“Yeah, nice running into you here,” Sarah repeated as she zipped her jacket. She met each of the Butterflies’ innocent-appearing gazes. “Such a coincidence that we bumped into each other.”

Maybelle picked up her coffee, brought it to her lips, said, “Isn’t it, though?” then took a sip.

When Bodie’s back was to them, Sarah made a gesture to show she was keeping her eyes on them, too.

All three women laughed.

Thanks to the help of a neighbor, Bodie got Sarah’s “perfect” tree inside Hamilton House. No way could he and Sarah have gotten the tree out of his truck and inside without additional help. He’d mentioned as much to Sarah at Harvey Farms, but, smiling, she’d said they’d figure something out.

She’d given him the biggest grin when the neighbor had pulled in right across the street. When she’d asked for his help, “Robert” had about fallen all over himself doing her bidding and had produced a furniture dolly that had been a godsend.

“You sure this is where you want the tree?” Bodie asked while Robert and his furniture dolly were still there.

Big brown eyes full of question, Sarah looked at him. “You don’t think it looks good here?”

What could Bodie say? It was a tree. It belonged outdoors.

“Looks great, Sarah,” Robert said, looking at Sarah with googly eyes. She’d said they’d gone to school together. Had there once been more than friendship between them?

But that wasn’t any of Bodie’s business.

“My aunt always put her tree here because you can see the lights from outside thanks to the big window,” Sarah continued, her gaze going back and forth between Robert and Bodie. “Where do you think we should put it?”

Bodie glanced around the room. Near the window was the only place the tree could go without doing major furniture shuffling.

“I think this spot does it.”

The tree actually had him feeling a little anxious. What would it be like seeing the tree every day, a constant reminder of what had almost happened at the Christmas tree farm before her friend had interrupted?

What was he thinking? Nothing had happened at the Christmas tree farm. They had picked out a tree that a salesperson had helped load into his truck. They’d had soup and fudge at Mrs. Harvey’s kitchen, followed by some chatting with her friends, and then they’d come back home. End of story.

Not that Hamilton House was home. Or that he thought of Pine Hill as home. He didn’t.

What he did think was that he needed to get back to work.