also true that a lot of people have stepped up and helped him,” Willow said. “But the other was an easier way to keep you at arm’s length. Caring for someone is what really scares him, you see? And it’s not just that you can hurt him, it’s that he could hurt you. Or that down deep, he worries he’s not enough. That he doesn’t deserve you. And that kind of thinking can be hard to change.”

Amy wondered if some of George’s insecurities stemmed from his transient upbringing, too. He’d never known unconditional love, never known the security of a family. Even the army had cut him loose without the supports he needed. “I suggested counseling,” Amy admitted. “Real therapy, not the ‘Band-Aid, come in and talk about it’ kind.”

“I’ve mentioned it, too,” Willow said. “But access is harder than it should be, and without good private insurance . . .”

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“Do you love him, Amy?”

The question surprised her, but the answer surprised her more. “Yeah,” she answered softly. “I think I do. I know it’s been a short time, but . . .”

“But sometimes it just happens, when we least expect it.” Willow laughed a little. “And with the last person we expect. Ethan and I totally did not get along at first.”

“George and I always got along,” Amy answered. “Even fifteen years ago.”

Willow patted her hand. “Then don’t give up. Show him he’s worth fighting for, if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do you want to stay? Ethan can take you home if the evening’s ruined for you now.”

Amy shook her head, feeling so much better now that she’d talked to Willow. “No, I’ll stay. You’ve all been so kind, and the meal smells amazing, and I want a chance to bid on some of those items. Besides, I need to do some thinking. If I go home I’ll wallow.”

Willow grinned. “I like you. I’m kind of hoping you’re around a little more.”

Would she be? Was that even possible? Or would she and George just be able to patch things up as friends?

She enjoyed the evening, even dancing a few times with Aiden and Ethan and their younger brother Rory, who had come with his girlfriend, Oaklee, who turned out to be Cam Collier’s baby sister. Since Oaklee and Hannah were rushing around making sure everything was running smoothly, Rory took his turn on the dance floor with some young ladies who looked at him as if he hung the moon. Then she had a slower dance with John Gallagher, and one of Ethan’s buddies from the fire department, and someone named Brian who owned the pharmacy in town. By midnight she was tired and ready for bed, but when Willow turned into her yard—as the pregnant one in the party, she’d become the default designated driver—the sight of her evergreen in full lights stole her breath.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous. When did you do that?”

Amy’s throat clogged. “I didn’t. Oh, dammit.” She sniffed. “I yelled at him and he gave me a Christmas tree.”

“George did this?”

“It had to be him.” She knew in her heart it was. The tree stood at least twelve feet high, a perfect pyramid of pungent branches. Looped around it, from top to bottom, were large multi-colored lights, shining off the snow.

She got out of the car and went over to the single Adirondack chair placed by the tree. He’d written on the backside of the cardboard from one of the packages of lights and placed it on the seat. I’m sorry, it read. And that was all.

Ethan got out of the car and took her her purse. “That’s a pretty big gesture,” he said quietly. “A man has to feel pretty shitty to do something this nice.”

“I know. And he already feels shitty enough. I wish he could see himself the way I do. The way other people do. Not everyone sees him as that homeless guy anymore, you know?”

“Is that what he thinks? Everyone I know of thinks it’s amazing what he’s accomplished the last few months. Sure, they were wary before, but once you get to know George . . .”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

“Call if you need anything,” he offered.

“You go get Willow home. She and that baby need some rest.”

“I will. And Amy?”

“Hmm?” She kept staring at the tree. Couldn’t look away. He’d done this, for her. Not just because he was sorry but because he knew she didn’t have a tree of her own at the cottage. How could she see his thoughtfulness and generosity and he couldn’t?

“Don’t give up,” he advised, then went back to the car.

She didn’t want to, but she wasn’t sure how to proceed, either. She went inside and got ready for bed, and then turned facing the window, so she could see the rainbow glow of the lights in the front yard.

If George couldn’t see how much people cared, maybe she would just have to show him.

* * *

When George didn’t hear from Amy after the literacy banquet, he figured it was pretty much over.

He’d waited most of Sunday to hear from her. And again Monday. Then Tuesday . . . and nothing. No impromptu lunches at The Ladybug, no walks through the park or sharing fries at the Sugarbush. Now it was Christmas Eve, they’d be closing up shop by three, and the words she’d said to him kept running through his head like a constant loop. The one with the hang-ups was him. She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t 100% right, either. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be worthy of someone’s trust and affection. Why was it wrong for him to need to be self-sufficient? Why shouldn’t he want to have some pride?

