Page 33

“I’m trying.”

I took the sign before she dropped it. “You were going to hang it like this?”

“I was going to figure something out.”

The phrase stopped me. She said it the way she always did, like everything that went wrong automatically became hers to solve.

“I’ve got my toolbox in the truck.”

“You don’t have to fix it.”

“I know.”

She followed me to the truck, telling me about the plans for the festival while I dug out a real screwdriver. Everything started at four. The food-drive table would sit next to the wishing tree. Hog & Hickory was donating sliders. Janice had volunteered for three jobs and would probably supervise four more.

Emmy talked with her hands when she got excited. I’d noticed that too, along with a growing list of things I liked about her.

I tightened the bracket and handed the sign back. She tested it and smiled. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And your SUV’s parked out back. Had one of my guys flatbed it down this morning.”

She stared at me for a second, then tilted her head. “Are you busy tonight?”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing. Aren’t I allowed to ask you to stay because I want you here, not because I need something?”

I hadn’t expected her to say it so plainly. “You want me here?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, which I appreciated.

“Then I’ll stay.”

Inside, the shop was crowded with volunteers and early shoppers. The wishing tree already held at least twenty new tags. A little girl covered hers with both hands when Emmy asked what she was wishing for.

“It’s a secret.”

Emmy pressed a finger to her lips. “Then I won’t peek.”

I watched her help an older man who wanted a gift for his wife, who liked birds but hated “those creepy ceramic ones with giant eyes.” Emmy knew exactly what he meant, found him a hand-painted cardinal, and remembered the name of one of his grandkids from the last time he’d been in. She remembered people. That was what made the place special.

The tags on the tree shifted whenever someone walked by. Some hung open and I read over the secret wishes people had shared.

I wish my daughter could come home for Christmas.

I wish Santa would bring me a puppy.

I wish I was brave enough to start over.

I read that one twice.

Emmy came up beside me. “Some of them are hard.”

“Yeah.”

“People carry around all kinds of things nobody knows about.”

I understood that better than she realized.