Page 105

I stare at my lawyer's e-mail, let skim the words again and again, because apparently, I have masochistic tendencies.

“Morning, Hannah.” I hide a yawn behind my hand as I trudge into the reception area, a coffee in my hand and muscles aching from standing in the cold all day. She doesn’t need to know yet.

"Aren’t you happiness personified?" she grins. "How was the Christmas market?"

"It was good." I sit down on the couch and pull my legs up, my free hand instinctively running through the fur of the dogs curled up in the space next to me.

"You know, Rose and Sophia got a lot of hugs. I got to eat amazing food. And, oh yeah..." My lips curl into a grin. “Nic won the competition and decided to donate the proceeds from the Christmas market to the sanctuary."

“Oh my God, Brooke! How amazing!”

“Don’t get your hopes up yet, Hannah.” I take a sip of my coffee. “They didn’t end up being enough to fund the remaining balance. I asked Harry to call a meeting for the end of the week so I can let the towns vote on what to do with the money instead.”

There are three more days until the deadline.

Two more days of coming to terms with the fact that I’m not getting the property and can’t build the sanctuary.

Yet.

“Don’t worry, Brooke, I’m sure it will turn out fine.” I stare at the wall, barely registering her words because I’m licking my wounds.

She rounds the counter and suddenly drops a stack of papers in my lap. "Do you have a minute? You need to read these."

"Whatever it is, it can wait." I hand the papers right back to her without even looking down. "I'm barely even awake. Let me have some coffee first." I hide a yawn behind my hand. Then I freeze. "Oh, fuck. What time is it?" I frantically search for a clock.

"A few minutes before ten. Why?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I down the rest of my coffee and jump up, much to Blanche’s dismay. "My parents are expecting me. I told you about it last week, remember? Setting up their employee Christmas party for tomorrow."

"You did mention that. Well then, off you are, I’m taking the dogs for their walk. Say ‘hi’ to Emily for me!”

“You are an angel." I give her a quick hug, throw my mug into the sink, and run to my car.

"Over here, Brooke!" Mom waves me over as soon as my feet touch the snowy ground. The farm is bustling with people carrying ladders, tools, and pine garlands. They’re a welcome distraction. Having to dodge a guy carrying a log and not watching out as he turns is sure to make me focus on my surroundings, instead of mulling over the missing funding.

"We are going to leave the fairy lights to the men," she declares with a mischievous twinkle in her eye once I’m in earshot, then links her arm with mine. She’s wearing her green overall and has her hair up in a tight ponytail – she means business today.

"I'm all for it," I giggle and let her lead me away from the buzz. "Remember that one time I insisted on climbing a ladder to get a cat out of the tree?"

"Oh, yeah." She grimaces and absentmindedly pats my arm. “We were lucky the day didn't end in the hospital or at a mortuary."

"Come on, I can't help the fact I'm afraid of heights." The bustle is behind us now. No more shouting voices or string lights placed on the ground we could trip over. "So, what are we doing?"

"I put us down for the gift baskets," Mom declares, opens the front door and making an exaggerated gesture for me to go ahead. "I need my master ribbon-tying skills to make them pretty.”

“Please." I scoff and walk past a picture of Jamie and Sam when they were six and dressed up as a dragon and knight. "You're only saying that to make me want to tie ribbons."

"Exactly." She taps my nose and brushes past me.

"You know the drill, don't you?"

"Have I helped you with the gift baskets approximately twenty times before? Yes." I grin and grab the first woven basket. Other employers would get cheap plastic boxes to stuff cheap gifts into, but not my mom. No, she gets the high-end stuff. “I know the drill.”

She already set up all the presents she wants to go in there, namely products from the farm: A huge bottle of special cider, maple syrup, taffy and apple jam, but also gift cards for local stores. And, of course, a small bag of her homemade Christmas cookies.

“So.” To Mom's credit, she only brings it up by basket number three. "I heard a rumor."

Clearing my throat, I keep staring at the bottle of maple syrup in my hand. "What kind of rumor?" I ask innocently.