Bianca was incensed at the fact that someone—anyone—had laid a hand on her grandson, and she’d launched into an angry tirade, mostly spoken in Italian. After Andrew had been sent to his room, she’d stomped back and forth across the living room as she wrung her hands and grunted between litanies. Angi had understood about half of what her mom said. She could follow along only when Bianca spoke slowly, but she did catch something about wishing for a plague on the bully and all of his descendants.

If only it were that easy.

In the end, her restlessness and a sense of duty she couldn’t seem to shake propelled her out the door while her mother and Andrew settled in to watch their favorite Christmas baking show. She told her mom she was stopping by Gabe’s to work on some details for the weekend’s shopping extravaganza. Bianca had winked and given Angi a knowing nod of approval, which only added to her guilt.

She drove through the dark town, marveling at how time could pass so slowly even with the shorter days. Neighborhoods were decorated with cheerful lights on houses, some white and others colorful, as well as wire reindeer and blow-up Santas and snowmen. Part of her wished she could fast-forward through all of this—the festivity and cheer so at odds with her mood.

The Wildflower Inn had pride of place in the center of Fig Tree Lane, the prettiest street in town. The house, which was one of the largest in Magnolia, had been transformed into a picture postcard of holiday nostalgia. Although it was difficult to make out in the darkness, large swaths of pine boughs framed the front door, and wreaths with bright red bows adorned every window.

Emma and Cam Arlinghaus had strung lights along the roofline and front porch so that the whole inn glowed like some kind of Christmas beacon ready to welcome guests.

Angi parked in one of the spaces designated for guests and walked around to the back. She knew Emma was hosting a family reunion for a few nights, and Angi was in no mood to play nice with strangers.

Some of her tension dissipated as she entered the inn’s kitchen. Emma had redone the space with granite counters and white cabinets with stainless steel appliances and a six-burner stove plus double ovens on one wall. In many ways, it was the kitchen of Angi’s dreams.

It had taken so much to walk away from her family’s restaurant this past summer and forge a partnership with Emma. She’d been terrified that she wouldn’t live up to expectations. After all, she’d been in her first year of culinary school, after scrimping and saving for tuition money, when she’d gotten pregnant with Andrew. Yes, she’d learned a lot about basic techniques and even more during her time working in a fast-paced New York City restaurant kitchen, but she didn’t have a formal degree. Emma hadn’t cared. She’d taken a chance on Angi just like she’d taken a chance on the property, and the excitement of truly getting a chance at her dream job had propelled Angi forward.