Punkin was sprawled on the floor in front of Lawrence Jones’s armchair. “Come on, boy!” Ivy called. “Time to go home, Punkin!”

The dog raised his muzzle and yawned.

“Punkin!” she repeated.

Nothing.

“What have you done to my good boy?” Ivy demanded of the old man. “You’ve bewitched him.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “I had a little hamburger left from the dinner my neighbor brought me, which I shared with Punkin. A minor bribe, that’s all.”

“I should sue you for alienation of affection.”

Mr. Jones rubbed the dog’s silky ears. “We’ve had a nice afternoon. I took a nap and he took a nap. I let him out in the backyard, which is fenced, and he had a grand time chasing the squirrels while I had a grand time watching.”

Ivy nudged the dog’s side with the toe of her shoe. “Speaking of time, it’s time for us to go.”

“Already?”

“We’ll come again soon, I promise,” Ivy said, leaning down to snap the leash on Punkin’s collar.

“How did your meeting with Nancy Bergstrom go?” Mr. Jones asked, showing her to the door.

“It went really well. This is going to be such a fun account to work on. And actually, I sort of said I might help her out at the Christmas Stroll.”

“Might?” He frowned. “I thought you had a dinner date with your real estate agent on Wednesday.”

“I haven’t confirmed that yet,” Ivy said. “Anyway, he’s playing Santa that night, so if I did agree to dinner, it would have to be earlier.”

“Make the date,” Lawrence urged. “You moved here for a fresh start, right? Take a chance. Okay?”

Punkin pulled at his leash. He was ready to go home. “Okay,” Ivy said, relenting. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter 15

By Tuesday morning, Phoebe was in full meltdown mode, texting in all caps, with exclamation points and weeping emojis:

OMG! HE WANTS TO MEET ME TOMORROW NIGHT. HELP!

Ivy sighed and set aside her bowl of oatmeal. She picked up her phone and texted back:

This is silly. Just meet him. Explain what happened. If he’s really worthy of you, he’ll understand.

She looked down at Punkin, who was sniffing around the kitchen’s baseboards. “Be glad you don’t have opposable thumbs, pal. No texting for you.”

The series of bubbles on her phone meant her friend was typing a reply:

I really can’t meet him, even if I wanted to, which I don’t! He wants to meet me as soon as I get off work, but Gran volunteered me to work at the church’s hot cocoa and cookie booth during the Christmas Stroll. No way I can get out of it. Please???

Ivy took a last spoon of oatmeal. The bottom of the bowl revealed the faded figure of a painted reindeer. The bowl’s glaze was crazed and browned with age, but the edge of the bowl was festooned with a pattern of red and green holly leaves. It was part of a set of seven bowls she’d found in the farmhouse kitchen cupboard, along with six matching plates and four chipped mugs. The Rose family had taken Christmas very seriously. She’d also discovered a set of vintage Twelve Days of Christmas tumblers in the dining room hutch.