Can a magical Christmas under glass…

…bring them back together for good?

Widowed dad Adam Masterson still doesn’t understand why Joy Boston left Indian Lake and broke his heart all those years ago. Now she’s returned to sell her grandfather’s beloved poinsettia greenhouse—and Joy and Adam’s connection is as strong as ever. But Joy has a life in New York. And Adam has only until Christmas to convince Joy that she belongs in Indian Lake—with him.

CATHERINE LANIGAN knew she was born to storytelling at a very young age when she told stories to her younger brothers and sister to entertain them. After years of encouragement from family and high school teachers, Catherine was shocked and brokenhearted when her freshman college creative-writing professor told her that she had “no writing talent whatsoever” and that she would never earn a dime as a writer.

For fourteen years she did not write until she was encouraged by a television journalist to give her dream a shot. That was nearly forty published novels, nonfiction books and anthologies ago. To add to the dream, Hallmark Channel has recently released The Sweetest Heart, based on the second book in her Harlequin Heartwarming series, Shores of Indian Lake. With more books in the series and more movies to come, Catherine makes her home in La Porte, Indiana, the inspiration for Indian Lake.

Also By Catherine Lanigan

Shores of Indian Lake

Family of His Own

His Baby Dilemma

Rescued by the Firefighter

Hers to Protect

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Home for Christmas

Catherine Lanigan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90089-2

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

© 2019 Catherine Lanigan

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“I own this greenhouse now.”

“Right.” Adam reached into his pocket, took out the key. “It’s the craziest thing—this key to the greenhouse. It takes me back not just to us, but to all the fun, the sharing, the knowledge. And to Frank. This greenhouse was his passion,” Adam said.

“I remember the feeling I had when I’d walk through the doors after school. Being here was…”

“Magic,” he finished for her as he took her hand, turned it palm up, placed the key in her hand and closed her fingers around it.

Joy sucked in a breath as he touched her.

Energy shot from his hand to hers, filling her with an overwhelming longing to be held by him. Joy couldn’t stop this magnetism even if she wanted to. And she didn’t want to.

His eyes held hers, not wavering.

It was as if they were in a realm all their own. Maybe it was magic that she and Adam had once had…

Dear Reader,

For most of my life, one of the joys of Christmas was visiting the local greenhouses. There I would peruse rows and rows of the most magnificent poinsettias. But eventually the family-run greenhouses closed as more box stores moved in.

In Home for Christmas, I wanted Joy Boston to come face-to-face with her past, but also take on the challenges of our modern times. Joy inherits her grandfather’s business, which is now closed—until Joy’s first love, Adam Masterson, appears. They broke up when she bolted out of town after high school. Joy has moved on to a new life in New York City. Adam moved on as well and has a six-year-old son, Titus. Still, Adam always had a place in his heart for Joy and the greenhouse. Is the same true for Joy?

Home for Christmas will warm your heart and show you that where there is love, there is always hope.

Please write to me at catherinelanigan.com or follow me on Facebook, on Twitter, @cathlanigan, and always at heartwarmingauthors.Blogspot.com. Join Prism Book Tours at prismbooktours.Blogspot.com. Don’t forget to watch my movie on the Hallmark Channel: The Sweetest Heart, based on my Heartwarming novel Heart’s Desire.

Catherine

This book is dedicated to my parents, Frank J. Lanigan and Dorothy Lanigan, who taught me the meaning of Christmas was love. Their home was always welcoming, warm and generous. No one was a stranger in our home. This is the home I now inhabit, and as my dear friend Vicki Bushman described, “The walls of this house drip love.” There is no greater love than the love we have for our fellow man. Merry Christmas to all. God bless us, everyone!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is true that there are thousands of Christmas stories, but this one is very special to me. Its publication is due in part to my dedicated and insightful editor, Adrienne Macintosh, who instantly saw the eternal connection between Joy Boston and Adam Masterson.

Thanks also to executive editor Kathleen Scheibling and my mentor, editorial VP Dianne Moggy, for believing in the Shores of Indian Lake series. Bless you.

My gratitude and love always to my ever-faithful friend and agent, Lissy Peace.

You are all the very best of gifts that life has to offer. You are always welcome, Christmas or anytime, in my love-filled home.

And to all my readers, without your support and affectionate emails, letters and tweets, I don’t know how I would continue on. Your words of encouragement through the dark days after my husband’s passing meant the world to me. Your letters are still coming in and I treasure every card and letter. Heartwarming is so very aptly named. YOU are the heart-warmers. Never stop.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Excerpt

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

JOY STOOD AT her large office window, watching the Christmas decorating below. A fire truck raced down the street with a Christmas wreath attached to the front grille. She couldn’t help smiling. Joy always happily anticipated Thanksgiving preparations. It was the one time of year her grandfather left her hometown of Indian Lake, coming to New York to be with her. The fire truck blasted its siren and Joy smiled, remembering her grandfather always hanging a wreath on the front of his old truck and then driving her around Indian Lake with a thermos of hot cocoa, singing Christmas songs together as they looked at the lights reflected in the frozen lake waters. She’d thought then even the aurora borealis couldn’t compare to the beauty and sparkle of Indian Lake at Christmas.

Her view of Manhattan had blurred, and she wiped away her tears. She hugged herself, wondering why her thoughts kept wandering back to her grandfather so much this year. Perhaps it was because this year they wouldn’t be spending Thanksgiving together. Her grandfather owned the largest poinsettia wholesale nursery in northwestern Indiana. Though Joy’s year-end at Newly and Associates CPA firm was grueling, Frank Boston’s Christmas rush was brutal. This year he told her he simply could not break away.

“He’s so busy…bless his heart,” Joy mumbled.

The rap on the doorjamb was familiar. “Hey, girl,” Glory said. “Got a minute?”

Joy turned and smiled. Glory Washington was not only her best friend, but her roommate. They’d met the first week Joy had come to work at Newly and Associates. Glory was a month older than Joy to the day and never let her forget that she had seniority. When Glory wanted something her way, she usually got it. Glory was also the most trusting, generous and brassy person Joy had ever met, and Joy loved her to pieces.

“For you? Always. What’s up?”

Glory’s smile flashed impishly as she sashayed into the office in high-heeled suede boots, which she’d no doubt bought at one of her favorite resale shops. She wore a faux fur deep burgundy coat, black wool skirt, black cowl-neck sweater and an enormous rhinestone snowflake clip in her blond-black-and-cherry-bark dreads. The woman could wear a potato sack and look stunning.

“I saw you with the old man. You think he’s going to make you partner after the wedding?”

Glory was referring to Joy’s seven-day-old engagement to Chuck Newly, handsome, successful, ambitious and heir of the two-centuries-old New York Newly family.

She couldn’t wait to tell her grandfather, and she was doubly sad that he wouldn’t be in New York for Thanksgiving. He hadn’t returned her call from a few days ago, and she’d been too swamped at work to call him again. She was giddy with excitement about the announcement, though. She’d call him tonight for certain.

“Glory. Honestly,” Joy snorted, “you have a talent for shooting for the moon without any fuel or even the rocket. I’m not marrying Chuck to get ahead in my career.”

“Yeah? Why, then?”

“Because he’s sweet to me, uh, when we’re finally alone. Not always easy. He’s smart…and…and good to the employees and he’s clearly devoted to his father. His attitude toward family is important to me, you know? His mother must have been wonderful.”

Glory folded her arms over her chest, her faux Louis Vuitton purse banging against her side.

Joy frowned. She didn’t like that probing, accusatory stare Glory was piercing her with. “And…they’ve planned an incredible Thanksgiving for us. We’ll watch the parade at some friends’ penthouse. Then dinner at Le Bernadin.”

“Wow. Impressive,” Glory groaned and rolled her eyes.

“Liar. You’re not impressed.”

“Neither should you be.”

“What?”

“You already bought a turkey. We were going to have the whole gang over for dinner. Remember?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you forget?”

“No. Not really. But when Mr. Newly…Dad, I mean, told us of his plans, what could I say?”

“Oh, no. I get that. Alexander Newly is the most overbearing person I’ve ever met.”

Joy smiled. “And that’s saying a lot… coming from you.”

“Okay. Fine. I admit to being somewhat obtrusive on occasion, but it’s for everybody’s own good. I like being the mother hen.”

“This, of course, is because you’re older than I am.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re the best roommate in the world. And we still have Christmas.”

“Look, I don’t mind missing the holidays, if I thought you were happy.”

“Don’t start. I’ve told you. I’m happy! What’s not to be happy about? I’m engaged to a handsome, up-and-coming guy who—”

Glory cut in. “Whose father appears to love you more than he does.”

“That’s not true,” Joy countered as she fingered a sheaf of papers on her desk. Anytime the truth pinched the edges of her heart, she immediately rebuffed the feeling by moving on to something new. Immersing herself in yet another client’s financial fiasco or potential bankruptcy was her forte. She liked saving her clients, bailing them out of hot water, taking meetings with the IRS and pulling their hands off panic buttons. She was good at her job. Very good.

Glory stared at her. “Not true, huh?” She jerked her head toward the open door.

Chuck, dressed impeccably in a new black wool suit, brilliant white shirt and gray-and-black designer tie, breezed into the office, his Bluetooth activated as he spoke with a client. Going up to Joy, he kissed her cheek and smiled, not missing a beat of his conversation.

“Fine. Later,” he said and clicked off. “Joy, you gotta learn to take my calls—especially after hours.”

She frowned. “Not when I’m working on Nathan Withers’s account for you. And not when the only thing you have to talk about is the client.”

“Ouch.” He grinned, glancing at Glory. “My bad. But you know how I get around the holidays. Forgive me?”

He kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Joy barely had time to pucker her lips before he whirled around, took an incoming call on the Bluetooth and was gone.

