April nodded happily. “Yeah, that was really cool! I was so thrilled for him. He’s so good at what he does.” Then she sighed. “And he needs the positivity these days. He’s going through a divorce too, did I tell you that?”

“Oh no, is he?” My heart ached a little in sympathy. “I remember him saying at Frannie’s wedding that he and his wife had separated. I was hoping it would work out.”

April shook her head. “I guess she’d already left and filed for divorce by then. He sort of hid it for a while. She moved to Chicago.”

“Was there someone else?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Henry just says they just grew apart, and I haven’t wanted to pry, but I think there’s more to the story.”

“How long were they married?” I tried to picture them together, but it had been a while—maybe a Cloverleigh Christmas party years ago? I remembered her as acting sort of quiet and sullen that night, in contrast to Henry’s easygoing, friendly personality.

“I’m not exactly sure. They were married when he took the job here, which was nine years ago, so at least that long. He seems okay day to day, but he works a lot. His truck is always there when I leave work late at night after a wedding.”

My heart went out to Henry. Maybe he was working constantly to distract himself, or to avoid going home alone. I understood that—there was nothing worse than the silence of an empty house.

“Well, all I want to do is drink wine these days,” I said with a sigh, “but I’ll get out there in the cold and prune vines if I must. I remember Dad making us learn how to do it when we were kids, and then we’d go in and chug gallons of hot chocolate afterward. Remember how Mom used to make it from scratch on the stove top? So good.”

April laughed. “Yeah, but this time we’ll spike it.”

Smiling, I clinked my glass against hers. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Just after eight, April headed home to her condo in Traverse City and I took the private corridor that led from the inn’s lobby to my parents’ house. I found my kids wrapped in blankets on the couches in the family room with my dad watching It’s a Wonderful Life. My mother, of course, was cleaning up the cookie mess in the kitchen by herself.

“Let me help you,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. I inhaled the scent of cookies baking. “Mmmm, smells delicious.”

“Thank you, darling.” My mom cradled my cheek for a moment. “But aren’t you tired?”

“A little. But please don’t tell me I look it. I’m going to lose my mind if one more person tells me I look exhausted. Or skinny. Or worried. I’m working on all of it.”