“Looks like Santa’s going to bring a new hot-water heater,” she told the dog. “Merry Christmas to us.”

The problem was, Ivy had no idea where one could obtain a hot-water heater the week before Christmas, or who to call to install one.

Luckily, Phoebe knew exactly what to do. “You need Ronnie Cahill. He does maintenance for the county public works department, but he’s got a plumbing business on the side. Only thing is, you can’t call him during the day. In fact, you can’t call him at night either, because his wife doesn’t know he’s got a side hustle.”

“Wait. His wife doesn’t know he’s a plumber?”

“She doesn’t know he’s working off the clock to pay under-the-table child support to his ex-girlfriend–slash–baby mama,” Phoebe said. “You’ll have to try and track him down in person.”

Ivy’s voice reflected her panic: “This can’t wait another day. My hot-water heater is dead. I had icicles coming out of my showerhead this morning.”

“Why don’t you just call Ezra?”

“Never mind,” Ivy said. “I’ll figure out something.”

“You two have a fight?”

“He never did call yesterday. I guess he came by the house late. I found a bottle of wine on my doorstep this morning, with a note saying he was sorry, but his closing documents were a disaster.”

“Oh-kayyyy,” Phoebe said. “That sounds valid. It’s the guy’s job, Ivy. And it’s been a tough year for business around here lately. Why not cut him some slack?”

Ivy let out a long, aggrieved sigh. “If he shows up at my house with a new hot-water heater and a toolbox, maybe I will. Let’s talk about tonight. Are we all set?”

“Yep. Cody texted me this morning. He’s in training for his new job all day, but he’ll be waiting at the clock tower on the square at five. You’ll be there, right?”

“I’ll be the girl wearing a hat, since I couldn’t wash my hair this morning.”

Ezra called at noon. Ivy held the phone and debated whether or not to pick up. Then she remembered her defunct hot-water heater.

Her tone, when she answered, was as chilly as her morning’s shower.

“You’re pissed,” Ezra said. “And you have every right to be. But can I explain?”

“I’m listening.”

“Look, I’m truly sorry. I know I should have called yesterday. But every time I picked up the phone, my broker was right there, harassing me about how we’re going to keep this deal from imploding.”

“And did you? Manage to salvage it?”

“Just barely. The property is an old brick textile mill just outside the county line. Our client is buying it to redevelop into multifamily residential, with some mixed-use commercial space on the ground floor. Unbeknownst to any of us, there were all kinds of nitpicky little problems with the title and the property survey that have to be worked out before we close on December 29. And guess who’s in charge of unsticking all that red tape?”