It was still hard to believe her father wasn’t here to enjoy it. He’d loved Christmas and all of their family traditions. He’d taken such pride in the ceramic nativity scene and ornaments that had been passed down from his relatives in Italy. She and Andrew had already put up a few things, but her mother wanted to wait on the tree and some of the more meaningful decorations.

As she got out of the car after parking in front of the town hall, Angi pressed her palm to her chest to try to stem the tight ache that collected there every time she thought of her father. A heart attack, similar to the one her mother had suffered, had taken him far too soon. She would not lose her mom, as well. What was a little personal happiness in a trade-off for her mother’s health?

She hurried toward the town hall building, cursing softly when she realized she’d forgotten to change out of the faux fur–trimmed house shoes she wore at night and into regular boots or sneakers. Maybe the ragamuffin look would garner some sympathy from her fellow business owners, but more likely the gossip train would kick into high gear. She could imagine the barrage of texts and calls later tonight at how Angi Guilardi was losing her marbles.

Closer to the truth...they’d started escaping months ago, Angi had slipped and tripped on them on the way out the figurative door that led to her dream life.

The sound of someone retching stopped her in her tracks, and she saw a woman bent over the bushes at the far corner of the building.

“Carrie?” she asked when she recognized the willowy brunette. “Are you okay?”

“Not exactly.” Carrie Reed Scott walked toward her slowly, dabbing a tissue at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t seem to stop the nausea. It’s a little out of control.”

“How far along are you now?” Angi had heard about Carrie’s pregnancy from one of the waitresses at the restaurant, although the artist and gallery owner hadn’t been in for her usual \ order recently as far as Angi could remember.

“Almost five months,” Carrie said with a wan smile. “I thought the morning sickness would end, but it’s gotten worse and more along the lines of around-the-clock sickness.”

“Can you drive? Do you need a ride?” Angi glanced at the flight of stone steps that led to the building’s entrance. “You aren’t going back in there.”

Carrie shook her head. “Dylan’s on his way to get me.”

Dylan Scott was Carrie’s husband and the real estate developer who was helping his wife lead the charge on bringing the town back to its former glory. They’d dated in high school but had an ugly breakup thanks to the meddling of Carrie’s late father, Niall Reed. The same man who’d owned the house that Emma had turned into an inn.

Angi had enjoyed watching as Carrie and Dylan went from sworn enemies upon his return to town last year at this time to a couple deeply in love. Carrie had always been kind to Angi and supportive of her parents, so she couldn’t be happier for the other woman’s happiness.