Glory glared at her. “I didn’t say a word.”

Joy opened her mouth to protest and closed it. She didn’t like how much truth was in what Glory said. Too many times Joy had wondered why there weren’t romantic moments between her and Chuck. He was always like this at the end of the year. Of course, that didn’t explain the lack of romance during the summer. There hadn’t been a weekend where they took the Staten Island Ferry and just “escaped” the city. No trips to an island beach or even the Jersey beach. Even dinner date conversations revolved around their clients. Still, she and Chuck had planned a future together. Solid. Secure. Clearly devoted to family as she was to her grandfather. And one day, they’d get around to romance. Wouldn’t they?

Glory’s smile was too smug. “That guy makes my case for me.”

“Forget it. I’m marrying Chuck and that’s it. I’ve got work to do. So do you,” Joy finally said.

“I do,” Glory replied. “Want a coffee? I need a pot of caffeine myself.”

“Is that because you didn’t get in till after one last night?”

Joy’s cell rang. She looked at the caller ID. “Gish. Another Indiana scammer.”

Glory cranked her head around. “How many of those have you gotten in the last few days? Maybe it’s not a scammer.”

“Right.” Joy accepted the call. “This is Joy.”

“Joy, thank heavens I got you!”

“Mrs. Beabots? Is that you?”

“You recognize my voice?”

“Yours I would never forget. So, what’s up?”

“Oh, Joy, dear. I have the most awful news.”

Joy felt her scalp crawl, and her knees weakened. She placed one hand on the desk and lowered herself into her chair. “It’s Grandpa.”

Glory stiffened, her eyes instantly alert. Quickly, she crossed to Joy. She put her hands on Joy’s shoulders.

Joy felt her support and covered one of Glory’s hands with her own.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Is he sick?”

“He passed away. Last night, dear. Massive heart attack.”

“But…” Joy tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Frank could not be dead. He was her touchstone. “He was fine last year at Thanksgiving. I mean, I know he took a couple naps. And when I last talked to him, he said he had to cut the call short because his poinsettia supplier was on the other line.” Joy’s eyes were full of tears, but she didn’t feel them. Her face had turned cold. Her hands shook.

“Frank’s attorney tried to call you last night. He said he left a message…”

“My phone was off. Then this morning, my fia—my boss called right when I woke up. He’s relentless and he talked to me on the entire subway ride and up until I walked into my office.”

“I understand, dear. Now, you have to come back here immediately and tend to the funeral details. The attorney wants to go over the will with you. His name is Kyle Evans. I’ll text you his number. Joy, I’ll do all I can to help you with anything you need.”

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you.”

“We all loved Frank, dear. This is a shock to all your friends back home. Call me when you arrive.”

“I will.” Joy hung up.

Friends? What friends did she have in Indian Lake? None that she knew. There was only her grandpa, and now he was gone and she was alone. She put her phone down and dropped her head into her hands. “I feel sick.”

Glory rubbed Joy’s shoulders. “I’m so, so sorry, Joy. What can I do?” Glory asked.

“Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do. My grandpa is gone. My only family. I…I have no one.”

“Not true. You have me. And—and Chuck…” Glory’s voice trailed off.

Joy looked down at the incoming text from Mrs. Beabots with Kyle’s phone number. “I have to go back to Indian Lake. ASAP.”

“Sure you do, sweetie. But…” Glory glanced out the door.

“What?”

“That’ll make your new father-in-law-to-be not so overjoyed.”

“The firm can live without me. Chuck is very capable. Even though he puts a lot on my shoulders, he’ll be fine,” Joy replied firmly. “Grandpa was all I had. Plus, I need to take care of the funeral arrangements.”

“How long will all this take?”

“A week, tops. Besides, I have over a month of accrued vacation. Honestly, I can video chat with our clients, and with text and email, no one will know I’m gone.”

“Tell me what I can do,” Glory said.

“Would you mind going to the apartment and packing a bag for me? Casual stuff. And a dress for the funeral? I’ll book my flight now.”

“Done.” Glory rushed to the door and stopped. “Joy. You know I love you, girl.”

“Love you, too. And thanks.”

As Glory whisked out the door, Joy dialed the attorney’s number.

The call was picked up on the second ring. “Evans and Evans Law. How may I help you?”

“Hello. This is Joy Boston. I need to speak with Kyle Evans. I just received his message that…my grandfather, Frank Boston…” Joy’s voice was chopped off by the biting burn of sorrow in her throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she dropped her forehead to her palm. “…died…”

CHAPTER TWO

THE AUDITORIUM SEATS at Saint Mark’s Elementary School were filled to capacity with parents, grandparents and students who applauded as the final curtain fell on the traditional Thanksgiving pageant. Adam Masterson bolted to his feet and proudly yelled “Bravo!” as his son, Titus, took another bow.

Adam felt his heart swell and his sight blur watching Titus’s smile radiate across the expanse. Titus. The light of his life, the motivation that forced him to get out of bed in the morning despite the shroud of grief he wore since his wife, Amie, had died three years ago. “Well done!” Adam shouted, smiling at Titus, who stood next to Timmy Bosworth, dressed in a Pilgrim costume.

Timmy took Titus’s hand in his and raised it over their heads. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving!” Timmy announced to the crowd.

The audience erupted in more applause as the curtain fell for the last time.

“Adam,” Sarah Bosworth said, as she hoisted three-year-old Charlotte into her arms, “Titus was wonderful. He recited his lines like a professional actor. I felt like I was right there on Plymouth Plantation with those kids.”

Adam couldn’t help the rush of pride that shot straight up his spine. “He was good, wasn’t he?”

“He was. Timmy told me that he and Titus only practiced three times.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Adam said, bending closer, his hair falling over his forehead. “I think Titus has an eidetic memory. The first time I took him through his lines, he’d memorized everything.”

“No kidding?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “Wish I had that ability.”

Adam glanced toward the stage and saw some of the kids running down the aisle. “He’s been reading since he was three. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at anything he does.”

“Trust me,” Sarah said. “Gifted children aren’t easy. I know. Both Timmy and Annie are exceptional, and just last week, I caught Charlotte here sitting at the piano playing with Annie.”

Adam chucked Charlotte under the chin. “A prodigy, huh?”

Charlotte tossed her blond curls and laid her head on Sarah’s shoulder. “I like piano.” Charlotte smiled up at Adam.

“Dad! Dad!” Titus shouted exuberantly, as he worked his way through the throng of parents leaving their seats. Titus’s rented Pilgrim costume was faded but fit well. He did struggle with the black hat, which tended to interfere with his ever-present sport band that held his thick glasses in place. Titus’s mom had been myopic, too. But unlike Amie, Titus tended to be quite clumsy, always impatient to race to the next room, the next day and the next adventure.

“Dad! Did you see me?” Titus hurried up to Adam and flung his arms around his waist.

Adam smoothed Titus’s thick black hair away from his forehead and looked down into his eager crystal-blue eyes. His son looked exactly like Adam had when he was “nearly six”—minus the glasses. “I did! And you were the best. You did great.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Titus hugged him again.

Timmy Bosworth rushed up to Sarah, along with his eleven-year-old sister, Annie.

“Mom,” Annie said. “Can I take Charlotte backstage to see Mrs. Cook?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Why does Mrs. Cook want to see your baby sister?”

Annie glanced sheepishly at Titus, who had a conspiratorial expression. “Um. I told her Charlotte could play piano.”

Charlotte squirmed out of Sarah’s arms. “I can play!”

Annie reached for Charlotte’s hand. “Mom?”

“Oh, fine. Go.” Sarah acquiesced.

Adam watched as Annie and Charlotte bounded up the stage steps. Titus said, “Charlotte should think about her future career. Like me.”

Adam jerked his head back. This was news to him. “And that would be…what?”

Titus looked at Timmy, who elbowed him for encouragement. Timmy and Titus were close, now that Titus was in kindergarten. Timmy had taken Titus under his wing, and when Adam had been immersed in a geothermal energy construction project, or if he’d had to drive to Chicago to meet with a prospective client, Sarah generously watched Titus at her house. Adam didn’t know how Sarah juggled three children, a creatively demanding career as a busy commercial design consultant, the summer fund-raising festival for Saint Mark’s and volunteer work for the new Indian Lake Community Center.

Too often, Adam was caught spending late-night hours at his computer rather than doing the laundry, making costumes for Titus or thinking about things like Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. The only thing that broke his focus on work was caring for Titus. His son was his joy.

“I’ve had a revelation, Dad,” Titus said seriously.

Adam crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at Sarah, who smiled at Titus. “Go on.”

“I liked working on this pageant and I think I want to go into the theater business.”

Adam coughed and held his fist to his mouth. This was not what he’d thought his brilliant son would say. He’d imagined that Titus would want to follow in his footsteps. Become an engineer or a physicist. Titus was smart and quick and liked working alongside him on his local projects. Just last week Titus had gone with him to Frank Boston’s greenhouse, where Adam had been installing a new geothermal heating unit.

“Theater? You mean you want to be an actor?”

“No, Dad. Timmy’s gonna be an actor. I want to write plays. Like I did for Mrs. Cook.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Sarah, who shook her head. “What did you write, son?”

“My speech. I did the research, which was interesting. And enlightening.”

Adam mouthed “enlightening.” He was continually surprised at Titus’s vocabulary. He’d bought Titus a dictionary and thesaurus six months ago. He wondered if Titus had read them both cover to cover. “Well, we’ll have to talk about it.”

Titus’s smile vanished. “You always say that and we never do.”

Sarah’s eyebrow arched. She put her hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Let’s go find your sisters.”

“Sure, Mom.”

She gave Adam a quick hug. “I’m guessing I’ll see you at Frank’s funeral?”

