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“Big crowd this year,” Toby said, waving at people he knew.

“It is. Probably because the weather is so nice.”

The sun was already sinking in the west, but the sky was clear, and the night promised to be filled with stars.

Filled with stars? Reggie held in a groan. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her, but whatever it was, she needed to get over it and fast. While she wanted to believe her strangeness was due to her dog’s unexpected bravery, she had a bad feeling that being around Toby was the real cause. Apparently Dena wasn’t the only Somerville sister to have a reaction to a man this holiday season. And speaking of Dena . . .

She looked around, trying to spot her sister, wondering if Dena had managed to invite hunky Micah Ruiz to join her. But she couldn’t see her anywhere.

“Who are you looking for?” Toby asked as they joined the crowd entering The Wreath.

“Dena. I thought she might come with a few of her guests.”

She saw Paisley and Shaye buying hot chocolate at a cart by the huge stack of calendar boxes. Paisley saw her and started to wave her over. Then she spotted Toby, and her expression turned knowing. Reggie knew there would be lots of explaining when next they spoke.

Music played from speakers set up around the perimeter. Other vendors sold cookies and more adult beverages than hot chocolate. The old-fashioned streetlights were decorated with garland, and giant ornaments decorated the circle. Harrison and Belle huddled close as more and more people poured into the space and the big clock, also erected for the season, ticked closer to 4:00 p.m.

At three fifty-eight, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” started playing.

“This is it,” she told Harrison, trying not to shiver in the cold.

The minute hand moved to twelve, and everyone cheered. The first box was opened, and the screen at the east side of The Wreath lit up.

Moonlight Mini Golf in The Wreath. 7 p.m. tonight. Live music and fun for all.

Harrison spun to face his father. “Dad, Dad, can we?”

Toby grinned. “I wouldn’t want to miss it.” He looked at Reggie. “Want to join us?”

She told herself once more not to read too much into the invitation. They were going to be out in public, hanging out with an eight-year-old. Again—not a date.

“Sounds like fun,” she said. “I’ll have to leave Belle at home, and I’ll want to put on more layers.”

“It is chilly,” Toby said. “And it will get colder now that the sun’s gone down. Say quarter to seven, by the clock?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Toby stood by the clock at six forty-five. As he’d predicted, the temperature had dropped, making him grateful for long underwear. He’d dressed Harrison in layers, piling them on until his son had complained he wouldn’t be able to move. Toby had pointed out that mini golf didn’t require a whole lot of mobility and had added a scarf. Everyone was just as warmly dressed—the smallest of the children so bundled they were nearly as round as they were tall.

He spotted Reggie walking around the edge of The Wreath. She, too, had on layers, including a bright red hat that had ear flaps decorated with fabric horseshoes. Her scarf was the same color, with horses on it.

“Very stylish,” he teased as she stopped in front of him. “I like the hat and the scarf.”

“That’s not all,” she said with a laugh as she pulled out a red wallet. “If I’d had a red phone case, I would have changed that out, too.”

They smiled at each other, their gazes locked. The music and conversations around them seemed to fade away until all he could see and hear was her. He remembered this feeling of getting lost in her, of existing only with her, from when they’d been dating. He’d missed it with the other women he’d gotten involved with and had assumed it was just because he’d been a kid. Now, feeling the need to move closer, to touch her cheek and press his mouth to hers, he wondered if instead, it was a Reggie thing.

After a few seconds, she looked away. “Where’s, ah, Harrison?”

“He went off with a few of his friends. I’m meeting him back here at eight thirty. I’m not gonna lie, it’s tough being dumped.”

“Knowing you’re not as exciting as a bunch of eight-year-old boys?”

“Yeah. I used to be the fun dad.”

“He’s learning to be independent. Be happy that he’s fitting in.”

“I am, but hey, mini golf.”