By now, the tree was leaning markedly to the left and shedding needles onto the hardwood floor.

Out with the old, Eli thought.

He took the gifts from beneath the tree and tossed them onto the couch.

He found the storage boxes in the basement and began removing colorful glass balls, the dime-store angel topper, the strands of lights. He rewrapped the ornaments in their paper towels and tissue paper, not out of any inclination of his own, but because he knew Sara would lecture him when Christmas rolled around again and it was time to decorate another tree.

Closely observed by Festus, Eli dragged this year’s tree through the house and out the back door, through the ever-deepening snow to rest, dry limbs bouncing and still faintly fragrant, beside the burn barrel.

Back inside, shivering, he carried the boxes of decorations back to the basement, placed them on the appropriate shelf.

Upstairs again, he swept up the dry pine needles, dumped them into the bin, and put away the broom and dustpan.

Job completed, he was at a loss, like before.

So he opened another beer, switched on the TV and sat on the couch, Festus beside him.

Yeah, he’d planned to think about Brynne, work out how—and if—he wanted to pursue some kind of relationship with her. He was 99 percent sure he did.

And equally sure she wasn’t interested.

BRYNNE AWAKENED TO a clear, crisply cold winter morning that was blanketed in snow. Roofs, roads, sidewalks, all covered.

Even after the plows came through to clear the way, most folks would stay at home today, nibbling at Christmas leftovers, taking down their trees, shoveling sidewalks, removing strings of outdoor lights from eaves and shrubs.

She would open for business at the usual time, but there would be few, if any, customers. Only the most intrepid would wade through knee-deep snow merely for coffee and pie, or anything else she served.

Brynne smiled, sipping her coffee. Suddenly, she was a kid again, excited and pleased by this deep and glistening gift of nature. Back then, a storm like this one meant no school. Going sledding with the other kids. Building snowmen and having snowball fights in the park.

“Snow day,” she said, glancing down at Waldo curling around her slippered feet and purring persuasively.

He didn’t care about snow days or happy memories.

He just wanted his breakfast.

Brynne turned from the window and headed for the kitchen, where she poured kibble into the fancy pottery bowl Miranda Clark had given him for Christmas.

In her spare time, Miranda dabbled in pottery, and she was good at it. Her pieces were colorful and unique, reflecting her personality.

Miranda, of course, would be a prime candidate for the art festival Brynne had in mind. In fact, she’d bounce the idea off Miranda first, get her perspective on the pros and cons.

She’d call Shallie Hollister, too, for sure.