“What are you doing?” Ethan appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

Noelle held a frosting tube over a counter filled with trees, wreaths, and bell-shaped cookies. “Do you know Jenna? She’s the owner of Dreamy Delights.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not important. Anyway, she loaned me her bag of decorating tips. I’m decorating the sugar cookies we baked today. Do you want to try one? The cookies are a family recipe.”

“No. I'm talking about that.” Ethan pointed in the direction of the living room.

“Oh, that…” She set the pastry tube on the counter and wiped her hands on the borrowed Dreamy Delights apron. “I stopped by the hardware store to say hi to Bill Mason. He was grumbling about no one buying the tree because it has a bare spot. I suggested someone could set it against a wall and no one would know. I’ll admit the tree didn’t look as big on the lot.” Her smile slipped and then rebounded. “Bill gave me the tree when I told him I was looking to get one for you. There's nothing better than a blue spruce tree for Christmas. Doesn’t it smell good?”

“And who said you could set one up in the first place?”

“You did.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did when you told me I should make myself feel at home.”

She had a point. That determined smile of hers was like a bottle of pain relievers. She wanted to fix him, make him feel better, but he wasn’t fixable.

He went to the arch leading into the living room.

She had indeed set up the tree by the front window, but he could still see the bare spot in the back. A quilted skirt surrounded the base, and several boxes of ornaments sat nearby, waiting to be hung. On the mantle she'd hung four stockings, presumably including socks on each end for Cheddar and Trapper. On the coffee table was a centerpiece of red, gold, and silver balls. The room resembled one of those traditional Christmas cards. Too bad blissfully happy people didn’t live inside. Well, that wasn’t true. There was at least one joyful person inside.

She lifted a decorating tube. “I just love Christmas.”

“Of course you do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“With a name like Noelle, I would assume it's your type of holiday.” He walked farther into the living room and flicked on a lamp to illuminate the room with a soft light.

Standing in the center of the room, he glared at the stack of boxes. “You’re not seriously thinking about putting all that stuff on the tree?”

“That stuff is my family’s precious collection of ornaments.” Her eyes sparkled like she was reliving memories of her family standing around the tree hanging ornaments. “Want to help?”

“No.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Who says?”

“I do.” She walked across the room and pulled off the lid of the first box. A dark, rich vanilla scent registered as she passed. He inhaled the scent, allowing the vivid essence to mellow his prickly mood.

“Don't be a Scrooge.”

“I am a Scrooge.” His stubborn slipped a notch, and he struggled to plaster up his defenses. “I don't like Christmas or New Year’s.” Or any holiday in between.

“Is it because you lost your wife and child?”

Oh, please tell me you didn’t just go there. If it was Maggie… He closed his eyes and started counting the number of sutures he put in his last patient.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He opened his eyes. The sorrow in her eyes about did him in. “I figured someone would tell you sooner or later.” When the resentment eased back from a boil to a simmer, he asked, “What did you hear?”

She shrugged and tugged the edge of her apron. “Only that your wife and child were in a car accident sometime around Christmas. It’s understandable for you to hate this time of year.”

He didn't just hate the holiday. He hated every day. Every day memories surfaced of his little girl riding her bike, or his wife studying at the kitchen table, or the family on a tropical beach vacation. As hard as he tried, he couldn't block the memories. He couldn't even have pictures of Brigitte or Callie around. It was just too painful.

He debated whether he should just leave and let her hang ornaments, but he collapsed into the leather chair, taking the weight off his sore feet.

“You look exhausted. Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

“You don’t have to wait on me, but if it will make you happy, sure.”

She looked ridiculously pleased. Guilt didn’t help ease the ache in his shoulder muscles. She hurried toward the kitchen, and he swore there was a skip in her step. As soon as the refrigerator door opened, she filled the house with the sweetest melody. The full, ripe quality of her voice soothed his never-ending desolation.

Although tired, he felt stronger than he had in months. The dark memories paralyzing him with remorse and guilt had receded. He expected the memories to resurge in the early morning hours, but Noelle’s feminine scent and presence had kept the doom and gloom from closing in. She smelled like a county fair caramel apple. Even Trapper’s behavior was different since Noelle arrived. More content. Less decrepit.

What was it about her that forced him into the present, kept him from sliding back into the robotic world he called life?

“Your dinner’s ready.”

He glanced at his watch to check the hour, surprised time had actually passed. “Thanks. I’ll be there in a minute.”

With a stranger and a cat living under the same roof, he’d expected to feel unbalanced, but he wasn't. She lived a noisy life, but he wasn’t disturbed. Her presence was comfortable, even if a little bit messy.

He pushed up from the leather chair and walked into the kitchen. Trapper sat watching her with eyes full of hope.