God, he was still such a mess. There were only two things he knew for sure. He was determined to move forward with a better life. And he knew that it was possible to love again. Not just Amy, though he suspected that was true, too. But he loved other people, too, like Laurel. Like Jordan, their student employee, who came into work with her crazy college stories and homemade cookies that she baked all the time because she had a sweet tooth and her mom never kept sweets in the house. And right now he was half in love with a tabby cat that he’d found huddled under a stack of Douglas firs a few days ago. He hadn’t taken it home, but he’d put out a little food for it in the morning and before he left at night. The damned thing probably had fleas, but George felt sorry for it all the same. The cat watched him with wary eyes, but when George found a couple of burlap sacks left over from evergreen boughs, and tucked them into the sheltered corner of the fence, he was gratified to find the cat curled up fast asleep a few hours later.

Letting go of some of the past had made room for the future. He’d apologized, but it was obviously too late. With a sinking heart, he figured Amy wasn’t even in Darling anymore. Tomorrow was Christmas. Today was the last day in her rental term.

He was sweeping up the greenhouse floor when Hannah Gallagher came in and brought him a little wrapped present.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over in his hand.

“Just a little something to say thank you for helping with the benefit. The centerpieces were lovely, George. I appreciate you delivering them and helping put them around.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you want me to open it now?”

She shook her head. “Not if you don’t want to. You can put it under your tree. Merry Christmas.”

A while later there was a tap on his shoulder. It was one of his neighbors, an elderly man he thought was named Hugh. Hugh also held out a present, wrapped rather raggedly in green paper with a red bow. “Came in to get some Christmas Eve cider,” he said in his shaky voice. “But I wanted to thank you for cleaning off my car after last week’s storm. I have a hard time reaching these days and I appreciate it.”

“Shoot, it was no problem. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Heh,” the old man answered. “Don’t have many people to buy for anyway. Merry Christmas, George.”

The afternoon went much the same. Business owners, neighbors, friends . . . several popped by with thanks for something he’d done, the littlest thing, really, and brought cards and gifts and one little girl gave him a toilet paper roll ornament she’d made as a way to say thank you for putting her chain back on her bike last summer. He didn’t understand why it was all happening, didn’t know what to say through his surprise, but at the same time, a warmth expanded in his chest each time someone made a point to say Merry Christmas.

It was nearly quitting time when Laurel came out to see him. The customers were all gone, presumably to their own homes to get ready for the holiday and family festivities. “Big plans tonight?” he asked, pulling the door shut.

“Just dinner at John and Moira’s,” she said. “Christmas Eve at the in-laws, and then in the morning we’ll have Christmas breakfast at Ethan and Willow’s. Because of the boys.”

Those little boys unwrapping presents, a huge extended family laughing and talking over bacon and scrambled eggs and probably pancakes. It sounded so damned perfect.

“George, I wanted to give you this. I know we didn’t say anything about exchanging gifts, but you need to know how much you’ve meant to me—to us—these last months. Without you, I’m not sure Aiden and I would have worked out our differences. And the garden center . . . you started by sweeping up and watering and now I know I can have this baby and The Ladybug will be in great hands. It’s a load off my mind, and I’m thankful and so stinkin’ proud of you it’s ridiculous. So Merry Christmas.”

She handed him a gift bag. It was fairly big and not heavy but definitely full. “Should I open it?”

“If you want to.”

He grinned. He had a whole stack of little gifts to take home . . . holy doodle, he was going to have presents beneath his tree after all. But this one . . . it was Laurel after all. He reached inside, pulled away the clump of fluffy tissue paper, and removed a black fleece jacket and two work shirts.

Each one was embroidered with the Ladybug Garden Center logo and had the word Manager written below it.

He met her eyes and raised his eyebrows. “Manager?”

“I know I’m not due for a while, but now is as good a time as any. I can focus my hours more in the office and you can see to the day-to-day running of the place. It comes with a raise, George. Not a huge one, but a little something. And benefits.”

He didn’t know what to say. Thought he should sit down but there was nowhere to sit. “God, Laurel, you’re sure?”

She smiled tenderly. “Amy was right. We have more faith in you than you have in yourself. You’ve earned this, George.”

Amy. The day had been nearly perfect except the one person he really wanted here, he’d driven away.

“I don’t have anything for you,” he said quietly. He seriously hadn’t considered exchanging gifts with anyone this year. He hadn’t expected to receive any gifts at all.

“I have all I need, honey. Now you go home and let me clean up here. Aiden’ll be by after his shift so I’m just putting in time anyway.”

“You’re sure?”

She laughed. “Go.”

He put all his presents in a shopping bag, put his jacket and shirts back in the pretty gift bag, and carried them all to his truck. The market was still open for another few hours, closing at five, so he ran in quickly and bought himself a single serving turkey dinner at the deli, thought twice, and bought a second one for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Though he’d never been a fan of fruitcake, there was a solid brick of one marked down in the bakery section and he put it in his basket. His last stop was for eggs and bacon. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could make bacon and eggs and celebrate the good things in his life. Even Amy. Even if she’d gone back to Brooklyn, her coming here had started a chain reaction of good things that he could build on.

