“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, ‘tis the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.” Donovan sang at the top of his lungs as he went from room to room vacuuming.

As a single dad, he didn’t have the luxury of a partner to help him clean, and even when Brody was there, he was too young to expect more from him than picking up his toys. Though he hated cleaning, nothing could steal his joy today.

An entire day to spend with Zoe. He’d stopped at the store earlier in the week and purchased the movies he didn’t already have on DVD. His internet could be spotty at times, and he wasn’t going to leave streaming the movies up to chance. He’d also purchased several bags of popcorn, along with several seasoning options. And butter, of course. What good was freshly popped popcorn without melted butter?

He rolled up the vacuum cord and ran a dust cloth over his furniture. Stepped back and examined his tree, searched for any empty branches. Zoe had decorated her tree with perfect spacing between each ornament and lightbulb. When Donovan looked at his, he became aware how amateurish his looked.

Too many ornaments huddled together on the lower branches, and they’d been arranged—if one could call it that—with no rhyme or reason. He reached for a snowflake with the intention to move it, then stopped. Brody had hung those ornaments, and even if they weren’t perfect, Donovan wouldn’t change it.

His imperfectly decorated tree had provided an afternoon of perfect fun for him and Brody. They’d laughed and smiled, sang Jingle Bells and O Christmas Tree. He’d lifted Brody to put the star on top, and when they’d finished, had turned off the house lights and plugged in the tree, then watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.

The tree wouldn’t win any awards, but it was his and Brody’s tree, and that’s how it would stay. He stepped back and looked at it anew. On second examination, he decided it was the most beautifully decorated tree he’d ever had.

He went to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee brewing. Whatever still had to be done, could wait. His home was presentable, clean, and organized. For the most part. He didn’t need to strive to impress Zoe with a false sense of who he was and how he lived. He wouldn’t leave dirty socks lying around, but neither would he worry if every countertop appliance didn’t sit in a perfectly aligned row.

Once the coffee finished, he poured a cup and sat at the counter, looking at the menu for La Pizzeria. Zoe liked Peruvian peppers and mushrooms, and he preferred his loaded with meat. He could do half and half, but why not splurge and have leftovers? Then neither would have to worry about lunch or dinner tomorrow. He called in the order and scheduled the delivery for one that afternoon.

The minutes ticked by, along with the time Zoe had said she’d be there. Hmm. Punctuality was her trademark, and if she even thought she’d be late, she’d call or send a message. She’s probably stuck in traffic and can’t call because she won’t use her phone when behind the wheel. No need to worry yet.

A half-hour later, a worrisome knot formed in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and called her. When she didn’t answer, the knot grew. Please, Lord, let her be safe. I don’t know why I have this gut feeling, but please let it be wrong. He sent her a text, asking her to call. There wasn’t much else he could do but wait.

Another thirty minutes passed, and he heard a car pull into the driveway. He jumped up and rushed to the window, hoping to see Zoe. Disappointment flooded him when he saw the delivery driver from La Pizzeria. He met him at the door, paid and tipped, then set the pizzas on the counter.

He didn’t want to come across pushy, but he couldn’t shake the concerned feeling hovering over him like a dark raincloud on a summer night. Giving in to his emotions, he called her again and left a message.

Maybe she took a nap and slept later than she’d planned. He’d done that before after a late night of work, and he knew she’d stayed up several hours after they finished with the candy canes last night because she wanted to have tonight’s ready. That had to be the answer. Now that he’d found a reasonable explanation, the unsettled feeling in his stomach eased.

Forty-five minutes later, another car pulled into the driveway. Relief poured into him when he saw Zoe’s car, then immediately tensed up when she stepped out of her car with a tear-stained face. What happened? His heart froze in fear for her. She’d suffered more than any one person should have to. He prayed nothing had happened.

He opened the door to greet her before she could knock. “I was getting worried about you. Did you get my messages?”

Every muscle on her face was strung tight. In his relief to see her, he hadn’t noticed her angry countenance.

A tear slid down her cheek. “How could you?”

