“Great,” Ezra said, sounding relieved. “Can I help you unload your car?”

She considered rejecting the offer. But she was tired, and the car was full, and she had a lot to do before the movers arrived.

“That’d be great,” she said.

Ezra Wheeler bent down and peered into the back of the Volvo, and Ivy was surprised to find herself checking him out. Cute butt. He lifted out a large cardboard carton that had a row of ventilation holes cut in the sides. A series of muffled peeps erupted.

“What the…?”

Peep. Peep. Peeppeepeeeep …

She took the box from his arms. “These are the girls.” She lifted the box top, and the four fluffy chicks began scuttling around the straw she’d arranged in their makeshift carrier.

“Chickens? You brought chickens? From Atlanta?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling weirdly self-conscious. “I did. They’ll stay in the house where it’s warm for now, and then I’ll rig up a coop for them in the barn.”

Ezra brought in two more loads of her belongings while she settled the box of chicks in a corner of the kitchen, which, for now, seemed like the warmest place in the noticeably chilly house.

“I think this is all of it,” he said, bringing in an armload of her hanging clothes.

“Let’s take that into my bedroom,” Ivy said, leading him down the hall.

She opened the closet door and was startled by the sight of a tightly packed row of clothing: dresses, skirts, men’s shirts, and pants.

“Dammit,” she muttered. She grabbed a bunch of coat hangers and began tossing clothing onto the floor. Ezra followed her lead, and five minutes later the closet had been cleaned out.

Ivy stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the space. Like all the rooms in the house, the bedroom and the closet had ten-foot ceilings. There were two shelves above the clothes rod, and she spotted a box on the top shelf. She stood on her tiptoes but still couldn’t reach it.

“I can get it.” Ezra easily plucked the box off the shelf and showed it to her.

The box was wrapped in vintage Christmas wrapping paper featuring dancing elves and candy canes and Christmas trees, and it was tied with red satin ribbon.

Ivy placed the box on the bed, untied the ribbon, and opened the box. She lifted aside layers of yellowing tissue paper to reveal a folded red velvet jacket with a white fur collar.

She removed the jacket from the box, laying it on top of the chenille bedspread. Beneath it was a pair of trousers, in the same fabric, with white fur trimmings on the cuffs. Beneath that was a pair of soft black leather boots with large brass buckles.

“It’s a Santa suit,” Ivy whispered. But this wasn’t just any suit. It was a beautifully tailored, luxurious garment—nothing like the fairly plain furnishings and clothing she’d encountered in the rest of the farmhouse.

She stroked the fabric, which was real velvet, with real white fur trim. The jacket was lined in satin, and it fastened with a hidden buttoned placket. There was a belt of shiny, if somewhat cracked, black patent leather, with a large brass buckle. When she lifted the boots, she discovered the hat made of matching red velvet with a satin lining, fur trim, and a white pom-pom.