Adam had known Sarah and her group of friends since high school. Adam had been the nerdy guy in high school, wading through CAD programs, tinkering with machines and engines.

Adam had never known his parents, who gave him up for adoption to a church-affiliated foster home only weeks after his birth. They’d left him in a car seat at Pastor Flutie’s front door with a note giving his birth date and name, which Adam always believed was fictitious. Years ago, Adam had tried to track down information about his birth parents, but the time and money he’d spent were wasted.

Pastor Flutie and his wife, Martha, were good people and raised him, along with over thirty other children who didn’t have parents and had come their way.

Though they’d clothed and fed him, given him attention, Adam had always kept to himself. He didn’t voice opinions often, and when he did, he made certain he had all his facts.

Adam had always wanted a family. He’d envied the close-knit Barzonni family and Sarah’s loving mother, Ann-Marie, and he’d been there for Sarah when both her parents died.

Sarah had been a good friend to him ever since he’d come back to town, after Amie died of leukemia. Sarah and Luke had included Titus, and their friendship meant a great deal to him. But he was also careful not to ask too much of them.

Sarah touched Adam’s sleeve. “Look, I know how close you were to Frank…”

Adam felt the emotion in his throat grow hot. He choked it back. “He was like my own grandfather.”

“I know. He loved you, Adam. You did so much for him these past years.”

“I should have done more.”

“Come on. You were with him when he died. If you hadn’t been there… Calling the ambulance. Staying with him at the hospital until…” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s so hard.”

Sarah had been through a great deal of grief herself. He touched her hand. It was ice-cold. “I’m sorry, Sarah. All this must remind you of your parents. They were good people.”

“The best. They liked you a lot, Adam.”

“You don’t have to say that. I was such a…dork.”

“Stop. Okay?” She looked down at Titus, who watched them both with serious, probing eyes. “I gotta go. Let me know about the funeral. I’m guessing the family will take care of everything.”

Adam shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “That would be Joy.”

“Oh…my…gosh. Adam. I forgot. I’m sorry. Mrs. Beabots called her and broke the news. Have you talked to Joy?”

“Not since she left for college.” Ten years ago, Joy had been his girlfriend. Adam had given her a promise ring the day before they’d started their senior year in high school. That same day he’d received a letter from Purdue University that he’d won a full-ride scholarship for engineering. Adam had believed that he and Joy would spend the rest of their lives together. She’d promised to love him.

For a foster kid with no love in his life, Joy had been all he’d ever wanted. He was the one who dreamed of a cottage by Indian Lake with a rose-covered fence. He’d envisioned kids and a dog and a life of happiness.

All that year after school, Adam had gone to the Boston greenhouses to work until supper alongside Joy and her Frank. Frank had been the kind of grandfather Adam thought came along only in fairy tales. He gave Adam a few extra dollars to take Joy to a movie or out for a pizza. He loaned Adam his truck to drive them all out to the beach in the summer. Frank had been father, grandfather, mentor and adviser. Where Pastor Flutie had lacked in practical and business guidance, Frank filled in the blanks.

“He was family to me,” Adam whispered, trying desperately not to show the emotion he felt so sharply.

Sarah leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to open that wound.”

“It’s okay. Joy left. She wanted Columbia, her accounting degree and life in New York.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And she got it.”

“She did.” Sarah paused. “When I talked to Mrs. Beabots this morning, she said Joy’s coming back here to arrange the funeral.”

“Of course. Mrs. Beabots talked to Joy…”

“I know, right? Mrs. Beabots keeps up with the whereabouts of all of us. I suppose Frank had told her where Joy worked.”

“Newly and Associates,” Adam said.

“Yeah.” Sarah eyed him, but continued. “She’s flying out of New York today.”

“Today,” he repeated. His heart shook. Joy, who had told him she didn’t want the same things out of life that he did. She wanted to leave Indian Lake and never come back. She wanted a life in New York with hustle and noise and excitement.

She didn’t want him.

She’d given him back his promise ring and told him she was going to Columbia University. She never answered a phone call or an email after she moved.

By the end of Adam’s freshman year, Frank told him that Joy had made it clear that Frank could visit her in New York, where she’d arranged for internships in the summers, but she never wanted to see Indian Lake, her parents’ graves or any of the people of the town, whom she blamed for the car accident that killed them both.

The cut that had hurt Adam the most was the fact that Joy never gave him the chance to comfort her. She never turned to him. The pain of those days was still with him.

Adam had met physicist Amie his senior year at Purdue. She was pretty and bright and they shared common interests. She’d got pregnant on their honeymoon in Chicago. They’d had little money back then, which had bothered Adam. In two years, his midnight “tinkerings” had resulted in patents for his geothermal plans and then sales of the units themselves. Two years after Titus was born, Amie was diagnosed with leukemia. The progression was fast.

“It worked out in the end. I have Titus.”

“We all adored Amie. And Titus is a true blessing. I love every minute he’s around.” She looked at Titus. “I really have, honey.”

“Thanks, Miss Sarah,” Titus said, slipping his hand into Adam’s.

“Speaking of which,” Sarah went on. “Why not let Titus come home with Timmy and the girls and me? Miss Milse is making pies for Thanksgiving. The kids can play video games while you get your errands done.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

“Dad.” Titus yanked on his hand. “Please? Can I go?”

Adam had to smile. “It’s not much fun hauling cement and nails around, is it, Titus?”

“Not really and the building supply place is so dreary.”

“Dreary.” Adam grinned. Another new word. He wondered if he shouldn’t buy a second thesaurus for himself, to keep up with his brilliant son. No wonder the kid wanted to write plays.

“So? Can I?”

“Sure.” He ruffled Titus’s hair and dislodged the Pilgrim hat. Titus righted it, smiling at his dad. “Thanks for this, Sarah. I really have a lot to do at the greenhouses. For Frank.”

“I know.” She held out her hand to Titus. “C’mon, honey.”

“Titus,” Adam said. “Get your coat and zip it up this time. Don’t forget your knit cap. It’s getting cold outside.”

“Dad. I know.” Titus pouted.

“And you mind Miss Milse. Don’t poke your finger in the pies, and stay away from her Cuisinart.”

“I know, Dad. Sharp knives. Mixers. All off-limits.”

Sarah laughed. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…”

“Hard to be mom and dad?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Let’s go find the girls.” She started to walk away. She looked over her shoulder. “Just text me when you’re on your way to pick him up.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

“No worries.” Titus and Timmy raced ahead of her, both boys yelling for Annie and Charlotte.

Adam chuckled to himself, leaned down and grabbed his sheepskin jacket and slipped it on. Most of the parents and children had left by the front doors to the auditorium. Adam found a couple folded playbills that Mrs. Cook had printed up. He’d come in late, a bad workaholic habit, so he hadn’t grabbed a playbill earlier.

As he started up the aisle, he noticed Titus’s name in bold print. Above his name was that of Mrs. Mary-Catherine Cook.

Above that was the title: PLAYWRIGHT.

Adam halted. “Titus’s teacher gave him writing credit for his little speech.” He was both awed and humbled.

His son was growing up far too quickly. And he wasn’t ready for it.

He put the playbill in his inner jacket breast pocket and walked out into the November cold.

He wasn’t ready for a lot of things. Titus growing up. Frank dying. And he especially wasn’t ready to see Joy again.

CHAPTER THREE

JOY HAD JUST deplaned at O’Hare Airport when her cell phone rang. “Hello, darling.”

“Darling? Who’s that?”

“That would be you, Chuck. Us being engaged and all, I was thinking we should have endearments for each other.”

“I don’t like it.”

“How about ‘baby’?”

“Nope.”

“Sweetie? Cutie? Chuckie?” she joked.

“Don’t go there. Look, Joy. Seriously, talk to me. The Taylor account…”

She shouldered her way into the throng of people moving toward baggage claim. “The Taylor account is on your desk. I sent an email to Lessings Acoustics, too. They’ll contact you directly. Until I get back.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know, but not long.”

“This is putting a lot on me, you know,” he groused.

Joy rolled her eyes. Looking up, she saw huge Christmas wreaths above the concourse. An enormous Christmas tree with thousands of lights rivaled the Rockefeller tree. Surrounding the bottom of the tree was a sea of lush, tropical poinsettias.

Joy pulled to a stop, her roller bag banging the backs of her legs. She felt the jagged edge of sorrow in her heart as hundreds of loving moments with her grandfather flashed across her mind’s eye. Her head dipped, and she let her tears drop to the terrazzo floor. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose, remembering that Chuck was still on the phone.

“Joy? Joy? What’s going on?”

“Sorry. Big crowds.” She glanced up at the signs directing her to baggage claim. It would have been easy to fall apart, but she needed, no—had to stay strong now. She couldn’t lean on Chuck.

“So, how long till you get to Indian Lake?”

“An hour and a half. I hired an Uber.”

“Call me from the car. I have half a dozen more accounts to go over with you.”

“Sure.”

Chuck hung up without another word. Joy got on the down escalator. She held the phone up to see that the call had ended.

“I love you, too, Chuck.”

Joy shoved the phone in her purse and saw the Uber driver at the bottom of the escalator, holding a sign with her name on it.

She walked up to him. “Hi! I’m Joy Boston.”

The middle-aged man nodded. “I’m Roy. Happy to see you. I’ll take your bags for you. Do you have more luggage to claim?”

“No, this is it. I won’t be staying long.”

“Oh, that’s a pity,” Roy said, as he politely ushered her toward the outer door.

“Why’s that?”

“Indian Lake is so lovely at the holidays. So many decorations and activities. The Christmas Concert. The symphony. The children’s Christmas pageant. The caroling parties. The Candlelight Tour…”

They walked outside to the cold. “They still have all that?”

