“In the teens, I guess. Maybe colder.” She moved away. “I was going down for coffee. Should I wait on you?”

“Are the others up yet?”

“My mother is. Looks like my dad left already. Holly and Aaron are late sleepers.”

Nic nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll be down in a bit.”

Abby nodded too, then paused. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Out like a light. You?”

“Yes. I don’t think I woke up once. Will you be up for a trip into town? We’ll need to get gifts for each other.”

“Right. Sure.”

“We can go about ten or so and stay in town for lunch, if you’d like.”

Nic shrugged. “Is that normal? Will your mother mind?”

“She will assume we are escaping Holly. Or maybe that we want some alone time.”

Nic turned back to the window. “Sure. Whatever you want. I’m all yours, remember.”

Abby watched her for a moment, then turned to go. Nic sounded…different. A bit subdued. Maybe she wasn’t a morning person. Maybe she didn’t get her swagger until after she had coffee. No. She’d been normal—talkative—yesterday morning on the drive up. Oh, well.

She went down the stairs, pausing to listen for voices. There were none so she continued down. The lights on the tree were twinkling and the fireplace was already going. She knew where she’d find her mother. In the sunporch off the kitchen. The sunporch had been rather rustic and not insulated in the least when her grandparents had owned the house. Her father had renovated it, putting in double-paned windows that opened wide in the summer. It was winterized now and there was a cute woodburning stove that kept it warm. It was her mother’s “space” and where she spent each morning as she watched activity at the birdfeeders in the back.

She poured a cup of coffee, then went to the porch, finding her mother in the oversized chair, a throw blanket over her knees and a cup cradled in her hands.

“Good morning.”

Her mother turned, smiling. “Abigail. Good morning.” She looked behind her. “Where’s Nicole?”

“She was at the window watching it snow. She’ll be along.”

Her mother motioned to the chair beside her in a silent invitation to sit. “I like her. Holly was rather rude to her on several occasions last night. I felt sorry for Nicole.”

“Let’s call it like it is, Mom. Holly was being a bitch.”

Her mother leaned toward her conspiratorially. “If I had to hear one more thing about the house they’re going to build, I might have vomited.”