Charlie stood on the sidewalk and watched Trig take off toward the bed and breakfast. She touched her kiss-swollen lips and smiled. Trig Whatley didn’t lie. He was a damn good kisser.

Agatha stuck her head out the door and said, “I’m making cookies. Do you want to help?”

Charlie’s heart did a flip. Lots of people make Christmas cookies but that was something she had done with her mother.

“No, but I’ll come up and watch.”

Agatha nodded and led her to the small apartment above the pharmacy.

“How long has my father lived here?” So much had changed.

The older woman moved around the kitchen gathering supplies. Flour, sugar, butter, salt and every color of sprinkle known to man sat on the Formica counter. “He’s been here ever since I’ve known him.” Agatha poured ingredients into the bowl by sight. That was how Charlie’s mother had cooked. It was always a pinch of this and a plop of that but somehow the cookies were always perfect. Just went to show that the recipe for success wasn’t rigid. A person could stray from the intended path and still wind up with something good.

When the initial sugar cookie dough was finished Charlie stuck her finger into the bowl to grab a taste. It melted on her tongue and left a bittersweet memory.

“Do you know what happened to our house on Jasmine Lane?”

“It’s still there. Your father rented it to Marina for a while but she married the sheriff, so they live next door with their little one, Kellyn.”

“So the house is vacant now?”

Agatha wrapped plastic wrap over the bowl and put it in the refrigerator to cool. She brought back a bowl of already chilled dough. “Yes, for now, but with so many people coming back to town, he won’t have a problem renting it.”

“Oh. There did seem to be a lot of growth. I saw the Dry Goods Store is open all year round as well as the diner. Kathy’s Cut and Curl is now Cove Cuts. There’s been a lot of change.”

Agatha spread plastic wrap on the table and handed Charlie a cold marble rolling pin. She took it without thought and began to flatten the cookie dough on the surface. They worked together much the same way Charlie and her mother had all those years ago.

“Change is the only certainty in life. That and the fact that your butt will get bigger if you eat too many cookies.”

“How did you meet my father?”

Charlie knew the Guilds had a long-term presence in the town but she wanted specifics.

Agatha sat next to her with an array of cookie cutters shaped in trees, wreaths and snowmen. “I knew him when I was a child but I left town to go to school. I traveled a great deal and when I moved back, I lived in Silver Springs. Your dad would show up to square dancing every so often and I’d always make sure I was his partner, and then one day fate stepped in. Dalton crashed his motorcycle and I brought him back to town so he could see your father for his injuries. That was the beginning of the beginning. Then there was the fire and I took care of your pops while he recovered.”

Charlie was grateful for the woman’s love and care. Had it not been for her, she might not have known her father had been injured. “Was he a gracious patient?”

Agatha laughed. “He was as friendly as a cat on fire.”

“Sounds like you deserve a medal.”

“Men are an interesting species. They want to be babied, but at the same time, they don’t want you to forget they’re men.”

After listening to Trig talk about feeling less than a man with his injury, Charlie knew Agatha knew the secret sauce to a man’s heart.

“Do you love my father?”

The older woman blushed. “Oh, yes. There’s no doubt. Does that bother you?”

While she thought it would, it didn’t. How could she expect her father to stay single and lonely his whole life? Hell, she was only twenty-eight and she was lonely.

“No, I’m glad he found you.”

Agatha smiled. “I’d like to believe I found him. What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Charlie’s hand went straight to her lips. She closed her eyes and relived the one perfect kiss of her life.

“No, there’s no one special.” The words felt like a bitter lie in her mouth. She didn’t want to start a relationship with Agatha on an untruth. “I did kiss Trig Whatley today.” She sighed in that dreamy way girls do when their hearts are full. “It was a perfect kiss.”

Agatha got up to put the first tray of cookies in the oven. On her way back, she grabbed the percolator and two cups. “This story needs coffee and sweets. Tell me more. What made it so good?”

There wasn’t one thing she could pinpoint, but it had been amazing. “I suppose it was because kissing him was my choice.” She hadn’t considered it before, but Trig didn’t force himself on her like Evan. He merely promised her the best kiss of her life and delivered on that promise.

“It should always be your choice.” Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Has anyone forced themselves on you? I’ve got a gun, and I’m a very good shot, you know.”

Charlie laughed. “Now you sound like Trig, and yes, my boss caught me under the mistletoe. It wasn’t pleasant.”

By the way Agatha pressed the cutters into the dough, it was obvious she wasn’t happy to hear that news either. “You need a new boss.”