“Of course. I take my grandson to the Christmas parade every year, and then we mail his letter to Santa at the Elf Mail Station.” They walked to Roy’s black SUV, and he put her bags in the back as she got in the back seat.

As much as Joy had struggled to make a new life for herself in New York, with new friends and new holiday traditions, the old days and the old ways of celebrating flooded her.

Just thinking about Indian Lake released anger she hadn’t felt in years. Anger toward the townspeople for their apathy—laziness that directly caused her parents’ car accident. She hadn’t been able to forgive them then or now. The pain of her long-ago scars resonated in her. She would go to town, do her duty, find a buyer for the greenhouse and leave as quickly as possible.

She forced her mind to redirect to happier times.

She remembered her mother and father working alongside her, tending the poinsettias. The week before Thanksgiving, enormous delivery trucks would roll into the parking lot and they’d unload red, pink and white beauties. Just thinking about those gorgeous tropical flowers caused Joy to wish for faraway adventures, sandy beaches and palm trees, places she’d planned to explore with…

“Adam.”

She sat up straight.

Adam hadn’t crossed her mind once since she’d got the news of her grandfather’s death. But there he was. She remembered his wide shoulders, his thick raven hair and how he’d forget to cut it, so it would hang down, nearly covering half his face as he worked furiously on yet another machine that never reached “functionality.”

She’d known Adam was smart and was convinced he hadn’t yet found his groove. She’d urged him on, believing his genius would pay off one day. The time when he’d lost the state science fair championship, he’d been despondent and distant, but Joy had kissed away his tears and forced him to envision a golden future filled with success. He said he believed her.

They’d had a romantic senior year together, stealing kisses in the greenhouses. Learning how to cross-pollinate and hybridize poinsettias from her grandfather. Going to summer concerts in the park and dancing at the beach under the stars—with Adam humming a song to her. He’d given her a gold promise ring and told her he wished he was rich enough for a diamond. At the time, she hadn’t cared.

I loved him.

Those days with Adam had been the most romantic of her life. Idyllic days—until her parents died.

She looked out the window at the nude maple trees along the interstate. The ground was barren of flowers; the grass was frozen. The sky was the same depressing slate-gray, promising snow flurries or rain.

She felt gray inside without her grandfather, just as she had after her parents’ deaths. Grief’s fingerprint was a deep one. She wondered if she’d ever feel sunny again.

She looked down at her gloved hands and remembered a winter day once when she’d forgotten her gloves and Adam had walked her to the greenhouses after school. He’d taken both her hands in his, rubbed them until they were pink and warm again, and then he’d given her his too-big gloves to wear. He’d pulled her close as the wind whipped around them.

“I’ll always keep you warm,” he’d said.

“Ditto,” she’d replied.

“In fact, I’d like to be the one who discovers cheap energy to keep all the world warm. No one should go cold,” he’d said.

“That’s what you want to do? Save the world from freezing?”

“It’s a tall order, but it’s what I want to do,” he’d said and kissed the end of her very cold nose.

“Now, that was very warming,” Joy had replied.

She certainly couldn’t remember anything memorably romantic that Chuck had done with her since they’d met.

There was never a lack of wine or exotic food, but their dates wound up being work dates.

He’d proposed at the sushi bar they frequented, though she didn’t like much on the menu except the California rolls. He’d asked her to be his wife, and just as she’d said “yes” his cell phone rang. He’d looked down at it, but didn’t take the call. She’d thought it was a good sign. But after he kissed her and they toasted with sake, which she also didn’t like, he excused himself to take the call.

Joy knew that Chuck felt enormous pressure to perform to his father’s high expectations. Chuck had a good heart and he was eager to please both her and his father. He was mindful of their long hours and would surprise her with a latte and buttered bagel from the deli down the street. When she complained her back hurt after long hours at the computer, he introduced her to a killer pain-relieving essential oil as he rubbed her neck. Chuck had seen Joy’s performance potential on her first interview and hired her on the spot. She gave him credit for that. Because he was her boss, she ignored his excuses to work overtime with her over the years. She pretended not to notice him lingering in her office after client conferences. Chuck had actually gone to his father and discussed his growing attraction to her before asking his permission to pursue a romance. For Joy, their relationship had evolved slowly over the next few years. No fireworks. No adrenaline rush. They were solid and secure. She liked that.

She had to admit, though, that dinner with Chuck was polar opposite from the mac and cheese she used to make for Adam and Grandpa, which they’d share after a ten-hour Saturday working retail at Christmas in the greenhouses.

Joy had been so lost in thought that she’d forgotten that she’d turned off the ringer on her cell phone. She turned it back on and saw that Chuck had left three voice messages and five texts. She answered the texts and replied she would call him when she wasn’t with Roy, as some of their conversations were best kept confidential for the clients’ sake.

They had driven into town and stopped at the light with beautiful Indian Lake dead ahead. Joy leaned forward.

“Oh, Grandpa.”

“Pardon?” Roy asked.

“Sorry. Nothing. It’s just that I’ve forgotten how pretty this place is. I grew up here.”

“So, you have family here?”

“Not anymore.”

“Sorry.”

Roy drove into town, past the red sandstone county courthouse with its one-hundred-and-forty-year-old clock tower and onto Maple Boulevard. They passed houses she remembered, belonging to Sarah Jensen and Mrs. Beabots. Saint Mark’s Church. The Indian Lake Police Station. Specters of past, happy days flew around Joy, pulling her back to Indian Lake like magnets. And with each memory, she missed her mother, her father and especially her grandfather all the more.

That was why when Roy drove up to the three glass greenhouses, which her grandfather had built right after World War II, her vision had been blurred by her tears. She couldn’t possibly be seeing correctly.

“What is this?” she asked Roy, like a stupefied tourist.

“Boston Greenhouses.” He waved his hand across the expanse of the windshield. “This is it.”

“No.” She shook her head and opened the door, wiping her eyes. The greenhouses were empty. Totally devoid of even one poinsettia. Panes were filthy, cracked or missing from the glass ceilings and walls. The farthest greenhouse was in the worst condition. Its once perfectly maintained and cleaned brick-and-tile floor now sprouted weeds, frozen back from the cold November weather. Joy walked liked a zombie toward the greenhouse. Her father and grandfather had taught her how to clean the tiles with the sprayer. She’d swept the water away to expose the pretty sand-colored tiles. She’d taken a great deal of pride in the glistening glass walls and ceiling. She and her grandfather had pressure washed those panes every month. Their patrons commented on how good the plants had it when they came to live at Boston Greenhouses.

Joy felt her insides twist. Not only was her grandfather dead, but he’d lied to her. He’d told her he couldn’t come to New York to be with her because he was too busy. It was going to be his best year ever, he’d said.

She turned to Roy. “How long have the greenhouses been closed, Roy?”

“I’m not sure. A few years.”

A few years… Joy’s shock turned to a sense of betrayal.

“Grandpa lied to me. And now he’s gone.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JOY LOOKED BACK at the weeds growing through the tiles.

“Years. Not just this Christmas, but many holiday seasons it’s been closed.”

She went to the front door, peered through the windows and tried the latch. It was unlocked.

“What?” Why would the door be unlocked? Had the attorney unlocked it? Perhaps when she met Kyle Evans, she’d gain more insight.

She pushed the door and stepped in. She wasn’t prepared for the shock.

As if she’d been swallowed by a time warp, she was eighteen again, rushing in on a Saturday morning to see her grandfather already at the cash register, his big Chicago Cubs coffee mug filled with steaming coffee as he counted the money. She remembered her mother, dressed in jeans, a floral blouse and a rubber apron while she watered the flowers and sang to them. Her father whistled while he carried in heavy sacks of humus and fertilizer to sell. She’d forgotten how much she missed his whistling.

As the door swung closed behind her, a numbing chill enveloped her. The sight of empty shelves, dusty counters and cobwebs around the ceiling where garlands and Christmas ornaments once hung was heartbreaking. The walk-in flower cooler was dark and smelled like mold. The carpet needed shampooing. Worst of all, there were no poinsettias, no life, no energy.

“No Grandpa. No Mom or Dad.”

Joy walked to the checkout counter, where she used to wrap gold and silver foil around the flowerpots and swathe the flowers with colorful print paper to protect the delicate poinsettias. She and her mom would work the counter together. She could almost smell Mom’s rose soap.

Unwinding her scarf, she walked behind the counter and was surprised to see full boxes of ribbons, foil and cellophane, and bolts of wrapping paper sitting in the same spots as they had a decade ago. “Not everything was sold or discarded.”

She looked toward the back of the retail gift area. Two French doors led to a smaller greenhouse where specialty orchids, amaryllis and hybrid poinsettias used to be displayed on long wooden tables. That was Joy’s favorite area, where her grandfather would test his yearlong projects of coral-and-white-striped poinsettias, yellows, ambers, and try as he might, the absolute impossible task of creating a blue poinsettia. Blue poinsettias didn’t exist naturally, and he would dye white ones to please designers in Chicago, but he was a dreamer. He’d often told her he wanted to create a flower that was not only beautiful but timeless. Something the world would never have seen if it hadn’t been for him.

Behind the special greenhouse were the storage rooms, where the new shipments of gift items, table linens, Christmas stockings, birdbaths and feeders, scented candles and bath oils and washes used to be delivered and stored until they were put out for display.

“I wonder if any stock is left…” Joy started toward the storage room when she heard a door slam. She halted. “What was that?” She peered through the French doors. Was someone breaking into the greenhouse?

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Peering through the windows, she saw a tall man, wearing a buckskin-yellow suede jacket with a sheepskin collar and lining, jeans, a scarf around his neck and a tan cowboy hat that was pulled down low so that she couldn’t see his face. He was carrying a large sack of something on his shoulder as he pushed one door open with his booted foot.

