“It was the mistletoe,” he said, pointing toward the ceiling. “It didn’t mean anything, Ang. You don’t have to worry I don’t know that.”

She followed his gaze to the sprig of berries and greenery that Andrew had encouraged him to hang. Gabe remembered his grandmother bragging about how she’d played matchmaker to more than one couple over the holidays by a well-placed bough of mistletoe.

In truth, Gabe hadn’t given the fanciful idea much consideration until he witnessed Angi’s reaction and had a sobering recognition of the line he’d crossed. He figured a mistletoe excuse was better than nothing.

She laughed, sounding only a tiny bit hysterical. “That stuff is dangerous,” she said, then offered a patently fake smile. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll help your kid, too. Keep sending him over after school.”

“I don’t think he’d stay away,” she said, and then disappeared with a wave.

As the door shut tight behind her, Gabe realized he was hoping Andrew wasn’t the only one.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Angi sorted through a new rack of dresses in Mariella’s store, A Second Chance. She still found it difficult to believe that one of the most famous wedding dress designers in the world—a woman who’d created custom gowns for Hollywood A-listers and even an actual European princess—could be happy running a small boutique in Magnolia.

But Mariella didn’t seem to miss her former life and all the glamour that went with it. For the most part, she refused to talk about her past, although there had been a flurry of press after Mariella had designed a wedding dress for Magnolia native Holly Adams when she’d married Senator Brett Carmichael in an exclusive ceremony and reception hosted at the Wildflower Inn.

Mariella had left the fashion world in disgrace after making a scene at the wedding of a world-famous actress who had also been sleeping with Mariella’s fiancé on the side. Angi had a feeling that if the sophisticated blonde wanted another chance, she could reinvent herself, a fashion phoenix rising from the ashes.

She also knew that Mariella had taken on a few select clients since Holly’s wedding. Women she liked, not necessarily famous or rich, but brides whose stories of love and happily-ever-after appealed to Mariella’s hidden romantic side.

“Do you think I should highlight my hair?” she asked as Mariella came out of the back room with two mugs of tea.

“Your hair is beautiful just the way it is.”

“But it’s so dark,” Angi complained. “One dimensional. Maybe if I lightened it—”

“Blondes don’t actually have more fun,” Mariella interrupted, shaking her head. “Are you thinking about a new hairstyle for any particular reason?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Just out of character for you to worry about your hair, especially with everything else going on at the moment. Now, if you want to do it for a distraction, I’m all for that. But let’s do something fun like a blue streak.”

“No primary colors. During dinner, Artie mentioned that his ex-girlfriend—also Italian—went blond,” Angi admitted. “He said she got a promotion at work because suddenly she didn’t look so ethnic.”