When he arrived at his apartment, her car was parked in one of the visitor spots.

He took three deep breaths, warned himself not to get his hopes up, and stepped out of his truck.

She got out of her car at the same time, and their eyes met. She smiled . . . oh, that wonderful, sweet smile, and the bonds around his heart eased.

“You’re late,” she said, her smile widening.

“I stopped at the market. If I’d known . . .”

“You would have rushed right home?”

“Damned right.”

It must have been the right answer because the spark went sizzling between them again.

“I heard you had quite a day at work.”

“I get the feeling you had something to do with that.”

She walked up to him. “Do you want to talk about this inside?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Let me take one of your bags.” She took the bag containing the eggs, bacon, and juice, and followed him into the building and up the stairs. Once inside she pushed off her shoes with her toes and left them by the mat. Then she took her groceries and put them on the kitchen counter, turned around, and walked into his arms.

He wanted to hug her back, but his hands were full of plastic bags. Instead he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of her arms around him, her body close to his.

She backed away, let him put down the bags, then took his hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her fingers over the tops of his hands. “I’m sorry I yelled at you and said those things. And I’m sorry that even for such a short time, I gave up on you. That was wrong. You’re not in this alone. I asked for you to just get over years of issues and baggage, when we both know that’s not how it works. I’m sorry, George. I hope you forgive me.”

He pulled her into his arms, close to his chest. “Of course I do. You weren’t wrong, you know. I’m just . . . a work in progress.” He frowned a little. “I have to admit. After I put the lights on the tree in your yard, and you didn’t say anything, I thought you couldn’t forgive the things I said, too. I thought you’d left.”

She shook her head. “I had to look after a few details. Come, sit down for a minute. By the tree.”

He followed her to the sofa and sat down beside her.

She reached into her purse and took out a long, slim box, about the size of a business envelope but maybe an inch deep. It was wrapped in red foil with gold ribbon and bow. “My present to you. Open it.”

“You don’t want me to wait until tomorrow?”

“No. Not for this one.” Her smile was wide and bright with excitement. “This is part of what took up my time the last few days.”

He tore off the ribbon and slid his finger beneath the tape on the paper. Inside the box was a sheaf of papers. “What the heck?” He took them out, scanned them quickly, met her gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a group of veterans that do a bike tour every year. I know you don’t have a motorbike anymore, so this gives you a one-month rental and insurance, plus the tour package the group uses. The road trip is for two weeks, the first two weeks of April. I know it’s not New England in the fall, but . . .”

He didn’t care. It could have been to Timbuktu. He could already imagine the feel of the wind on his face and the road slipping away behind him. “Amy, it’s too much.”

“It’s not. It’s just right.” She smiled at him. “Say you’ll go.”

“But Laurel’s baby is due . . .”

“I ran this past Laurel first. She said you’re not to worry and to go and have a good time.”

He stared at the papers once more. God, what a rush it would be! It was the perfect gift. How could she know him so well after such a short time?

“I don’t have anything for you,” he said, feeling like a heel for the second time that afternoon. “I feel awful.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You put the lights on that tree, and I went to sleep at night seeing them out the bedroom window. And you’ve given me so much the last few weeks. Stories about Ian . . . those are better than anything. You can’t buy that kind of stuff.”

He put down his gift and took her hand in his. “And what about us, then? I can’t move quickly on this, Amy. I don’t want to hurt you, or get hurt myself. Not that there are ever guarantees, but I don’t want to be careless. You’re too important for me to mess this up.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” she replied, leaning against his shoulder. “It’s a long drive, but we could do it now and again. Or take the train. Spend some weekends getting to know each other better.” She put her hand on his knee. “Take it one day at a time, with no pressure about the future.”

“You mean try to make this work?”

She nodded. “I’m willing if you are, George. But I have issues too, and I understand if what . . .” She halted. “The baby thing. I can’t ever give you that. I don’t want to deprive you of fatherhood if it’s something you really want.”

He pulled her close. “That isn’t even on my radar, and it’s you I want. All of you, not just the easy bits. I’ve a long way to go before I could be anyone’s father. So no, sweetheart, that’s not a deal breaker for me.”

She let out such a deep breath that he knew it had been troubling her a great deal. He wondered how many men had missed out on her love because of her fertility. Their foolishness was his gain. “So we’re going to move forward, one day at a time, working with each other’s flaws? Hardly sounds exciting,” he teased.

But her eyes were soft and serious as she answered. “I don’t need exciting. I just need honesty and love. And if we work with that, I think it’ll all come right in the end.”

“Me, too.” And when he couldn’t wait any longer, he kissed her, long and deep. And after a very long while they got up and heated up turkey dinners in the microwave, and cuddled on the sofa.

And when Christmas Eve turned into Christmas morning, it was with Amy held close in his arms as they lay spoon fashion on the sofa in front of the tree, sleeping.