Page 36

Dena did her best not to feel foolish. She wasn’t a “google someone” kind of person. Did he really expect that she would—

“I’m sorry,” Micah said, his tone sheepish. “I just assumed. Most people do.”

They stared at each other, as if unsure who should say what. She moved the plate of bruschettas toward him. “They’re really good.”

He laughed then, breaking the tension. “You’re a food pusher.”

“I am. I inherited the trait from my mother. I can’t help it.”

He took a piece and bit into it. “Delicious.”

She grabbed one for herself. While she couldn’t eat the blue cheese and fig toppings, there was also a fresh tomato and basil mixture and one with sharp cheddar and pear.

When he’d finished his, Micah wiped his fingers on a napkin and picked up his beer.

“I was married,” he said, his voice quiet, his eyes filled with what she could only describe as sadness. “Adriana was five months pregnant when we were T-boned by a drunk driver. She and the baby were killed instantly. I was badly injured. In her first trimester, she had bad morning sickness. I learned about pressure points to help her.”

Dena tried to take in what he told her. The stark words painted an uncomfortable visual, filling her with emotions she couldn’t name beyond sadness and grief at the unbelievable loss.

“I’m sorry. How long ago did this happen?”

“Just over a year. I spent last Christmas getting transferred from the hospital to a rehab facility, which made what I was going through worse.”

She felt her eyes begin to burn—a sure sign that tears were not far behind. She did her best to blink them back.

“Ignore my emotions,” she said, clearing her throat. “The hormones make it hard for me to have any kind of self-control.” She sniffed. “So in a way, this is your first Christmas alone.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re in Wishing Tree. It’s a good place to get lost in the spirit of the season.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

A single tear escaped. She brushed it away. “We really have to change the subject.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You pick.”

“Did Noah tell you about the school charity project?”

“No. What is it?”

“We’re making hats and scarves for kids in need. Students were asked to submit ideas for our project, and this is the one that was picked. Harrison, a friend of Noah’s, suggested it. We’re using circular looms to knit the hats and scarves.”

She reached for another piece of bruschetta. “My mom usually takes charge of things like that, but she’s busy right now, so my sister, Reggie, is going to be running the work sessions. Reggie’s back in town through New Year’s. My parents are renewing their vows and she’s helping with that, too.”

“Reggie is going to be busy.”

“Yes, she is.”

He seemed more relaxed, she thought, watching him eat and sip his beer. He was just so handsome, but not in an off-putting way. There was an ease about him—she supposed he was a man comfortable in his own skin. It was hard for her to imagine he was famous.

“You really wrote ‘Moonlight for Christmas’?”

“I did.”

“With your ex-wife? Wasn’t that awkward?”

He chuckled. “We were married at the time. Electra and I—”