“He’s being bullied at school,” she confided. As difficult as it was to talk about, she appreciated the flash of supportive fury in Emma’s dark eyes.

“Give me the kid’s name.” Her buttoned-up friend spoke as if she were some kind of avenging angel.

“I don’t have it. Andrew won’t say anything, and his classmates are keeping quiet, as well. But he came home with a split lip and scrapes on his hands. I talked to the teacher and met with her and the principal. They said all the right things, but kids can be such jerks. Maybe if we lived in a bigger town or someplace where differences were more accepted, it would be easier for him to find his way. I hated growing up in Magnolia, and now I’m doing the same thing to him.”

Her nails dug into the fleshy part of her palms, and she welcomed the pain. At least it distracted her from the telltale scratchy eyes that foretold a bout of tears. She wasn’t going to break down in the middle of the sidewalk, even if it was deserted.

“How is it possible to hate it here?” Emma shook her head. “It’s idyllic.”

“Not for the Italian cannoli princess,” Angi muttered.

“Is that like a Midwestern Corn Queen at the state fair?”

“Not exactly. Never mind. My point is that I’m screwing up in every aspect of life. I’m sorry I ghosted you, Em. We are friends, but I didn’t want to admit that I was ditching the inn. You gave me the new start I wanted, and I can’t keep up my end of the bargain.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Here comes the guilt again.”

“I didn’t give you anything. You earned your place in our partnership, which I refuse to believe is over. At least until your mom fully recovers and we see what happens next. I’ll find someone to help with the nitty-gritty food prep and serving, but I’m going to take you up on your offer to manage things for the holidays. As long as it’s not too much. We can reassess in the new year.” She enveloped Angi in a gentle hug and couldn’t have known how much it helped. “Either way, the friendship stands.”

“Okay.” Angi couldn’t help but agree. She wasn’t ready to let go of her dream, even though she knew she had to. She dashed a hand over her cheeks. “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither,” Angi agreed with a wry smile. “But I sure could use one.”

ANGI HALF EXPECTED her miracle to materialize after the conversation with Emma. She’d gone home feeling lighter than she had in weeks, like there might be a glimmer of hope that she could control her own destiny after her mother recovered. The next morning dashed that hope like a late-season snowfall on a delicate spring bloom.

“Mom, I don’t need a date. I don’t have time for a date.”

Bianca sat at the kitchen table, tapping one finger on the polished oak top as she glanced between her daughter and the laptop open in front of her.