But, oh, had he come back. Just hours ago, as she danced at her sister’s wedding—Cindy’s remarriage to her ex-husband had been a glorious event—MJ’s totally girlish fantasies had come true.
Girlishbecause she was sixty-three, but the moment was no less…fantastic.
On the dance floor with her father, MJ had turned to look into the eyes and fall into the arms of the man who’d disappeared almost a year ago, leaving behind a letter promising he’d be back in a year.
Oh, and he’d also left a million-dollar gift to Snowberry Lodge that had been used for a massive renovation of the family’s property on the outskirts of Park City.
The letter said he’d come back after he gave away most of the multimillion-dollar lottery winnings that had changed his life, since that kind of wealth had caused him more unhappiness than one would imagine.
That promise had given MJ many sleepless nights, a thousand imagined scenarios, and the highest of high hopes.
Despite being a lifelong optimist, MJ had many days of doubt. She’d never heard from him in that year—not a single word. But he’d asked for time, space, and a chance to manage the responsibility of all that money.
Then, last night, when he tapped her father’s shoulder and cut into their dance, every doubt disappeared and she’d let herself feel the first real giddy, breathless, unbelievable stirrings of love.
No wonder she’d dreamed about George…and heard their song.
Standing for a moment in the chilly room, she gave up on sleep. Instead, she’d have a nice morning tea by her fire and could be in the kitchen early to prepare a post-wedding breakfast for the guests who’d stayed last night.
Satisfied with that decision, she stepped into slippers and went into the living room, turning on a light and looking around at the peaceful and warm home she’d created.
She never tired of the owner’s suite apartment that sat atop Snowberry Lodge’s rambling main building. After George’s passing, she’d left the big house on the edge of the property where they’d lived together. Her father, Red, along with her daughter and grandson, lived there now.
She’d moved into the staff “quarters”—basically a glorified bedroom and bath—off the lodge’s main kitchen. That had helped with her grief when George died, and made running Snowberry’s kitchen easy and convenient.
When they received the windfall of Matt’s cash a year ago, she and Cindy had a vision to transform the unused third floor into a beautiful apartment. Yes, it could be rented out for top dollar, but Cindy had insisted that MJ make it her home. Afterall, it was MJ’s friendship with Matt that provided the money that essentially saved their family business.
MJ agreed and had designed the space exactly for her needs. The bedroom was roomy but still cozy, with a luxurious ensuite and a dreamy soaker tub where she frequently ended her long days. The living area was spacious and bathed in natural light, with a nicely equipped kitchenette, a breakfast nook, and a gorgeous stone fireplace she’d watched a talented mason build by hand.
From the soft, dusty blue curtains to the braided rugs to the soul-soothing view of the Wasatch mountain peaks, MJ had made this sanctuary the perfect home for a sixty-three-year-old widow.
But would all that change with Matt’s return? Her home, her marital status, her whole life?
With a sigh of both hope and uncertainty, she filled a kettle and started a fire, hummingWhat a Wonderful Worldthe whole time.
“Goodness, that sounded real,” she mused, thinking about the melody in her dreams. “It sounded just like…”
Her music box!
She froze in the act of pouring scalding water into a cup, realizing with a start that she had no idea where her treasured music box was. Still up in the house where she’d lived with George? No, she’d never leave that behind.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d laid eyes on that music box, though, which was sad. Surely she’d packed it when she left the house and moved in downstairs. She couldn’t remember seeing it when she moved to this apartment.
Good heavens, had she lost the music box George had given her when Gracie was born?
Dropping a tea bag into the hot water, she walked back to her bedroom and looked around, scanning the bookshelves, thedresser, a few drawers, even her jewelry case where it could fit in the bottom.
Nope. Maybe it was jammed into a box she’d yet to unpack and left on the top shelf in her closet.
She peered at the storage containers, not relishing the idea of getting a stepstool and dragging them down. Still, that had to be where the music box was. For some reason, it had started playing in the middle of the night.
Unlikely…but not impossible.
Taking her tea to the chair by the fire, she thought about the gold and enamel treasure that George had given her the day that Gracie was born. The Louis Armstrong classic it played had so much meaning for them—they’d danced to it at their wedding and George loved to sing it when they were alone.
When Gracie was a baby, MJ would open the box and sing the lyrics she knew by heart while rocking her sweet daughter to sleep. George used to say the song reminded him of MJ and her deeply positive outlook on life.
She couldn’t disagree—the lyrics certainly celebrated the simple, good things in life and seemed to capture how MJ liked to look at the world.
