When he’d relocated from Las Vegas seven years ago, he’d looked around Willowbrook, but the small community with its early twentieth-century storefronts hadn’t been the least bit appealing. Even though he could run his business from anywhere, he’d been unable to imagine himself living in a town with a grange, where the bowling alley was still a hot spot and the main road off the interstate road was dotted with gas stations and fast-food places to service the travelers going somewhere else.

Yes, just a mile or two north of the highway, there were charming residential streets and plenty of parks and even a handful of cows, but nothing about the place was him. He liked urban views and being close to a decent airport.

Now he drove into his aunt’s retirement community, turning on the narrow streets before stopping in front of her house. The front door opened before he’d even gotten out of his car.

Despite her age, Dagmar looked as she always had—vital and eccentric, with her auburn hair swinging around her face. She was dressed in camo-patterned cropped pants and an olive green wrap blouse covered with applique black flowers.

“Darling!” She held out her arms as he approached. “You made it. I’m delighted.”

“You asked and I answered.”

He was gentle as he held her, mindful of the fact that she was more frail this year than last. She was as sharp as she had ever been, but he worried about her as she got older.

“Come inside. You’re staying to dinner, aren’t you? I’m planning something wonderful.”

“You always do.”

Two days ago, Dagmar had texted, inviting him over. She’d told him to come early and to plan on having a good time. With Dagmar that could mean anything from an evening going over old photos or playing bridge with her cronies. Regardless, he was in. Dagmar was the last of his family and he loved her.

His mother was Dagmar’s niece. He’d known her all his life. When he was little, he and his mom would fly up to Washington and spend the holidays with her. Unlike Seattle, the eastern part of the state usually had snow in December. Everything about staying with Dagmar had seemed magical—especially the hill out back and the sled she kept for him.

As she’d approached her retirement, she’d wanted to sell her place and move to Silver Pines. When she refused to relocate to Seattle, Thaddeus had insisted on buying the house she had now, telling her to keep the proceeds from her house sale for whatever she needed. Not that she would ever go wanting—he would make sure of that. But he knew she enjoyed being independent.

He wrapped his arm around her as they walked into the house. “What have you planned for us tonight?”

“Dinner with a friend.”

They went into her living room. He saw she’d set out appetizers on the coffee table and the ingredients for cocktails on her kitchen island.