Instead, she focused on the kitchen.

“This room is looking pretty, Christy.” It was one step up from talking about the weather. And it wasn’t as if she was lying. The room was pretty.

The lights were dimmed, and candles flickered on the table. Through the French windows the garden glowed with tiny solar lights.

Alix gazed at the branches of holly arranged artfully in the jug and felt Christmassy for the first time. Even the famous tree at the Rockefeller Center and the lights of Fifth Avenue hadn’t done this for her, but Christy’s home enveloped her like a hug, just as it had when she was a child. Her friend had inherited her mother’s ability to turn a house into a welcoming home.

She’d never forgotten the kindness Christy’s family had shown her. Generous hospitality had been handed down from mother to daughter, and the evidence of it was everywhere. Of course, other things had been handed down, too, like Christy’s lack of flexibility and spontaneity—if it wasn’t planned, it didn’t happen—but as someone whose family life had been unpredictable, Alix could appreciate the benefits of structure. She sometimes worried that Christy put a little too much pressure on herself to live life a certain way, but it seemed to work for her. Food was cooked from scratch and eaten at the table with silverware and candlelight. No hastily grabbed snacks while people did their own thing. No fast food or TV dinners.

Alix had seen how hard Christy worked to keep the house looking gorgeous while still being a hands-on mother. She seemed to spend half her day clearing up toys, only for Holly to pull them all out again. Tidying seemed like a pointless, thankless task to Alix, and trying to keep Holly looking tidy was another. The child wanted to scramble and explore, and a dress that had to be protected was a barrier to that.

They sipped their drinks, nibbled on some cheese straws Christy had baked with Holly, and then it was Holly’s bedtime, an announcement that led to the usual protests.

Seb put his drink down, but Christy shook her head.

“You two stay there and catch up. Alix and I will handle bedtime tonight.”

Relieved that Christy had engineered some time alone with her, Alix followed her friend and Holly up the stairs. Now she’d finally find out what was going on.

“Can Alix read my story?” Holly shot into her bedroom and grabbed a book from her bed.

“She can, but bath first.” There was no opportunity to discuss anything during the bedtime routine, and by the time Holly’s eyes drifted shut, it was almost time for dinner.

Alix followed Christy into the bathroom and helped her retrieve toys from the bath. “Christy—”

“I know you’re upset that I didn’t warn you, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t know what to do. Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? I’m trapped between the two of you.” Christy’s voice rose, and she dumped the toys into a basket on the floor. “I love you, but I love Zac, too. I know you don’t want to hear this, but he’s been great. He built Holly’s dream bedroom, he has fixed some of the things that are wrong with the house, and believe me there are plenty of those.”