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“It sounds like something out of a Christmas movie.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Things were different back then.”

“And your parents, do they still make a big deal out of the holidays?”

He shook his head. “After my mother died, my father didn’t have the heart to put up all of the decorations. When my sister got married and had her own family, she picked up where my mother left off. In fact, my father is visiting with her while I’m here.”

“And will you join them for Christmas?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t made any firm plans. What about you? Do you have some family to spend the holidays with?”

She covered her mouth as she let out a yawn. “Sorry. But no. I don’t have any family. At least none that I know of.” She frowned as though she’d said more than she meant to. “Well, we should call it a night.”

He nodded, wanting to ask more questions but knowing now definitely wasn’t the time to probe. “I should take Mochi outside and then put her to bed. She’s not a night owl.”

“Me either. I have to be up early to prepare breakfast.”

“Not tomorrow. You can have the morning off.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Take the morning off. We’ll all sleep in.” He looked down at Mochi, who was now sitting by his side.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Come on, Mochi.” As they walked away, he paused and called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget we have plans to get a Christmas tree.”

Leah smiled. “It’s a date.”

“Yes, it is.”

For a moment, he stood there, staring into her eyes. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss her again. One kiss with her was definitely not going to be enough.

Mochi whined at his side. It was time to take her out. With a resigned sigh, he turned and walked away. The morning sun wouldn’t come soon enough.

Her hands had a slight tremble.

Leah was oblivious to the dust and dirt as she knelt on the floor of the attic. She stared at the blue footlocker covered with a bunch of stickers. She remembered the hundreds of times she’d asked her mother about the past—her past. Her mother was resolute about there being nothing she needed to know.

It had become such a wedge in their relationship that Leah had stopped talking to her mother. At first, Leah thought taking such a drastic action would convince her mother of how serious she was about learning about her past. But she’d underestimated how stubborn her mother could be.

And so, a week of silence had turned into a month. A month of silence had turned into a year. A year of silence had turned into three years, seven months, and six days. That was how long she’d gone without speaking to her mother before her deadly accident.

Leah was filled with regrets—and guilt. She felt guilty because her mother had reached out to her a couple of times in the beginning, but as soon as Leah found out that her mother wasn’t ready to speak about the past, she’d ended the phone calls.

Leah had even ordered a copy of her birth certificate but listed under father was “Unknown.” It felt like at every turn, she ran into a dead end. She’d started to wonder if there was some deep dark secret her mother was protecting her from.

And then a few months ago, she was contacted by her grandmother’s attorney. And she was told that she’d inherited this cozy inn. The furnishings might not be her idea of beautiful, but there was nothing sinister about the place. So, what had her mother been hiding from her?

Leah’s hands continued to tremble as she opened the lid to the footlocker. Inside, she found a red and white varsity jacket. It was big—too big for her mother. With a closer look, Leah found the name Paul stitched on the front. Who was that? Was it possible this footlocker didn’t belong to her mother?

She set aside the red and white jacket. There were books—romance books. She didn’t know her mother to ever read let alone a romance. Interesting.

There were school newspapers, concert ticket stubs, and a collection of colorful ponytail holders. As Leah removed the items from the chest, she tried to reconcile them with the woman she’d called mother.

Her mother hadn’t been colorful. She’d been muted—never letting herself really enjoy life. Her mental health issues were a lot. Her mother bounced from one job to the next. Stability was not a word in her dictionary.

Near the bottom of the footlocker, she found a photo album. The outside was plain blue. Leah’s heart beat faster. Would it contain photos of her family?