“No more.” She pointed to his pillow in the corner. “You've had enough turkey. Go lie down.”

Trapper bowed his head, then slowly meandered over to the pillow, looking back a time or two, then circled twice before collapsing onto the fleece with a conspicuously pitiful groan. Some time during the day a small, colorful ceramic dish had appeared next to Trapper’s metal bowl. He recognized the colorful daisy design as Callie’s grade school creation, but he decided not to mention the connection.

He slid onto one of the stools at the island, content to watch her navigate the kitchen. “Where’s your cat?”

She set a plate of food in front of him. “Cheddar? He's upstairs sleeping.” She reached into a cabinet for a glass.

“There’s green stuff on this sandwich.”

“Eat it. It’s not poison. I love the turkey, Havarti, and pesto. The combination is perfect. I made the pesto fresh with your food chopper. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You made pesto?”

“Harold didn’t have any at the store, and the basil looked so lovely. I’m not sure where he got the herb this time of year, but I don’t care. Ted allowed me to raid the café’s pine nut stash, and voilà. Pesto. It’s not that hard.”

“I wasn’t questioning your ability to cook. It’s just I’ve never been around someone who doesn’t make meals from a whole bunch of cans and jars, or pulls out something previously frozen.”

“How can that be? You’re a doctor. Doctors are supposed to eat healthily.”

She said the word doctor like there was some kind of lofty expectation that always accompanied the profession. “I do eat healthy. My protein drinks have all the vitamins and nutrients I need.”

He took a bite of the sandwich and reluctantly admitted the titillating combination was quite pleasant. The pesto reminded him of the color of her eyes. He took another bite, and another. Her irritation over his food choices made his muscles ease into the consistency of warm honey.

She cared.

How refreshing. And unsettling.

He counted the geometric patterns on his plate to avoid the circulating feelings. “Doctors are on call 24/7. We don't always have the time to eat and exercise the way we should.”

“When taking care of people, you need to set an example.”

“Is that so?” He kept his voice level, even though something on the inside of his chest cracked open, and he wanted to chuckle at her scolding.

“Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like my mother. She loves to nag.”

He liked that her bold announcement came loaded with good intentions. “Maggie is an amazing woman, just like her daughter.”

Her arms suspended in the air. Her mouth hung open. She didn’t move, and his mind did a rewind.

How had he let that compliment slip? If he was trying to encourage her to leave, accolades didn’t help. He gulped down the remaining bite of the sandwich, then pushed back from the counter. “I’d better take a shower.”

“Wait. Aren’t you going to help me decorate the tree?”

Trapper gave him a don’t-be-a-loser stare. “One box, but that’s all.”

The squeal of joy and rushing footsteps caught him unprepared. She threw her arms around him. He stumbled back a couple of steps to find his balance, stiffening. He didn’t have anywhere to put his hands except around her small waist. He could feel her warmth, and her curves. At least his knees locked, or they might have both ended up on the floor.

“Oh. Sorry. I just got excited.”

He slid out of arm’s reach. “Don't get too excited. It's just one box.”

“I'll take it.”

He groaned. He never should have agreed. Snared like a rabbit, he had no way of getting out. “I’m not very good at hanging ornaments. I could break one. Maybe I should just go take a shower.”

“Nope. You said one box, and I'm gonna hold you to it.”

The weight of expectations poked at the already tense knot in his shoulder. “Why do you like Christmas so much?”

“It's the most magical time of year, that’s why.”

“You believe in miracles?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

I used to, once upon time, in a land far, far away. He remembered the nights with Callie curled against his side as he read aloud her favorite storybook. He popped his knuckles, one at a time, letting the jolt in his body bring him back to the present. “Let's get this over with.”

She pranced back and forth like a kid waiting in line to tell Santa Claus everything she wanted for Christmas. “You pick out a box, and I’ll warm the cider.”

“Cider?”

“You can't hang ornaments without hot cider and Christmas carols.”

Oh, jeez. “Let me guess. That's one of your family's traditions, too.”

“Every year. On the Saturday before Christmas, my family would gather around the tree and load up the branches with ornaments. My siblings and I would fight over who got to put what ornament on the tree. The next day, Mom would stack the packages under the tree. She went to great lengths to make sure we were surprised.”

“Did you ever guess what your mom gave you?”

“Sometimes, but Mom was good at disguising gifts. She’d put them in odd-shaped boxes, or put a smaller package in a larger box.”

“That sounds like my mom.” He leaned a hip against the counter. “My mom couldn't wait to start decorating. She wanted the tree up the day after Thanksgiving, so Dad would haul up the tree bag from the basement while the rest of us went shopping. After dinner, we were all required to stick around and decorate.”

“You had an artificial tree?” Her face collapsed into distaste. “That’s not very Christmassy.”

