Of course, Chrissie would be pissed if she knew what he’d been thinking. She’d tell him to stop pretending he was so cynical and open up his heart. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. Greta Servensen had told him the same thing last week and she hadn’t been shy about it. No sir, there’d been nothing shy about the woman’s words, lambasting him with that German accent and those blue eyes, as though she really thought he could change and have what she called a “relationship” with a woman that didn’t start and finish with the bedroom. She hadn’t said sex; oh, no, those pink lips wouldn’t let that word slip out of her mouth, but that’s what she’d meant. Women. Why would he want the pain and torture when he could avoid it? He ignored the pang in his chest when he thought of Greta. What was the point of considering anything but short-term? He wasn’t the kind of guy who committed to anything, not even feeding a fish, let alone a relationship. And damn it, Greta Servensen would demand a relationship. Harry yanked his tie off the hanger, flung it around his neck, and tied it. Peace, harmony, and one-woman relationships were for other men, not him. He grabbed the pocket watch Chrissie had given him, attached it to his suit jacket, and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. Get ready, big-ass world. Harry Blacksworth’s attending a wedding.

“Look at all the snow, Uncle Harry!” Lily pointed to the gobs of white stuff coming down hard and fast, covering trees, yards, signs, the windshield. “If we get more, we can make snow angels.” She leaned forward as far as her seatbelt would take her and let out a giggle. “Daddy taught me how to make snow angels and I can show you.” She turned her head, scrunched her nose at him. “Or do you already know how?”

Snow angels? What the hell was a snow angel? “Nope. No idea.”

She clapped her hands and smiled. “They’re magical. That’s what Daddy said. You lie down in the snow, nighttime is best, and you move your arms and legs real wide so you make wings.” Her voice turned whisper-soft. “Then you look up at the sky and you can talk to people in heaven.”

“Huh?” People in heaven? What was the kid talking about?

“People in heaven,” she repeated like he was a stooge and didn’t understand her language. “Like Daddy and Aunt Eleanor.” Pause, and then, “And sometimes I talk to Nate’s dad, too. His name was Nicholas. I say a prayer for him because Nate said he needs lots of them.”

“Okay. Well.” And he thought Mimi Pendergrass could make him feel uncomfortable. This kid zeroed in on the tough stuff and pulled the trigger before he could find a way around the question.

“Yup. Snow angel time,” she whispered. “But first we have to help Nate and Christine get married.”

The kid yakked all the way to the log cabin on the outskirts of town. By the time Harry stepped out of the car, he knew that some old guy named Pop made the best pizzelles in town, Nate liked jelly with alcohol in it, and you could smell when rain was on its way. Good to know, or maybe not.