“Hannah?” Mike, nudged her.

“Yes?”

“I think Edna wants you for something. She’s signaling with her arms and pointing in our direction.”

“You’re right,” Hannah said, recognizing the I-need-you expression on Edna’s face. She gave Edna a wave to acknowledge that her message had been received, and pushed back her chair. “Save my place. I’ll be back.”

“You’d better be,” Mike growled, giving her his best fierce look. “We’ve got a date, remember?”

“Then you’d rather I wouldn’t set out the desserts?”

Mike pondered that for a moment and then he grinned. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you to forget you’re going home with me.”

“Right.” Hannah answered his grin with one of her own and headed for the kitchen. Then she realized what Mike had said and came dangerously close to stopping in her tracks. Going home with him? That hadn’t been discussed or decided. It hadn’t even been mentioned before this! Of course it could have been a figure of speech that meant Hannah shouldn’t forget that they were leaving the community center together.

“Oh, boy!” Hannah breathed, startling a teenager who was carrying a trombone case toward the alcove by the cloakroom.

“Excuse me, Miss Swensen?” he said, phrasing it as a question.

Hannah smiled, more amused then embarrassed. “Just talking to myself. It’s something people do when they get old.”

“But you’re not old!”

“Thank you,” Hannah said, rewarding him with a smile. She’d had to ask Kirby the trombone player’s name. not only was he cute with his curly blond hair and runner’s physique, he had the gift of saying the right thing at the right time, something Bridget Murphy would call blarney. This boy could go far.

Several people stopped Hannah on her way and she ended up answering questions about such diverse things as what next Friday’s pie was going to be, to who she thought should play Santa at the Lake Eden Children’s Christmas Party. She was just passing the alcove where the jazz ensemble had set up, when one of the students called her name.

“Miss Swensen?” It was Beth Halvorsen, the flute player they’d so sorely missed at the Fourth of July parade.

“Hi, Beth.” Hannah reacted to the worried expression on Beth’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Welles isn’t here yet, and it’s almost time for us to start playing. Do you know where he is?”

“Sorry, Beth. I haven’t seen him. Can’t you just start playing without him?”

“No way, Miss Swensen. Mr. Welles is filling in for our regular drummer, and we’d sound awful without percussion.”

Hannah caught movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned to see Kirby Welles rushing up.

“Sorry, I got held up,” the bandleader apologized to his ensemble. “Are you ready to play?”

Everyone nodded, including the trombone player Hannah had found so personable. She gave them a wave and headed off to the kitchen as the strains of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” followed her. The music was perfectly audible, but not too loud to impede conversation. In other words, it was perfect for a dinner party. Hannah resolved to tell Ken Purvis, Jordan’s High’s principal, that Kirby’s jazz ensemble was perfect for the occasion.