His presence filled the room as if he owned the place and she was the one intruding.

He placed the sack on the cement floor of the greenhouse, then slapped his hands together, creating a cloud of white dust. He pushed the tip of his cowboy hat up and leveled on her the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Familiar eyes.

Eyes that probed her in a way that went straight to her heart.

“Adam?” She almost choked out his name, being both stunned and oddly pleased to see him.

“Hey.”

He continued to stare at her, assessing her as if she were one of his cogs in a machine he was creating.

“Hi,” she returned.

Unsmiling, he said, “I heard you might come back.”

“Yes. Of—of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Been a long time.”

Joy didn’t like the accusatory tone Adam used. Nor did she like the fact that he’d matured into a handsome man with flashing, mesmerizing eyes. And how was that possible? They were “over” a long time ago.

“He was my grandpa.”

“And you came back because he died.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I mean I’m sorry about Frank. He loved you a lot.”

“And you know this…how?”

“He never stopped talking about you.”

Joy felt a pang of guilt for not being there more for her grandfather. But she didn’t like Adam’s tone. She glanced through the French door, propped open by the sack of cement he’d deposited. She saw a compressor, metal pipes, PVC pipes, vent apparatus and coils of copper tubing. A toolbox with wrenches, hammers and screwdrivers sat next to the pile of materials.

“Just exactly how did you get in here?”

“Key.”

Joy had to consciously halt her eyes from flying wide open. “You? Have access to my grandfather’s place of business?”

“Clearly—” he waved his hand across the empty retail area “—it’s not a business anymore.”

“I was told Frank closed it years ago.”

“He did. Five years, to be exact.”

Joy put her fingertips to her temples. None of this made sense. “I don’t understand. I flew him to New York for Thanksgiving every year. He told me he had to hurry back here to get the poinsettia shipments in. He said business had never been better.”

“He lied.”

“I got that, Adam!”

“Don’t jump on me!” he shot back, all too quickly and with twice the force.

“Why didn’t he tell me the truth?”

“He didn’t want to disappoint you,” Adam replied, dropping his harsh tone.

Her eyes were tearing again, but she didn’t care. “He told you that?”

“He did.”

“But nothing he would do could ever, ever disappoint me. I loved him. That’s all. The attorney told me on the phone that Grandpa was too proud to ask for my help.”

“That, too.” Adam glanced down as he asked, “Would you have come back if he asked?”

“I don’t know. No. Maybe…if he’d told me how bad it was.”

Adam shook his head. “Well, we’ll never know.”

Adam took off his hat, and as he did, his thick black hair fell over his forehead.

Joy nearly gasped as the movement reminded her of when they’d been in love.

“I know that Frank didn’t want to destroy your memories of this place. How it was.”

“It was glorious, wasn’t it?” Joy felt her first smile creep slowly to her lips as she remembered so much.

“It was,” he replied wistfully, still staring at her.

“From the time I was nine or ten, it was my job to keep those tiles clean. I took pride in scrubbing them—”

“Until they glistened,” he interrupted. “I remember.”

“Adam.”

“I remember a lot of things.”

She paused, fearing what she wanted to ask, but daring to say it. “Like us?”

“Yeah, like us.”

“We were kids.”

“I thought we were pretty adult. Planning a life together.”

“Well, we’re different people now.”

“We certainly are,” he replied with that dark tone he’d used before.

“You’re angry with me. About the past…”

He took a long step toward her. “Not the past, Joy. The present. I was the one who was with Frank when he had the heart attack. I called 911. I was in the hospital with him. I held his hand when he passed.”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“His last thoughts were about you.”

“Thank you for being with him.” A new wave of guilt and grief hit her.

“I should go.” He started to go, then turned back to her.

Joy braced as she felt a wave of heat from him.

“I know Frank lied to you about some things, but it seems to me you could have pried yourself away from your city friends long enough to visit your only living relative. All these years and you never came back. I watched Frank spend Christmas after Christmas alone. He talked about you and the old days. How he loved you. And what did he get? A ten-minute phone call, Joy. A ten-minute phone call.”

Adam slapped his hat against his thigh, turned and stomped toward the French doors.

Joy’s natural defenses shot to the fore. “I have responsibilities!”

Adam pulled to a stop and marched back to her. His face was nearly nose to nose with hers. “Nothing was as important as Frank and you know it. I would have killed to have what you had with Frank. All that love. All that concern and caring. At least I got to enjoy that after college, when I came back here. Frank befriended me as if not a day had passed. He may have been your blood, but he was my family. And I miss him.”

“Me, too,” she whispered, as she lowered her eyes.

He moved back. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I swore when I moved back here that I’d keep myself in check. Getting close to people never worked out for me.”

“Like when I left—”

“Like then, yeah.”

Joy blinked back tears. Everything Adam said was true, and she felt like dirt. She should have come to visit her grandfather, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t always college or her career. It was Indian Lake. The place where her loving parents were buried. She couldn’t face it. She wouldn’t be reminded of the way they died. And the aftermath.

“I’m sorry, Adam. For everything.”

“Yeah. Well.” He stepped back. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral.”

“Yeah.”

Deflated, Joy watched Adam walk away before backing up to the counter and slowly sliding to the floor.

Joy pulled her knees to her chin, shivered and looked at the empty space. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Grandpa. Please forgive me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JOY GREETED THE dark-haired, fortyish receptionist at Evans and Evans Law Firm office and asked if she could leave her luggage behind the front desk.

“Of course. I’ll let Mr. Evans know you’re here,” she said and picked up the intercom. “Mr. Evans is down the hall, Miss Boston.”

Joy wheeled her weekender around to the back wall. “Thank you.”

Kyle Evans greeted Joy at the door to his office. She guessed him to be in his midthirties. He was tall, handsome and wore a well-tailored blue suit. He held out his hand. “Joy. I’m Kyle, and I’m so sorry for your loss.” He ushered her into a bright, cheery office, decorated with Danish modern furniture and a wall-to-wall aquarium.

Joy was still mired in confusion. “Kyle, I just went by the greenhouses. I don’t understand. Grandpa told me this was going to be a banner year for him.”

Kyle held a chair for Joy as she sat. Then he went around to his side of the desk. “That was a bit inaccurate.”

“What’s going on?”

“I worked with him when he closed up. I think, though he never said so outright, that he always hoped to reopen them. I told him it would take a miracle.”

“And he never told me about any of this.”

“Frank was a proud man. And he didn’t want you to worry about his failure.”

“Failure?”

“The business was too much for him to run alone. Costs were rising and he told me he would never ask you to come home to save him.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she replied. “I was firm on that issue when I moved to New York.”

“He was so proud of you and your career. He talked about you all the time.”

Kyle looked down at the papers on his desk. “He left everything to you. The house, the greenhouses, his old truck.”

“He…still has that truck?”

“He did. Yes.”

“And it runs?”

“Uh, yeah. It does.” Kyle folded his hands and put them on the desk. “I’m so sorry, Joy. This all has to be such a shock for you. It was for me. For the whole town.”

“Grandpa never told me he was ill,” she said, feeling another bout of tears stinging her eyes.

“I understand from his doctor that Frank died soon after arriving at the hospital.”

“That’s what I heard.” She remembered Adam’s description of Frank’s death. Joy couldn’t help her tears now. They came like a torrent. She found a travel pack of tissues in her purse and whisked the tears from her face. “We never talked about what to do if he died. I guess I’m guilty of thinking he would live forever. He was…my grandpa.” She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I…I can’t help it. I have no idea what to do. All he ever said was that when he died, he would make sure I was taken care of. I thought it was a life insurance policy or something. I’d always cut him off. Talking about death reminded me too much of my mom and dad.”

“I remember,” Kyle said. “I’m sorry for your loss of them, as well.”

She looked into his empathetic eyes and wondered if the caring she saw was genuine or if that was some mask law school professors taught students to wear when dealing with bereaved clients. The minute the thought entered her head, Joy realized it was something that Chuck had said once to her. She cast it away.

“It’s fine. And the details are in his will.”

“Oh.”

“I talked to Father Michael over at Saint Mark’s. He’s waiting for your call.”

“I should have a reception or something after the funeral. At his home.” Joy blew her nose in the tissue. “Pardon me.”

“Certainly. Olivia Barzonni over at the Indian Lake Deli has offered to cater a lunch for you. If you wish. She and her mother, Julia, are great people.”

“Olivia Melton? She’s married now, then. Yes, I remember her. She was a friend in high school.” Joy brightened a bit.

“And Sarah Bosworth said to tell you if there’s anything you need, she’s here. Sarah Jensen Bosworth, that is. She—”

“Sarah is married, too?”

“She is. Three kids. I see Luke at the YMCA where we work out with Gabe and Nate Barzonni. Scott Abbott joins us often, as well.”

Joy put her hands to her cheeks. “All these names. Talk about a blast from the past.”

“Joy. All your friends are here for you. You just have to ask for their help.”

She dabbed her tears again. “They are?” When her parents died, Joy had cut ties with her Indian Lake friends. She’d wanted to run away from her grief. She’d chosen Columbia University and New York as her safe haven, and it had been that for her all this time.

“That’s wonderful and so…unexpected. I haven’t been back in a long time. Years and years.”

“I know.” Kyle picked up a manila folder. “This is your copy of the will. This is the key to the greenhouse. Frank’s house keys. I assume you’ll be staying there? Is there anything else you need from me?”

Joy took the keys. “When I went to the greenhouse, the door was unlocked. I understand Adam Masterson has a key.”

“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. He and Frank were close.”

And Adam had said he tried not to get close to people. “Well, thank you so much, Kyle.” She started to stand and stopped. “Would you be so kind as to get a number for me?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“The best Realtor in town.”

