He paused to check for traffic before crossing the street. There weren’t a lot of people walking and not that many cars. He knew if he headed for the center of town, he would run into more pedestrians. The area around The Wreath was always busy.

He wondered what Adriana would have thought of Wishing Tree. Would she have seen the charm of the place, as he did, or would she have thought it was too small? Neither of them had grown up with much in the way of a community. The longest he’d lived anywhere had been when he’d stayed with Steve in high school. He and Adriana had bought the house in Malibu—the one he rarely went back to. Not so much because of any memories, but more because he didn’t see the point of returning. It had never been a home for either of them.

He supposed if she hadn’t been killed, everything would have been different. That house would have been where they’d brought their baby. They would have made memories there. As it was, he knew he should sell the place, and he would. Just as soon as he figured out where he was going to settle.

He continued south on Celebration Pass, then turned left on Virginia Street. About a dozen kids came running toward him, passing him with an eagerness that told him it must be just after three and school had let out. His step quickened as he hurried up the front stairs and into the main building. This hadn’t been his destination, but now that he was here, it seemed rude not to stop by and say hello.

He checked in at the front office and asked if he could go by Dena’s classroom. The receptionist recognized him from his last visit and waved him down the hall.

“She’s still here,” the woman said with a smile.

Micah walked toward the classroom. A couple of older students were in the hallway, talking intently. He saw the door standing open and walked inside, only to find Dena speaking with what he would guess was one of the parents. Both women turned when he entered.

He came to a stop. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll wait in the hall.”

Dena smiled at him, but before she could speak, the other woman, a pretty redhead in her early thirties, gaped at him.

“OMG! You’re Micah Ruiz. No, you can’t be.” She turned to Dena. “Is he? OMG! Is it really you?”

Dena laughed. “It’s really him. Micah, this is Lindsey, one of my classroom moms.”

Lindsey still looked wide-eyed. “I love you. I mean, I love your music. This is incredible. How are you here? What’s going on?” She looked at Dena. “You know him?”

“We go way back,” Micah teased. “As for how I got here, I flew. Not me personally, of course.”