“Yes, I do. I quit my job just before I left town.”

A smile bloomed a mile wide. “That’s wonderful news. You can stay here and practice. Your father is tired of tending to animals.”

“He takes care of animals, too?”

“Not willingly, but when Lloyd Dawson had a breach birth with his prize heifer, he called your dad. Sage had a bird with a broken wing and your father patched that up. Given that the town is full of special needs pets, you’d stay busy here.”

Charlie considered her statement, but knew it would never work. She didn’t want her father to think she came back to town because she had no other options. She came back because it was time to make everything right again.

“Otis isn’t the only special needs animal?”

The timer went off and Charlie jumped up to take the perfectly baked cookies from the oven.

“Oh gosh no. Cannon has a one-eyed cat, and I swear Bowie’s and Katie’s dog Bishop has ADD or maybe it’s because he’s still a puppy. My nephew and his wife Lydia have a retired police dog who has PTSD and some work-related injuries.”

“And Clovis has a scratched cornea.”

“Trig’s fat, squatty dog you worked on at the clinic today?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

There was a commotion on the stairs and a moment later Charlie’s father walked in. He took in the scene around him and smiled. Charlie wondered what he was thinking.

“What a beautiful sight to see. My two girls chatting it up and making cookies.” He walked forward and took a wreath from the tray. Before he took a bite, he kissed Agatha on the lips and Charlie on the cheek. Somehow it all felt right.

“Where have you been?” Charlie asked her father.

He glanced at the living room behind them. Sitting on the floor was a Christmas tree. “I haven’t had one in ten years. I thought maybe…”—his expression softened—“maybe you can help me decorate it.”

Charlie hated to admit it, but she hadn’t had a Christmas tree either. Her heart ached at the thought of celebrating without her mother, but Agatha was right, change was inevitable and even though she hadn’t had a tree in a decade that was a change from the way she was brought up. She and her father used to trek into the woods and pick their tree while her mom stayed home and made spiced cider and hot cocoa.

“Did you go to our favorite place and find this one?” Charlie rose from the chair and walked into the living room, where the tree lay on the carpet.

“Oh, no. I’m too old for a trek into the woods but not too old for a trek to Copper Creek.” He leaned over and lifted the tree to its stand. “This one is compliments of Angels Tree Farm.”

A feeling of giddiness washed over Charlie. How had so much changed, and yet so much seemed familiar? “It’s perfect.”

Agatha busied herself rearranging the furniture to make room for the tree. Charlie’s dad set it in the corner and they all stepped back to admire its perfection and breathe in the scent of pine, sap, and love.

“Charlie, I’ve still got all the ornaments you made as a kid, but I don’t want to stir up memories if you’re not ready for them.”

She swallowed a lump in her throat. Was she ready? Would she ever be ready? She erased the doubt. Memories were simply a time to reflect on the past. If anything, they would remind her of the childhood she’d had. “Let’s decorate this tree.”

Agatha bounced like a kid. “I’m so excited,” she said. “I’ll get the cocoa started while you two find the tree jewelry.”

Her father stood in front of her and smiled. “I’m so happy you’re back.” He looked over his shoulder to Agatha, who was already at the stove pouring milk and cocoa into a pan. “She’s a good woman, but there’s room in my life for both of you.”

Charlie was certain her father worried that he’d given her the impression she’d been replaced. “Daddy, I like her. She’s so much like Mom and yet different. You did well.” She knew it was silly for her to call her father Daddy, but old habits were hard to break.

The rest of the afternoon was spent reliving the memories of each ornament. Agatha added her own flair to the tree by draping it with paper chains and strings of popcorn.

They filled up on cookies and cocoa and watched A Charlie Brown Christmas, which was part of Agatha’s Christmas traditions. By the end of the evening, Charlie was part of a family again. Though she did feel a twinge of guilt for moving on, she realized that it had been a decade-long process.

“How about breakfast in the morning?” her father asked as he walked her to the door.

Charlie shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve got a date with Trig.”

Her father frowned.

“You don’t like him?”

Doc Parker shook his head. “I don’t know him well enough to not like him, but I don’t like that I’ve just gotten my daughter back and I might have to share her with another man.”

Agatha reached over and pulled her father’s ear. “Now Paul, don’t be a hypocrite. Charlie just got you back and she’s sharing you with me.”

It was funny to see her father blush. “You’re right, lovey. I’ve got to learn to share.”

Charlie looked at the couple in front of her and said, “Old dog—new tricks.”

Agatha laughed. “Sweetheart, they are never too old to train.”