“That’s easy. Cate Sullivan Davis.”

Joy tilted her head to the left. “I don’t remember that name.”

“You wouldn’t. She’s only been here a few years.”

“But you trust her? She’s good?”

“Very. And her husband is a detective. Trent Davis. He’s famous in these parts. Took down a huge drug ring. It was in all the papers.”

“Grandpa told me about that. He’s her husband?”

“Sure is. And she’s really smart. You’ll like her.”

“Thanks,” Joy said, rising to shake Kyle’s hand.

Once she’d gathered her luggage, she stood on the sidewalk watching the passing cars.

“I forgot. I’m not in New York.”

There were no cabs. No subways. No mass transit of any kind. Joy had sent Roy away thinking she wouldn’t need him. Fortunately, he’d given her his direct number in case she needed him while in town.

“I’m so not in Kansas anymore.” She punched in his number. “Roy. I need a favor.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“I forgot there are no cabs in Indian Lake.”

“And now you’re stranded. I’m at Cupcakes and Cappuccino. About three blocks from you. Where do you want to go?”

“Is there a car rental in Indian Lake?”

“Of course. I’ll take you there.”

Joy hung up and sighed. She’d been away a long time. And she couldn’t wait to leave.

CHAPTER SIX

ADAM HAD PICKED up Titus from Sarah’s house and stopped for groceries. Tonight was grilled chicken tenders on angel hair pasta with pesto sauce and salad. The one thing Amie had insisted that Adam do for their son was to feed him a balanced diet and organic foods. She’d been a good cook and taught him how to prepare food. Adam found the process enjoyable. So did Titus, who liked to share in the kitchen action.

When Adam had gutted the kitchen last year, he’d equipped it with everything he would need to make meals for himself and his son. He’d been sure to include a small appliance “garage” that was under lock and key so that Titus couldn’t get to any sharp knives, mandolins or the Cuisinart. Titus had been curious nearly from birth, so teaching him to be careful was important. And the fact that Titus’s impaired vision caused him to trip or bump into things worried Adam.

Angel, their four-year-old golden retriever, sat on the whitewashed wood plank floor watching her two masters cook. Angel was pregnant, a planned union with Sarah’s golden, Beau. According to the veterinarian, Angel would have Christmas puppies. Titus was curious and anxious about the coming blessed event. Their trips to Grandy’s Groomers to buy a new bed, puppy food and toys were numerous. Titus was overjoyed and so was Adam. He and Titus decided they would draw names from all the people who wanted a puppy, after Sarah and Luke had their pick of the litter, of course.

“So, Dad,” Titus said as he dipped thin chicken tenders in a mix of flour, chili powder, granulated garlic and black pepper, “do you think we should ask Mr. Boston’s granddaughter over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

Adam stopped pouring the olive oil into the frying pan. “How do you know anything about Joy Boston being in town?”

“Mrs. Beabots. She came over to Timmy’s house and made oatmeal cookies for us.”

“Oh, she did? And how many did you eat?” Adam asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Only one and a glass of milk. Organic, of course,” Titus answered, finishing the last tender. He looked at Adam. “Miss Sarah said that you knew her in high school.”

Adam grimaced. Deflecting the probing questions of a smart kid was not an easy task. Since the day Titus had learned to talk at nine months, the boy hadn’t shut up. “Of course I knew Sarah. You know we’ve been friends forever.”

“Dad,” Titus huffed. “I meant Joy Boston.”

“Oh.” Adam placed the tenders in the oil. He lifted the lid of the boiling water, added salt and then reached over and stirred the pesto sauce.

“Miss Sarah said you were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Adam rolled his eyes. This was going from bad to worse. “And why would she say that?”

“Because I asked her a lot of questions about Joy Boston,” Titus said proudly. “Like what kind of person she was and if she liked flowers as much as old Mr. Boston…and you.”

Adam nearly burned his fingers as he turned the tenders. “And what did Sarah say?”

“That you guys worked together for Mr. Boston when you were in high school.”

“We did.”

“And you thought you were going to marry her.”

Adam coughed. He put his fist to his mouth. “Sarah said a lot, huh?”

“Dad! Think about it. I coulda been her son!”

“Not exactly.” Adam put the angel hair in the boiling water. “But things have a way of working out all for the best. What I want to know is why Sarah told you all this.”

Titus hemmed a bit and glanced away.

Adam stopped stirring the pesto. “Titus…”

“She didn’t exactly say all that.”

“What?” Adam put his hand on his hip. “What’s going on here?”

“You know how it is. I asked a few questions. Put some things together. Like you asking Joy to marry you.”

“So, this is something you deduced all by yourself.”

“Deduced? What does that mean?”

“Figured out.” Adam turned another tender, knowing fully that Titus had used the word deduced over a month ago. His son was stalling. Adam had him on the run and the idea pleased him. But only a little.

“I did.” Titus smiled sheepishly. “But I needed confirmation.”

“Which I gave you.”

“Yes.” Titus lifted his chin proudly.

“You know, Titus, I don’t think you should be a playwright.”

“No?”

“Clearly, you have the makings of a lawyer.”

“Hmm.” Titus went to the sink, stepped onto his step stool so that he could reach the faucet and washed his hands. Then he rinsed the lettuce. “I have to think about that. But about Miss Joy—”

“Son,” Adam began, taking a deep breath. “Joy is leaving soon. She’s not going to be part of our lives. Okay?”

Titus wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Okay, Dad.”

AFTER DINNER, ADAM helped Titus make pinecone turkeys, which he wanted to gift to all his friends. After gluing and glittering feathers to the pinecones, Adam watched as Titus nearly fell asleep at the kitchen table.

“C’mon, sport. Let’s brush your teeth and wash up for bed.”

Titus yawned. “Okay. But I want the Star Wars pj’s tonight.”

“I would never have guessed,” Adam said as they walked down the hall, Angel at their heels. Adam went into the bedroom, with its slate-gray walls and white trim and Star Wars, Star Trek and Avengers posters covering every inch of the space. From the dresser, Adam pulled out the desired pair of pajamas as he heard Titus in the bathroom using his spin brush.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the stainless-steel reading lamp and the overflowing bedside bookshelf. Titus had been only four when he joined a reading group at the library. The kids declared how many books they would read over summer vacation. Titus always set high goals, so when he announced he’d read one hundred books, Adam hadn’t doubted him. Most kids’ books were only twenty pages long, after all. But Titus sailed through the picture books meant for early readers. Titus liked to read chapter books. He didn’t reach one hundred, but he did read over twenty chapter books. His kindergarten teacher told Adam that Titus had the reading comprehension of a sixth grader.

“Yeah. Sixth grade going on high school,” he muttered to himself. “Mozart was six when he started composing. Young prodigies aren’t unheard of.”

“What’s unheard of?” Titus asked, coming into the room, yanking his shirt over his head.

“Genius showing itself at a young age,” Adam said proudly, holding out the pajama top. Titus pulled it on.

“Were you a genius?”

“Hardly. Some thought I was a failure. I couldn’t make things work.”

“You do now,” Titus said as he put on the pajama bottoms and climbed into bed. “You just needed education.”

“I did. How did you know?”

“Mrs. Cook tells us that all the time.”

“Ah! Wise woman.” Adam chuckled. “So, what do you want me to read tonight? War and Peace?” Titus screwed up his face. “Sorry. Just a joke.”

“I’m too tired. Tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure.” Adam leaned down to kiss Titus on the forehead. Titus lifted his arms and hugged him.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, Titus. You sleep with the angels.”

Angel jumped up on the bed. Titus hugged her neck. “I always sleep with my Angel.” Titus smiled. “So, Dad, when Angel has her pups, can I help?”

“I’m hoping the vet will take care of that.”

Titus propped himself up on his elbow. “You think we’ll have warning?”

“I hope so. Usually, dogs try to make a nest and find a warm place.”

“Like her doggy bed?”

“Not necessarily. She might like it in front of the fireplace on her rug.”

“Yeah. I could see that,” Titus agreed and lay back down. “It’s gonna be a great Christmas present to have puppies.”

“Remember what I told you. Puppies are a lot of work in the beginning. I have to get a pen ready for them in the basement.”

“And buy more space heaters and blankets and collect newspapers for their pee.”

Adam laughed. “We need to do all that.”

“Okay,” Titus said as he lowered his sleepy eyes. “I’ll help.”

“Night, son.”

“Night, Dad.”

Adam walked to the door, turned off the light, and the glow-in-the-dark planets and constellations on the ceiling shone.

He walked down the hall and past the living room of his 1920s refurbished bungalow. Five years ago, the house had been a steal. He’d put a lot of work and money into it, and the results were worth it. The living room was furnished in comfortable charcoal-gray twill sofas that faced each other on either side of the fireplace. A maple-and-stainless-steel coffee table was heaped with books and magazines, most of them Titus’s. Under the large picture window was a long desk with two laptops, a desk chair and a small file cabinet. On top of the file cabinet were a half-dozen framed photos of Adam, Amie and baby Titus. A large TV hung over the fireplace. The dining room table was midcentury modern, made of bird’s-eye maple, and the chairs were covered in a deep blue twill.

He walked out to the front porch to check the mail he’d forgotten earlier. He shuffled through the utility bills, then pulled out an envelope with a familiar return address. It was the company that bought his wind turbine invention. His smile was broad. “Thank goodness for royalty checks.”

Back inside, he went to his computer and pulled up his email.

Adam worked freelance for Jacobson Corporation out of Indianapolis. The pay was satisfactory, but it was his private, solely-owned creative patents that he hoped would one day boost his income. The best part was that he only had bimonthly trips to Indianapolis, and his weekly meetings with think-tank managers and engineering interns were via Skype and phone conferences. Adam had made it clear that Titus was his priority. Adam was an asset to any firm and Jacobson knew it. Adam worked at night on the computer and held conferences in the early morning with his team.

