Two large wooden crates had been delivered just before noon, and I’d cracked them open like a kid tearing into Christmas presents.

Three of the titles Mr. Downing had wanted were in the first crate, first editions of the novels written by the Bronte sisters. He’d mentioned those were a gift for Briar.

They were beautiful, and for books that had been printed in the 1880s, in pristine condition.

There were other treasures, too, including a signed first edition copy of Jack London’s White Fang.

There were a few other interesting items on his list that had made me smile—like first edition hardcovers of each of the Harry Potter books. Only five hundred first edition UK versions had been printed for the first book, so that was going to be a task, possibly an insurmountable one.

I enjoyed the variety of the titles he wanted, everything from fiction to nonfiction, early gothics and the penny dreadfuls, serialized fiction pieces that had been popular in England during the nineteenth century. I smiled at the listing for an American dime store novel as well as the nonfiction essay by Hemingway about a trip he took to Africa.

It was nearly four when my empty belly demanded I take a break, and I decided to stop for the day so I could soak in the deep, jetted tub in the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom.

The support group was coming up, and I wasn’t sure if Sean was planning to go, but I planned on hunting him down and talking to him. He’d gone out of his way to avoid me since chasing me out of his room the other night.

I couldn’t say I blamed him.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have gone in and woken him up once I realized he was having a nightmare. The pained, tortured notes in his voice had torn at me, though, and I hadn’t been able to ignore it.

“Stop thinking about it,” I told myself as I made my way into the kitchen.

The house staff had the weekends off, which suited me fine. I felt awkward around the housekeeper, cook, and butler as it was. There were also two young women who helped with the housekeeper, but I’d yet to see more than their shadows, so I didn’t even know their names.

I guessed having staff on hand was necessary when a house was as big as a museum, though.

After giving the vegetables in the kitchen a quick study, I decided to make some homemade tomato soup. My mom had shown me how when I was fourteen, telling me I wasn’t leaving the house without some basic cooking skills. I’d sulked, insisting she wouldn’t do it if I’d been a boy, and she’d laughed at me. “My dad is the one who taught me how to cook, so don’t start, young lady.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away.

It seemed like I was thinking of her and Dad more every day lately. It had to do with the holidays, probably. It would be nice if I could go to sleep for a month and just wake up when it was all over.

The soup was close to done when I heard footsteps.

“Shelley? What’s that…oh.” I looked up and saw Sean standing awkwardly in the door. He glanced at me, then away. “Sorry,” he said, turning to go. “I smelled food, thought Shelley was in here.”

“I’m making soup. Tomato.” I bit my lip, then offered, “You want any? It’s almost done. I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches too.”

He went still, hesitating so long I didn’t think he’d accept the offer, but after a few seconds, he turned around and came back in. As he settled on the stool on the opposite side of the island, I rose and went to stir the soup.

“You sure there’s enough?” he asked.

“Oh, absolutely.” Laughing, I gave the thick, red mixture a good swirl before putting the lid back on. “My mother taught me how to make it, and I only know one way—in large quantities. I’ll have to put the leftovers in the fridge. Shelley won’t mind, will she?”

“Nah.” He shook his head, studiously staring at the counter rather than at me. “It smells really good.” I thought I caught a glimpse of a faint smile on his face as he added, “Our mom used to make tomato soup and grilled cheeses for us in the winter. And shepherd’s pie.”

“Briar told me your parents were Irish,” I said, going to the fridge. There was a block of cheddar, and I dug it out, along with some butter for the sandwiches. “Of course, it’s easy enough to tell with your father.”

“Tell that to the family still over there. They call him a Yank.” I shot him a look, brows raised. “You should hear their accents,” he pointed out, shrugging.

“Ah. You still have family over there. Do you go over to Ireland much?”

The faint smiled faded, and he looked away. “I used to. I don’t travel a lot these days.”

I could all but see him retreating now so I decided to back off. “How many sandwiches do you want?”

“Just one is fine.” He shifted around on the stool then asked, clearly uncomfortable, “You want some help?” The offer surprised me, and it must have shown on my face. “My mom also taught us how to pick up a dish and wash it, a few basic courtesies.” His voice was surprisingly bland.

My face heated. “I…sorry. But, no. I’ve got it. There’s not much to do but put the sandwiches together.”

We lapsed into silence, and a few minutes later, I slid a golden brown, cheesy concoction in front of him. He got up and fetched the bowls before I could. As I dealt with my sandwich, he ladled out the soup, carrying the bowls over to the table.

It was…nice, I decided, eating with somebody again. The few times I’d grabbed a bite at the sports bar and had a friend slide into the booth across from me wasn’t quite the same thing.