He jerked his head backward, stunned by her accusatory tone. “How could I what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Donovan.” Her throat constricted. “I knew better than to trust someone in the media, but I thought you were different.”

“What are you talking about?” He extended an arm to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.

“How much did they pay you?” Her words spewed out with a venomous tone. “I’m sure your boss loves you for taking the story to the competition.”

He scratched his jaw, thoroughly confused. “Why don’t you come inside from the cold, and we’ll figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. You betrayed me, and that’s that.” Her angry glare shifted to hurt.

But how could he help if she wouldn’t tell him what he’d supposedly done?

This behavior wasn’t characteristic of her. He’d never heard her utter a mean or condemning word about anyone. Even when she spoke of her parents, she’d kept her composure, and they’d given her plenty of reasons to lose it.

“Zoe…” He called out her name, but she was already halfway to her car.

She backed out of his driveway without a glance his way.

He prayed she wasn’t driving out of his life. His eyes locked on her car until it disappeared out of view. His heart pounded, and his chest froze. What had happened? How many times could he ask the same question in a two-minute span?

Closing the door behind him, his mind raced. She’d claimed he betrayed her. But how? Why wouldn’t she say?

His phone rang, and he hurried to answer it, praying it was Zoe coming to her senses, but it wasn’t.

Gerard Driscoll, his editor, spoke with an edge to his tone and jumped directly to the point. “Is your girlfriend Zoe behind the candy canes around town?”

“She’s not my girlfriend… not exactly… and what do you mean?” Had he entered the twilight zone?

“WTCH ran a story on their morning show identifying Zoe Daniels as the mystery benefactor behind the candy canes.” An unrestrained tone of censure filled his voice. “What do you know about it?”

Oh no. No. NO. NOOO. “I knew she was the person behind it, sir.”

“And you let the competition have the story?”

“Absolutely not. I gave Zoe my word that I wouldn’t tell anyone.” He blew out a breath. “Not even for a story. And why would I give it to WTCH when I could have kept it for a hit story for myself?”

“I don’t know, Donovan, but I have Talbot on my case, and he’s not very happy.” Gerard sighed.

“Isn’t our motto people first? Tell him I put Zoe first by keeping her secret.” He prayed his bosses and their longstanding traditions would come through for him. He couldn’t handle losing Zoe and his job.

“Fair enough. I’ll do my best to smooth this over because I know your character. If you kept it quiet, you must have had a good reason.”

Donovan released a silent sigh of relief. “I’ll find a way to make it up to the paper.”

He didn’t know how, but he’d figure out something. First, he had to find who at WTCH uncovered the story and how, and then he had to find Zoe and make her see he hadn’t betrayed her trust.

Her lack of faith in him hurt, but considering her past, he understood.

“Now that the story’s out, do you have anything you could add? Maybe exclusive insight to who Zoe Daniels is?” Gerard asked in a hopeful tone.

Anger bubbled within his chest, and he tried to keep it out of his answer. “First, I haven’t seen the clip to know what was said. Second, I won’t break Zoe’s trust in me. Anything that could be added to the story would have to come from her directly.”

“I was afraid you’d say that, and I have to admit, I respect you for it.” Gerard paused. “It’s not easy when integrity clashes with a good story, but integrity always wins.”

Thank You, Lord, for their understanding and commitment to ethical journalism. “I agree.”

“If you do get permission to share anything, please let me know immediately.”

“I will.” When the call ended, Donovan logged on to WTCH’s webpage to watch the clip from the morning news.

He grimaced when they flashed a still shot of her at the hospital, and another at the mall. The story didn’t reveal the initial source but once given a tip, the investigative reporter had secretly followed her. On a night Donovan hadn’t been there. He groaned. One more reason to make Zoe suspicious of him.

There was only one thing to do. He’d drive over to the station, use every connection available to him, and find out who tipped off the station. If he had to offer a compromise or even first take of his next big story, then so be it. Zoe was worth whatever effort it took to correct the situation. He’d track that person down and ask them to come with him to Zoe’s apartment to offer an explanation and prove Donovan’s innocence.

One way or another, he’d get his girl back and restore her trust.