Too bad her pregnancy seemed so rough.

“My doctor is talking about hyperemesis gravidarum.” Carrie didn’t seem surprised by Angi’s blank stare. “It’s a condition that results in severe nausea and vomiting for the entire pregnancy term. Only a small percentage of women suffer from it, so I guess I’m one of the unlucky ones.”

“That sounds awful. Didn’t I hear about one of the royals having that?”

“Yep. At least I’m in good company.”

“I’m so sorry, Carrie. The most important thing right now is to take care of yourself. If there’s anything I can do—”

“I meant to talk to you before the meeting. I was hoping I’d feel better or at least well enough to coordinate most of the Christmas on the Coast events, but I’m not sure that’s going to possible.” She winced as the sound of a car peeling around a corner split the night air. “Or that Dylan won’t fight me on it if I try. I’m not up for much of a fight right now.”

“What can I do?” Angi asked, hoping Carrie only needed assistance with some small piece of the monthlong festival. Angi’s plate was already full to running over.

“Could you stand in for me as chairperson of the festival committee?” Carrie asked with a hopeful—if slightly frantic—smile.

“Chairperson,” Angi repeated, the blood pounding inside her head. “Are you sure I’m the best candidate? Maybe Josie from the dance studio or Lily at the hardware store. Even Stuart would be—”

“I’ve seen what you, Emma and Mariella have done with my father’s former house and the success of the events you host there. You have a gift for putting things together.”

“Not me,” Angi protested, her hands held up like a shield. “Emma is the organizer and Mariella the creative genius. I just make the food.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You should. Maybe one of them would be a better choice.”

“It needs to be someone who knows the town and the people here. The festival was a success last year because the business owners trusted me. They’ll trust you.”

Unable to come up with a decent refusal when Carrie looked so desperate, Angi was relieved when Dylan pulled in with a flourish at the curb. He hopped out of the sleek SUV and jogged toward Carrie.

“Let’s get you home,” he said with the same level of intensity as an ancient warrior rescuing some distressed princess from a battlefield.

Angi wondered what it would be like to have someone willing to go to battle for her.

“I’m fine,” Carrie murmured, lifting a hand to Dylan’s cheek. She glanced toward the bushes. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the stir-fry you made for dinner.”

“Crackers and ginger ale,” he told her. “We’ve got plenty at the house.”

“In a minute.” Carrie wrapped an arm around his waist, and Angi noticed that a bit of the tension eased from his stance. “Angi and I were discussing the holiday festival.”

Angi gave a little wave to Dylan. He glowered for a moment before his features softened a touch. “You’re going to take over the remainder of the planning.”