“It’s good,” Sean said softly.

“Thank you.” He just dipped his head in a nod. I waited another couple of minutes before asking, “Are you going to come to group tonight?”

He stilled. The spoon hovered an inch above the bowl for what felt like an eternity before he dipped it back in, then took another bite. After that, he glanced up at me. “I don’t know.”

“That paper you had me sign…you’re mandated to attend, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Fuck.” He looked away.

“I’m…” I groaned, then rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t want to pry, but getting in trouble with the court isn’t going to make things any better, is it?”

I was surprised when he called out my name an hour later when I was walking outside.

Looking back, I watched as he locked the side door and crossed the wide, bricked walkway.

“I’ll drive,” he announced.

I didn’t argue, just followed him to the big garage. I did watch him from the side of my eye to make sure he was walking steady, and maybe I also took a couple of slow, deep breaths in through my nose, trying to see if maybe he’d been drinking.

All I smelled was wood smoke, winter air…and him.

“I haven’t been drinking,” he said irritably as he unlocked an SUV and opened the door for me.

I met his eyes. “I’ve seen you drunk on more than one occasion. Can you really blame me for being cautious?”

He had no response to that.

I climbed inside, half-expecting him to slam the door.

He didn’t, though.

Maybe it was progress. Maybe.

But I wasn’t betting on it.

Sweat slicked my hands as I sat down. I tried to tell myself that the woman sitting in Tracy’s spot was the reason.

Her name was Sierra, and she was a friend of Tracy’s—she’d attended group several times so we could all get acquainted, but it took a while to get comfortable with somebody new.

We’d all known this was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Besides, I’d thought we’d have a few more weeks. Tracy had called all of us a few days earlier and let us know she’d been put on bedrest for the rest of her pregnancy.

Sean sat in the seat next to mine, slumped low down in the seat with his arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. As everybody else settled into chairs, I shifted in mine and swiped my damp hands down the sides of my jeans.

The empty ache of misery that had hollowed out more and more of me over the past eleven months seemed to be growing, and I didn’t know how much emptier I could feel. It choked me, and the thought of spending Christmas completely alone weighed heavier and heavier with each passing day.

“I know this is a little awkward for all of you,” Sierra said. She had that same sort of smile Tracy did, warm and welcoming and understanding. She was attractive, with handsome features and built like an Amazon, tall and broad-shouldered with the kind of figure that made me think of those that had once graced the prows of ships, full-figured and generous. She looked at each of us, one by one, as she spoke, gaze lingering on Sean’s bowed head only a moment before moving on. “Having somebody come in and take over can’t be comfortable for any of you. Both Tracy and I had planned for me to start joining her at group regularly starting this month, but her baby had other plans.”

“Babies are famous for that.”

Sierra looked at Grace, who’d spoken up. Grace was a quiet, soft-spoken woman. Her lips trembled as she spoke, but the words stayed steady. She’d lost two of her four children as well as her husband in a drunk driving accident six months earlier.

Sierra nodded, that gentle smile remaining on her face as she caught and held Grace’s gaze. “Aren’t they? But they’re worth all that frustration and heartache.”

“Yes.” Grace nodded, then ducked her head.

“Does anybody want to start?”

Without thinking, I swallowed, then started to speak. Pushing my hands into the pockets of the old college hoodie I’d pulled on, I said, “I’m dreading Christmas. I was an only child, and my parents spoiled me like crazy on the holidays. Now that they’re gone…” I stopped and tried to steady my breath.

“Both of them?”

I looked over at Amber. She was blushing like she regretted speaking.

I managed to nod. “Yes. They…we had a bookstore back in Oklahoma. Last January, it caught fire. An electrical problem. I was out with my boyfriend, and we were coming home…” Swallowing, I forced back the tears, waiting until I knew I could talk without choking. “By the time I got there, the whole place had gone up. They think my mom tripped and hit her head, passed out. She died of smoke inhalation. Dad was trying to get to her, but…he might have been able to make it out, but…I don’t think he would have left her. They both died.”

“That’s awful,” she whispered softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Lips pressed together, I gave myself a few more seconds before continuing. “Thanksgiving was hard enough. I don’t know how I’m going to handle Christmas.”

“Do you have any friends back in Oklahoma?” Sierra asked, folding her hands in her lap. “Any other family?”

“No.” Briefly, my thoughts turned to Wylie, but I pushed them away. He hadn’t so much as tried to reach out since I left.

“What about your boyfriend?”

The tears spilled over, and a broken laugh escaped me. “We broke up a month after I buried my parents,” I said, dashing the tears away. “He just couldn’t understand why I’d changed so much, couldn’t understand that everything was different for me.”