They were sitting relatively close together. She could easily stretch out her hands, and then they would be touching. Of course, then he would recoil in horror and she would be humiliated, but right up to that point, the fantasy was pretty fun.

“How did you learn about pressure points as a remedy for morning sickness?” she asked, more to distract herself than because she wanted the information.

Micah frowned. “Why would you ask that?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to?”

“But you know about...” He leaned toward her. “You didn’t google me?”

“No. Should I have? I’ve been busy with school and the B and B.”

Dena did her best not to feel foolish. She wasn’t a “google someone” kind of person. Did he really expect that she would—

“I’m sorry,” Micah said, his tone sheepish. “I just assumed. Most people do.”

They stared at each other, as if unsure who should say what. She moved the plate of bruschettas toward him. “They’re really good.”

He laughed then, breaking the tension. “You’re a food pusher.”

“I am. I inherited the trait from my mother. I can’t help it.”

He took a piece and bit into it. “Delicious.”

She grabbed one for herself. While she couldn’t eat the blue cheese and fig toppings, there was also a fresh tomato and basil mixture and one with sharp cheddar and pear.

When he’d finished his, Micah wiped his fingers on a napkin and picked up his beer.

“I was married,” he said, his voice quiet, his eyes filled with what she could only describe as sadness. “Adriana was five months pregnant when we were T-boned by a drunk driver. She and the baby were killed instantly. I was badly injured. In her first trimester, she had bad morning sickness. I learned about pressure points to help her.”

Dena tried to take in what he told her. The stark words painted an uncomfortable visual, filling her with emotions she couldn’t name beyond sadness and grief at the unbelievable loss.

“I’m sorry. How long ago did this happen?”

“Just over a year. I spent last Christmas getting transferred from the hospital to a rehab facility, which made what I was going through worse.”

She felt her eyes begin to burn—a sure sign that tears were not far behind. She did her best to blink them back.

“Ignore my emotions,” she said, clearing her throat. “The hormones make it hard for me to have any kind of self-control.” She sniffed. “So in a way, this is your first Christmas alone.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re in Wishing Tree. It’s a good place to get lost in the spirit of the season.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

A single tear escaped. She brushed it away. “We really have to change the subject.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You pick.”

“Did Noah tell you about the school charity project?”