Scanning the emails, he replied to his team and then saw the one he’d been waiting for. “Halstead.”

Halstead Industries had finally replied to the proposal and project renderings he’d presented to them in California in October. Adam’s engineering genius had flourished at Purdue. He’d made good money over the years, and his works-in-progress would bring even more. His future was financially stable. Titus’s college fund was solid. Sometimes, it seemed as if his high school days had happened to someone else.

“In more ways than one…”

He didn’t share his successes with others. He didn’t like to brag, and creative ideas were easily stolen. Not until his patents were secure, the contracts signed and executed, would Adam talk even to Frank or Mrs. Beabots about his work.

It’s better that way, he thought. Keeping distance was his operative.

He opened the email as he heard Angel walking down the hall—his sign that Titus was sound asleep. Next to his desk was a new red-and-black-plaid doggy bed, which she curled up on.

“Look at that, Angel. I finally sold my wind turbine. Wait till my patent comes through on the geothermal unit. Not to mention a few other propulsion irons I have in the fire.” The latter ideas for antigravity drapes and futuristic propulsion had been pipe dreams decades ago, but now he was being taken seriously.

Angel yawned.

“You’ll see. It’ll be thrilling.”

Angel closed her eyes.

“Okay. Not so thrilling for you. But for a guy who never had much, this is a victory. I should celebrate.”

Angel didn’t stir as Adam went to the kitchen and took out a bottle of beer from the Sub-Zero.

“Now, where did I put that opener?” He opened the utility drawer where he kept spatulas and spoons, then went back to the desk in the living room. He dug around a few drawers, moving papers and old birthday cards. “Where is it?”

In frustration, he started pulling papers out of the far-left drawer. In the bottom, he found an old photo album, one he hadn’t seen since he’d moved back from Cincinnati. “Aw, jeez.”

The first photo had been taken well over ten years ago in the greenhouse. It was Christmas. He and Joy were surrounded by red poinsettias. Joy’s head was on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. What captured his attention was the look of love and contentment on both their faces.

So long ago.

He glanced at the album photos of Amie. They’d been happy and thrilled about Titus. But the truth was that, initially, Amie had kept her illness from Adam and he’d never quite forgiven her. His feelings for Amie were different from the love he’d once had for Joy. Back then, Joy had lived up to her name. She’d lit up the world for him. And when he’d kissed her, he’d felt as if he were connected to the moon, the stars, the entire universe.

He raked a hand through his hair. He’d been hard on her today. He realized now that she was mirroring all the confusion and pain he’d felt when Amie had finally told him the truth about her leukemia. He’d felt lost. And betrayed.

Adam loved Frank. The old man had been his friend and mentor. But there had been times when he’d counseled Frank to tell Joy the truth, and Frank wouldn’t do it, because of his pride.

It was a wasteful thing. It kept people from doing the one thing they should do. Love.

Adam opened the middle drawer and put the old photo album on top of the sheaf of papers. As he withdrew his hand he felt the bottle opener.

He opened the bottle and tipped it toward the photo album. “You were such a nerd, Adam. With no guts.”

He took a deep swig. “And no glory.”

Angel lifted her head and gave a low snuffle.

“Oh, you think so, too, huh?”

She snuffled again.

“Great. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

He sat in the desk chair and stared at the photo. “But that was then. What do I do about now?”

He closed the album and eased the drawer shut.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JOY LOOKED UP at the old rooster-shaped clock that hung against the kitchen wallpaper that had been put up before her birth. Her father often joked that he’d hated the wallpaper when his mother had chosen it. Joy didn’t think it was all that bad with its depictions of antique coffee grinders and coffee cups and saucers. It was homey. It was Grandpa’s house, where her father had grown up. Because Frank had purchased a large section of land after the war, there was enough acreage for Bruce and Jill to build their own house on shortly after their wedding. As a child, Joy always felt she lived in both houses.

The light wood cabinets were just as old, and they needed to be replaced as much as the wallpaper and vinyl flooring. The Formica-topped kitchen table set should have been tossed years ago, but Joy knew that her grandfather put his money into the greenhouses. Not into personal comforts.

Her cell rang, breaking her thoughts. “Hi, Chuck.”

“So, how goes it?”

“What part?” she asked, as she opened the cabinet over the old electric stove and pulled down a box of crackers. Then she went to the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen and opened it. It was as it had always been. Peanut butter. New jar of grape jelly. Sack of potato chips. And a brand-new bag of chocolate candies.

Some things never changed. Blessedly.

“All of it. I tried to call you earlier, but I guess you were busy.”

“I have been. I spent the afternoon on the phone planning the funeral and the luncheon at the house here afterward. It’s tomorrow, so that was fast work.”

“All funerals are… At least my mother’s was.”

“I’m sorry, Chuck. All this probably brings back sad times for you, too.”

“It does, but don’t worry about me. What did the attorney say?” He sounded rushed. “You’re going to sell the greenhouses and the house, right?”

Joy was about to respond when she heard his office phone ringing. “You’re still at the office?”

“Yeah. Dad and I are working late. Listen, I gotta take this. I’ll call you tomorrow. Can’t wait till you get back and we can have Thanksgiving together. Love ya.”

Thinking back to this afternoon and the heat of Adam’s anger, she realized she might be doing Chuck an injustice. Sure, he wasn’t all that romantic, but he was there for her. He’d called to check on her. He would call tomorrow after the funeral. She could count on him.

She picked up the peanut butter jar and noticed it was organic, low sugar. She found a knife and sat at the table to eat crackers and peanut butter. It wasn’t cracked crab or medallions of beef like she’d have with Chuck. The clock ticked loudly. She got up and went to the thirty-year-old side-by-side harvest-gold refrigerator and found a carton of milk.

“Organic.”

She glanced at the table, at the chair where her grandfather always sat. She half expected to hear him say, “I love you, pumpkin. Don’t ever forget it.”

JOY GUESSED THAT as far as funerals went, her grandfather’s was well attended. Father Michael’s eulogy revealed his deep friendship with her grandfather. Joy had written a short piece, but when she got to the pulpit to read it, she spoke from her heart instead, admitting her fault in not returning to Indian Lake to see Frank, remembering how their Thanksgivings in New York were her happiest moments. It was difficult not to tear up, not to lose her words in her chaos of emotions, but she made it through and thanked everyone for being present for Frank. As she walked back to the front pew, she saw many compassionate, familiar faces. Faces she’d forgotten.

Afterward, on her behalf, Father Michael had invited everyone to Frank’s house for a luncheon.

Now they all stood three deep, around the dining room table, admiring the bounty. Joy had covered the table with her mother’s Irish linen cloth. Olivia and Julia Melton had set up the buffet while Joy and the rest of her friends had been at Saint Mark’s. Huge crystal bowls held seafood salad, chicken salad with red grapes and walnuts, a pasta salad and a green salad. A large hammered pewter tray held two large planks of grilled salmon topped with capers and lemon slices. A honey-baked spiral ham and candied yams filled the end of the table. On the sideboard were plates, napkins and silverware.

A second, round table, skirted in white linen, was set up with hot and cold drinks.

Sarah hugged Joy before introducing her husband.

Joy shook his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Luke. Sarah was such a good friend to me in high school.”

“Then you two should pick up where you left off,” he said, putting his arm around Sarah and kissing her cheek. “Best is the word to describe her.”

Joy watched as Sarah smiled up at Luke. He touched her cheek and kissed her lips. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other.

Joy got the distinct feeling she was intruding, but as she moved to the drink table for iced tea, she saw Maddie Strong, who had been another close friend in high school. “Maddie? How wonderful to see you!”

Maddie hugged Joy. “I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances, but I’ve missed you, Joy,” she said, not letting go of Joy’s hand. “So much has happened since you left, but you look like not a day has passed.”

Just then, Dr. Nate Barzonni walked up and slipped his arm around Maddie. “Joy, it’s good to see you,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry it took this…to bring you back. I have to say, New York looks like it’s working for you.”

“She looks fabulous,” Maddie agreed.

“So do you,” Nate whispered in Maddie’s ear, but it was loud enough for Joy to hear.

“The lovebirds are at it again,” Gabe Barzonni said as he walked up with his wife, Liz, and their three-and-a-half-year-old son, Zeke.

“Look who’s talking.” Maddie chuckled. “You said you were bringing Joy some wine. Where is it? I brought cupcakes for everyone.”

Gabe grinned mischievously and shot his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s in the kitchen. Olivia is uncorking a couple bottles.”

Joy glanced from Nate to Gabe. “So, Gabe, you’re not running the family farm anymore?”

“Nope. I gave it up when I fell hopelessly in love.” He kissed Liz soundly on the mouth.

Liz shook her head and placed her hand on his broad chest. “The truth is, Gabe always wanted to be a vintner. He fell for me and my grapes.”

“Not a chance,” Nate said, butting in. “That’d be like me saying Maddie plied me with cupcakes.”

“Hey!” Maddie retorted. “I did.”

Nate put both his arms around her. “Did not.”

“Did, too.” Maddie laughed and kissed Nate.

Joy excused herself and continued around the table, receiving condolences from Nate and Gabe’s mother, Gina Barzonni. Joy had always liked her when she was in high school. Joy was stunned to discover that Gina had recently married Liz’s grandfather, Sam Crenshaw. She shook hands with Rafe Barzonni, congratulating him on his marriage to Olivia Melton. “She’s amazing, Rafe. She put all this together in one day.”

“And wait till she shows you the photographs. She took photos of your table and the flowers. With your permission, maybe—and she’d do this as a friend. She thinks the world of you, by the way. If you’d want some candid shots of the guests, she’d snap a few. Nothing intrusive. Memories, you know? It’s up to you.”

