Chapter Three

      Josie straightened the remaining pastries and sat in the little chair in the doorway between the kitchen and the bakery. Sprinkles lay on her back, her fuzzy white stomach bared as she slept soundly. Josie envied the dog—she could use a nap. She glanced at the clock. It was almost two, closing time.

      But today she had to help with the gingerbread, mountains and mountains of it. Her dad’s fall had put the gingerbread dough-making behind. Somehow, she had to make eighty gallon tubs of cookie dough in the next forty-eight hours. The Gingerbread Village was a huge part of the Stonewall Crossing’s Christmas on the Square celebration. Most families made a gingerbread house to display. Some made them look like their own home, others followed the theme for the year. This year’s theme, which Josie thought left a lot of room for interpretation, was Images of Christmas.

      The phone rang and she answered it, pen and notepad at the ready.

      “Pop’s Bakery. This is Josie. How can I help you?”

      “Hey, Miss... Jo... Josie. It’s Eli Boone.” He paused. “I have the plans for the float. Can I come by and show it to you?”

      She smiled. “Sure, Eli. But I’ll warn you. You might just end up elbow deep in gingerbread dough when you get here.”

      “O-okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Can I bring someone with me?”

      “Can they hold a mixer?” Josie added. “Just kidding. Bring as many as you like.”

      He didn’t laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Be there soon.”

      “Sounds good.” And she hung up the phone.

      Eli was a good kid. He was just like his father. Or how he used to be, anyway.

      She didn’t linger over thoughts of Hunter. Whatever memories she had of him were tarnished somehow. She’d been so young—they both had. He’d loved her with an unwavering strength. He’d been hers and she’d been his. It had been right and good and real. Losing him was like losing a part of her, the pain of which had faded to a steady hollow ache she still couldn’t erase.

      But maybe the Hunter she remembered had never existed. Maybe he’d cheated on her with Amy as eagerly as he’d been willing to cheat on Amy.

      It scared her, how tempted she’d been.

      But saying Amy’s name had snapped her out of it and pissed her off. She’d been just mad enough to drive herself home. By the time she was home, her head was throbbing in time to the beat of the rain. She’d crawled into her bed in her wet clothes, angry, needy and confused.

      She’d spent the past two days not thinking about him. It wasn’t really working...

      And now she was going to spend some quality time with his son.

      The phone rang again. “Pop’s Bakery.”

      “Got your voice message. I talked to our librarian and she wants you to come read to the kids next Friday.” The voice on the end of the line was soft, tired.

      “Why, good morning, Annabeth. I’m fine, thanks for calling. How are you?” Josie teased.

      “Work is crazy, girl. I’m sorry.” Annabeth sighed. “How are you?”

      “Not half as tired as you sound.”

      Annabeth Upton had been Josie’s only real girlfriend in high school. She’d been there through everything, from Hunter’s betrayal to her mom’s endless string of weddings and divorces. Josie had tried to return the favor when Annabeth lost her husband to a sniper in Afghanistan. But she didn’t know how to ease the pain of losing the man you loved while having to be a coherent, positive single parent to a rambunctious boy.

      “I won’t lie. I’m ready for the break.”

      “I can’t imagine why. Being an elementary school principal is one of the easiest jobs in the world.”

      Annabeth laughed. “R-right.”

      “Are you going to get a break? Heading to Greg’s family this year?”

      “No, not this year. His parents offered to take Cody for New Year’s so I could do something.” She snorted. “What the hell am I going to do? Alone? In Stonewall Crossing?”

      “Whatever you want,” Josie said.

      “That’s the thing. I have no idea.” She sighed. “So, how’s it going? I know you’re spread thin, with your dad and the bakery and the gingerbread craziness. And Hunter—”

      “Dad’s being ornery, but that’s why I’m here.” Josie was quick to interrupt her. Not thinking about Hunter. Not talking about Hunter. “We’re heading to the doctor on Monday, so we’ll see what the verdict is.”

      “Ready to get out of here?”

      “Not really.” Leaving meant going back to an empty apartment. This would be her first holiday without Wes. She didn’t blame him for leaving, but she was lonely.

      “You sound surprised.” Annabeth paused. “And I did notice your attempt to dodge the whole Hunter topic. Not very subtly, either, I might add.”

      “Okay, let’s talk about him.”

      “Let’s. Over wine and dinner?” She added, “You can call Lola to come over and keep your dad company.”

      “Lola?”

      “Josie, get your head out of the clouds and look around you. Lola, from the beauty shop two stores down the street. She’s sweet on Carl.”

      Josie was surprised, in a good way. “And Dad?”

      “I have no idea. Your dad rarely has a harsh word for anyone. So, call her so your dad can get a love life. Then we can have dinner and drinks and talk about our nonexistent love lives.”

      “Deal.” She’d call Lola right away.

      “Good. Oh, hold on.” There was a pause. “Will next Friday’s story time work?”

      “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Upton. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

      “Thanks. Gotta go. Duty calls... Kindergarteners, noses and peas... Bye.”

      “Bye.” Josie laughed, but the phone was already dead.

      She stared out over the freshly mopped wooden floors, her gaze drifting around the bakery. Lola Worley was a blue-haired sweetie. And, come to think of it, Lola had enjoyed a cup of tea and a small bear claw every morning since Josie had arrived in Stonewall Crossing five days before.

      She packed up a plate of pastries, patted the flour from her clothes and walked quickly down the sidewalk to the Lady’s Parlor. It was cold out, surprisingly cold, but she’d been too preoccupied to think of grabbing her sweater. She pushed through the door, the smell of acetone and bleach stinging her nose. Four heads turned to look at her.

      “Joselyn Stephens?” Lola stepped forward. “What a surprise.”

      “Afternoon, Miss Worley. I thought I’d bring by some pastries for your patrons.”

      “Don’t that just beat all?” Lola took the pastries, smiling. “What can I do for you, sugar? A haircut? Polish