Bea stared at the child. His cheeks were rosy, and snot ran from his nose. She pulled away from the hug. “Oh, uh, hey, Amber.”

Why had Amber Moss wanted to text her?

When she left Moose Creek, she’d ditched her old phone and old number as a way to leave it all behind. Start over new and all that. She hadn’t been that close to anyone when she graduated anyway, having spent the last couple months of high school completely checked out as her mother’s health faded. She hadn’t thought it would bother anyone that they couldn’t keep in touch with her, least of all Amber Moss. Once you left town, people tended to forget about you.

Bea gave the baby a pointed look. “Who’s this?”

Amber arranged the little one on her lap. “This is Hunter.”

“Is he . . . ?”

“Mine?” Amber grinned. “Yes. Eight months old this week.” It was her turn to give a pointed look in Jeremy’s direction. “And who is this?”

“This is my husband, Jeremy.” Bea leaned back a little to make the introductions. “Jeremy, this is Amber. We went to school together.”

Amber greeted him effusively, acting as if she and Bea had been best friends. Strange. As she peppered Jeremy with questions, Bea stared at Hunter. He wore layer upon layer of warm clothes, giving him the shape of a lumpy snowman. A green knit hat with a triceratops horn covered his ears and tied under his double chin. He stared back, blue eyes wide and curious and carefree.

Amber turned her attention to Bea. “I heard you start work at the Food Farm on Monday. Won’t that be something?”

Bea pulled herself from the staring contest. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” Amber shrugged. “It’s just kind of funny. I remember when you worked there in high school.”

An uncomfortable pressure pushed on Bea’s chest. “It’s only temporary. To help Mr. MacGregor out.”

“Of course.” Amber smiled down at Hunter, and Bea couldn’t look away. She was such a . . . mom.

“Your hair is so short,” Bea said.

Amber touched her head, which used to sport long, wavy locks. “Hunter kept pulling on it and putting it in his mouth. I had to cut it all off.”

“Oh.” Bea fought the urge to touch her own shoulder-length hair. Would she have to cut hers, too? It had taken her a year to get it this long. “It can always grow back, I guess.”

Amber chuckled. “We’ll see. It takes up a lot less time when it’s short. I might keep it this way.”

This time Bea couldn’t resist fingering a chunk of her hair. Rubbing it between her fingers. “It looks cute.”

“Thanks.” Amber flashed a smile, then looked down at her boots. “By the way, I wanted to say I’m sorry about your mom.”

Bea chewed her lip. “Oh.”

“I never got to tell you. Before.”