“Really?”

“She’s gone pro. And been published in a few magazines. I’m really proud of her,” he said, looking from Joy into the kitchen, where pretty Olivia was walking out with a silver tray filled with Maddie’s delicious cupcakes.

“I owe her a great deal for all her help.”

“She was happy to do it for her friend, Joy.”

“Yes, Grandpa was an amazing man.”

He leaned a bit closer and said, “I meant you.”

“Oh.”

As Rafe walked over to his wife, Mrs. Beabots walked in with Adam, who was holding the hand of a little boy.

Mrs. Beabots walked straight up to Joy and hugged her tightly. “Joy, I’m so happy to see you. Though losing Frank is hard for all of us.”

“He was a good friend to you. I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you at the church.”

“I was in the back. I don’t drive anymore, so I must rely on others to cart me around. Though when the weather’s nice, I walk everywhere.”

Mrs. Beabots had always been part of her life in Indian Lake, especially when she was in high school. It was Joy who filled orders for Mrs. Beabots’s fall bulb list. Her Christmas poinsettias and amaryllis. Joy had loved delivering flowers to Mrs. Beabots, who always invited her in for tea or pastries. Or if she got lucky, a piece of sugar pie. Since Sarah lived next door to Mrs. Beabots, she and Maddie would often meet at Sarah’s house and then the three of them would barge into Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen, help her with dishes or put away groceries and be rewarded with something special right out of the oven.

The clutch at Joy’s chest came from too many memories she’d shoved away and tried, successfully for years, to replace with exciting New York.

“Now, Joy. Tomorrow you must come to my house for dinner.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose.”

“Too bad. You have a great deal to do here,” Mrs. Beabots said.

“How do you know that?”

“You forget my reputation for knowing what’s happening in this town?”

“I did. So, who told?”

“Why, Adam, of course.”

“Figures.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be your attorney. That would be immoral. Or something.” She waved her hand.

Joy couldn’t help but chuckle. “I bet you kept Grandpa on his toes.”

“Frank was a sucker for my peach cobbler. So were you.”

“I was.”

Mrs. Beabots touched Joy’s arm. “I need to check on something in the kitchen. You probably need to see to the rest of your guests.” She winked and looked over at Adam, who was standing near the kitchen doorway.

Just as Mrs. Beabots turned, Joy asked, “Wait, is that—Adam’s son?”

“It is…” Mrs. Beabots walked to the kitchen.

The shocks kept coming. So, Adam was married? Where was his wife? Had they both been at the church? The funeral was already a blur to her. She barely remembered anything.

A pretty woman about Joy’s age with striking aqua eyes came up. “Joy. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Cate Davis. Kyle Evans told me to give you a call, but since I knew Frank so well, I thought this might be better.”

“Cate? The Realtor?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Kyle said you were anxious to list the greenhouses.”

“Yeah. I have to get back to New York by Thanksgiving.”

“That’s…only six days away.”

“I know. Is there a lot to do?” Joy asked.

“We’re fine. Tell you what. I’ll meet you there tomorrow morning at, say, nine o’clock? I’ll take some photos, work up some comps. I’ll do my best to get back to you by the end of the day or Sunday afternoon.”

“Gee, I hate to take up your weekend.”

“I’m a Realtor. We’re used to it. And we do have some work to do, this being a commercial property. What about the house here?”

“That, too,” Joy said, feeling a sharp pang through her middle. Now that she’d said it out loud, she suddenly wanted to hang on to the house. But she lived in New York. Her life was in New York. Wasn’t it?

Joy saw Adam now standing at the fireplace in the living room. His son was still by his side. The boy had picked up the fireplace poker. She excused herself from Cate and walked toward Adam, overhearing their conversation.

“What’s this, Dad?”

“Titus, put that down. It’s dangerous.”

“But what’s it for?”

“To move the logs around so air gets to the fire.”

“We don’t have one.”

“We have gas logs. They’re safer.”

“Oh,” Titus said and looked up as Joy smiled at him. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She stretched out her hand. “I’m Joy. What’s your name?”

“Titus Masterson. This is my dad. But I know that you already know him. From high school,” Titus said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiling broadly.

“Titus…” Adam used that same warning tone he’d used with Joy.

“Thank you for coming, Adam,” Joy said. “I’m sure Frank would appreciate it.”

“I’m sure he would.”

Titus rocked back on his heels and tugged on his blue blazer. “We were good friends with Mr. Boston. He let me eat peanut butter and crackers in the kitchen.”

“He did?” Adam and Joy chorused.

“Uh-huh. And grape jelly.”

“I suppose the milk was for you, too?” Joy asked.

“Yep. Organic.”

Joy smiled. “I can see why my grandpa liked you, Titus. You’re quite the charmer.”

“Thanks.” Titus grinned.

Joy looked back to the kitchen. “Is your mother coming to the luncheon?” she asked.

“No,” Adam replied sharply.

“She died. She’s in heaven with Mr. Boston,” Titus said matter-of-factly. “When I die I get to see them both.”

Adam put his hand on Titus’s shoulder. “That’s right.”

Joy knew she was blushing with shame. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Adam said, not to Joy but to Titus, who was looking up at him. “It’s been three years since Amie died. Titus and I are doing better.”

“That’s right, Dad. We are.” Titus looked at Joy. “So, is it okay if I have a cupcake?”

“You can have anything you want, Titus. Please. Enjoy.”

“All right!” Titus nearly sprinted away.

“Titus! Slow down! You might trip on that throw rug,” Adam warned.

Joy watched Adam as he stared after Titus. “He’s wonderful.”

“He’s like his mother.”

“He’s like you,” she said, feeling a long-remembered warmth flood her. “He looks just like you.”

“He does. Poor kid.”

“Adam, you are incredibly handsome. I always thought that.”

“I was a nerd.”

“I like nerds,” she countered. “Though you aren’t one.”

His blue gaze bored into her face, and for a moment, she was back there with him, in the potting shed where no one could see them and he was about to kiss her.

He jerked away and turned to the photos on the mantel. He picked one up. She looked at the picture.

“That’s us at prom. I forgot we had this one.”

“I remember. It was the night I proposed. You forget that, too?”

“No.”

“You said ‘yes.’”

“Adam. We agreed. We’d wait till after college… You had a scholarship to Purdue. I had a scholarship to Columbia. We grew up.”

“We drifted apart.”

This time when his eyes met hers, she saw sadness and regret. Not the sadness of mourning, but the kind she’d seen when she looked in the mirror after their breakup. She’d lost her parents. Adam. Her town. It had taken every ounce of courage to go to her classes and keep her grades up so that she didn’t lose her scholarship. But she’d done it. And she’d done it alone.

“We did.”

“Can I have this?” he asked.

She thought it an odd request. He had a son. A life and recent past she knew nothing about. But he wanted their prom picture. “Sure. Uh, Frank would want you to have something.”

“Frank—” Adam started to say something but Joy’s cell phone rang.

“It’s New York. I have to take this.”

“I better go. I’m truly sorry about Frank.”

“Thank you, Adam. I know you are.”

Adam walked to the dining room. She noticed that all the Barzonni brothers came up to him and slapped him on the back. Sarah hugged him. Maddie and Liz did, as well. They were all friends and they carried their affection for each other well.

Her cell phone rang again. She answered it. “Chuck. Sorry. I was just saying goodbye to a guest.”

“I didn’t know the luncheon would still be going on. I lost track of time myself. So, did you get the flowers?”

“I did. They were huge. Thank you very much.”

“Dad thought it was a good idea. They’re from both of us.”

“Please thank him for me.”

“I will. I tried to order them from your grandfather’s greenhouse, but the line was disconnected. You closed it down fast.”

Joy worried her lip. “Uh, actually, Chuck, it’s been down awhile now.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. My grandpa and I always used our cells and texts. I never called the greenhouse, where he’d be too busy to talk. Personally, I think he was expert at intrigue. Probably, all those old mystery movies he watched, because he kept his secret well. Even his deteriorating health was a secret. No one knew. Not even in town. Bottom line for us is that I’m meeting with the Realtor first thing in the morning.”

“Great. Thanksgiving is less than a week away.”

“Miss me that much, huh?”

“I’ll say. The work has stacked up like crazy since you left.”

“The work…”

“Yeah. Oh, and Dad said to say hi.”

“I gotta run. My guests, you know.”

“Oh sure. Absolutely. Kisses.”

“Kisses,” she echoed, as Chuck hung up.

Joy stared at her cell. “Work.”

Olivia walked up and put her arm around Joy’s waist. “You okay? Could use a hug, I bet.”

“Yeah.”

“This has been a shock for you,” Olivia said. “We’ve all been missing the greenhouses since Frank closed them up. But knowing that someone else will be buying them. It’s so…final, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Frank was the best guy. It’s a shame he had to close down. Christmas isn’t the same without his poinsettias all over my deli. I miss that magic…”

“Do you know why he closed?”

“Not really. I thought he might’ve had health issues.”

“He never told anyone why?”

Olivia’s expression was thoughtful. “He was a private man. But if anyone would know, it would be Adam.”

“Really?”

Olivia nodded. “Adam was like a son to him. When he moved back and his wife was ill, Frank was there for him. They’ve been inseparable since Amie died.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Really? Frank didn’t talk with you about Adam?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. But like I said, Frank was a private man.”

One by one, Joy’s guests came up to give her last hugs. They all begged her to call them for whatever help she would need. But all Joy needed was to put the greenhouses on the market, sign the papers, fly back to New York and let Cate take care of the rest.

It was a good plan.

Her life would go on. She’d be out of Indian Lake and out of their minds. Once again.

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