“My dad was worried the dogs would knock over the tree, and my mom didn't want needles tracked everywhere. I thought the whole idea of decorating rather pointless.”

“It’s not pointless. It’s fun. And it brings people together.”

Not in our family. “You think hanging ornaments on the tree will bring us together?” Anxiety clutched at him. “I didn’t mean us, specifically. I mean us, meaning the community sort of us.” He shoved his fingers through his hair.

She picked up his empty plates and brushed the crumbs into the sink before loading them into the dishwasher. Then she scrubbed the sink, her sweeps of the sponge becoming smaller and more desperate.

“Noelle?” He placed a hand on her back. She jerked and let out a soft squeal. “Please, look at me.”

She replaced the sponge on the sink ledge and turned, knotting her arms in a tight weave across her chest.

“I’m sorry. Holidays are hard for me.”

“I get that, it’s just…”

“Go on. Say what you were going to say.”

“Last Christmas I spent the holidays alone. All my friends and boyfriend went home for Christmas, and I stayed to earn money, taking extra waitressing shifts to save for studio time. Being alone for the holidays was one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made. I was there in my apartment, with only a cat for company, and it just sucked. When I called home, Mom had a houseful, and I’ve never felt so alone in my life. I made a promise to myself that I would be surrounded by people this year. Although at the time, I thought I’d be in my apartment having all my friends over. You shouldn’t be alone for Christmas…no one should.”

“I told you I’m a Scrooge.”

“You are, but this year you can choose to be different.”

“What if I don't want to be different?”

“Then you can live a lonely, miserable life. But I’ve never met a doctor who’s miserable.”

The statement startled a curiosity. “Are you miserable, Noelle?”

“I'm doing my best to find my happy, and so should you. What happened to your family sucks. You're a wonderful guy, and don’t try to tell me you’re not. People all over town have told me stories about how you helped rescue a dog, or took groceries to Mrs. Bainbridge after her surgery. You stopped to help me when you could have driven past without a second thought. You deserve better.”

His face pulled into a skeptical frown. “Maybe I’m doing those things to make people think I’m nice. I might be the biggest jerk on the planet, and you have a no-jerk rule, remember?”

“You're not a jerk. I know you're not. People like you. And Trapper is the sweetest dog I've ever met. Jerks don't have sweet dogs. That’s a fact.”

“Where did you read that? On some blog post?”

“No. I read it in a magazine.”

“It must be true then. I bet it had the title, ‘How to Spot a Good Guy in Thirty Seconds or Less.’”

“Now you're grumpy.”

Her smile was so warm and fun and gracious. She resembled a cartoon with those big green eyes full of hope. And he was being a grump, although he probably should have used a stronger word.

“Believe me, I’m not one of those cute little dwarfs everyone loves. I might be a Doc or a Sleepy, but I wouldn’t say Grumpy.”

“Grumpy is rather cute, even if he is a bit pouty.”

“Now I'm pouty.”

She rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Why don’t you pick out the box of ornaments you want to put on the stupid tree?”

“Now you’re even calling the tree stupid.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re difficult?”

“Certainly. Most of my patients. Especially when I follow up to make sure they’re doing their exercises, or taking their meds, or giving them news they don't want to hear.”

“I'm starting to understand why there are very few women in your life. I can't imagine you date much.”

I’ve never figured out a way to be lovable. “Dating is overrated. Now when it comes to sex, I've had plenty of offers.”

Her eyes opened a bit wider. “Oh. Really?”

As old as she was, she still had an idealistic naivety, a belief that life could be perfect and wonderful. He crossed his arms. “Really.”

“And what have you done about all those many offers?” Her brows lifted in a doubtful arc.

“Are you questioning my abilities?” He crossed his arms and leaned in. “I can still please a woman. I may not be Superman, but I’m no Lex Luthor.”

“I’m sure you can. You’re smart and talented when it comes to reading people. You adapt, move, change subjects. And you’re going to block and deflect and fight this Christmas thing all the way to the new year, aren’t you?”

She saw right though his defenses.

The disappointment staining her cheeks wasn't hard to miss. In fact, her emotions were like her sweater—bold and bright. He could see every shifting mood.

“Probably. It’s become habit.”

“Well, Doctor, you’re in the business of changing bad habits. Change yours.” Her shoulders dropped, and her head tilted a bit sideways. “And forget the ornament thing. It’s not important. What is important is you discovering the life you want to live. You should focus on that.”

“I ruined your Christmas.”

“No. You didn't ruin my Christmas. You ruined yours.”

There was that sign again. The one that said Not Good Enough = Unlovable.

She made her way out of the kitchen and into the living room. Trapper gave him one of those disgusted looks and followed Noelle.

He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Well, crap.”