Suzanne didn’t have to know much about Grady to know adoration was not in his range of emotions and fairies weren’t in his vocabulary, Christmas or otherwise.

“That sounds…” For a moment, Suzanne was sure her mom was going to say horribly redneck. “Lovely.”

Which roughly translated to horribly redneck in Simone St. Michelle speak. Suzanne seized on what might be a chink in her mother’s plans to travel to Credence.

“Did I mention the mistletoe? So. Much. Mistletoe. Grady says it’s so that wherever I am in the cabin, he can kiss me. Doesn’t that make you just want to swoon?” Her mother hated public displays of affection more than public displays of Christmas. “And boy, does he keep his promises, if you know what I mean. He’s so demonstrative, Mom, I’m just dizzy with it all.”

Suzanne forced out what she hoped was a deliriously happy sigh, feeling super lousy for her deception. God…she was a terrible person. But she couldn’t just roll over and let her parents ruin yet another Christmas. Was it so wrong to want to do her own thing just this once and protect her mother’s feelings?

“That’s…lovely.”

Suzanne almost laughed, but instead she said, “I really don’t think you and Dad will enjoy yourselves here. It’s not the kind of Christmas you’re used to, Mom. I’m sure you can do without me this once, and I’ll be back in New York to watch the ball drop with you both.”

“But…I was looking forward to meeting your rancher.”

Her mother sounded quiet again. A little…hurt, even, but also like she was reconsidering. Suzanne ignored the hot lash of alarm at the thought of her mom and Grady coming face-to-face and concentrated on soothing her mother’s worries. “You will, Mom.”

On the twelfth of never. They would certainly be over when she returned to New York.

God…Grady would probably murder her and bury her out in one of his fields if he knew what she was telling her mother right now.

“Please, Suzanne.” Her mom’s voice wobbled a little, and she cleared it.

Suzanne frowned, tuning in suddenly to the pleading uncertainty in her mother’s voice. Her mother never sounded unsure, and a prickle fanned up her nape. Please? Please what?

And she knew with sudden conviction that something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

“Mom?” Suzanne sat a little straighter. “What’s the matter?”

“Your father and I… Things aren’t so good between us and…I just want one last Christmas where we’re all together.”

Things aren’t so good between us? One last Christmas? What in the hell was her mom trying to say? That their marriage was in trouble? Since when had her parents’ marriage been in trouble? They might not be the most demonstrative of couples—they’d slept in separate bedrooms for as long as Suzanne could remember. But that was because her mom kept odd hours, particularly when she was working on a piece, and her father was a very light sleeper. There was still enormous affection and common interests binding them together.