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  Claire’s excitement grew as she imagined telling Nana about her life in Hanover Falls. She felt silly when she realized that she was talking to herself, rehearsing aloud just how she would tell about the children at school, her new church, and about Becky Anderson, Millie, and Smokey.

  And about Michael.

  She and Michael had had a wonderful time at the basketball game. They’d laughed all the way to Boyd City and back, talking of their college days and of mutual friends in Hanover Falls. Thankfully, the subject of painful childhoods had not come up once.

  Claire had noticed many curious glances and knowing looks as she and Michael tripped over feet to find a seat in the bleachers among the Hanover Falls crowd. She had to admit it was fun being seen on the arm of the town’s most handsome, eligible bachelor.

  Yes, she thought, I’ll tell Nana about Michael.

  Katherine Anderson peered over her reading glasses and looked her granddaughter up and down. “Well, Kitty, I do believe life in Hanover Falls becomes you,” the elderly woman finally declared.

  Claire smiled at the familiar appraisal as they sat side by side on the firm sofa in the tiny apartment. Nana’s room was decorated with a miniature Christmas tree and various homemade ornaments, many bearing the faded childish signature of Kitty Anderson.

  The door opening onto the wide hallways of Elmbrook, the Kansas City retirement home where Nana lived, revealed festoons of greenery and holly along the ceiling and huge foil-wrapped pots of poinsettias flanking every doorway.

  Even Nana herself was decked out for the holidays in a crimson skirt and sweater set, her yellow-white hair freshly done. Despite the deep lines in her face and the rheumy eyes, Her grandmother was still a beautiful woman. Tall and slender in her youth, Nana’s bearing was still regal, even though the broken hip had left her posture crooked.

  Claire sighed with contentment. “I really am happy, Nana. I love my job, and the people I work with are so nice. The house is perfect. I even have the silly cat I’ve always wanted.”

  “A kitty for Miss Kitty,” Nana quipped.

  Claire laughed, happy to see her grandmother so lighthearted.

  “And my kids . . . oh, I just wish you could meet them, Nana.”

  “I feel like I already know them from the things you’ve told me in your letters.”

  “Oh, I just remembered! I have our class picture to show you.” Claire went for her purse, and when she settled back on the couch beside Nana, scrolling through the images on her phone, her grandmother exclaimed over each child.

  “And here . . . that’s Lucas.” Claire zoomed in on the little boy’s face.

  “I would have guessed him in a minute from the ornery gleam in his eyes!”

  “He keeps me on my toes all right. Oh, Nana, being a teacher is even more fun than I thought it would be. It . . . it’s like I’m finally where I belong.”

  A faraway look came into Nana’s eyes. “Oh, Kitty, I’m glad you’ve found some happiness. I wish things could have been different for you.”

  “It’s okay, Nana.” Claire felt the weight of regret herself, yet she meant it when she said, “I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Now, Miss Kitty…” A twinkle came to Nana’s eyes. “Why do I suspect that this happiness I see in your face is not entirely due to an old tomcat and a passel of third-graders?”

  Claire grinned. She never had been able to keep a secret from her grandmother.

  “Oh, Nana, I’ve met someone. He’s . . .” She paused, wanting to somehow let Nana know just how special Michael Meredith was. “He’s handsome and sweet and… he seems to understand me so well.”

  “Sounds like my little Kitty is in love,” Nana teased.

  “I don’t know about that, Nana, but I do know I like him a lot. And I think he feels the same about me. I’ve never felt like this about anybody before.”

  “Sounds like my little Kitty is falling in love,” Nana repeated in the same playful sing-song voice.

  “I’ve known him such a short time, and yet . . . in some ways, I feel like I’ve known him forever. Do you really think it could be love?”

  Nana patted her knee affectionately. “Don’t be in too big a hurry, sweetheart. If this is right, the good Lord will let you know plenty soon enough. In the meantime, you just take it slow—and enjoy every minute.”

  Claire fell asleep that night on Nana’s uncomfortable sofa bed, a whirlwind of thoughts blowing her dreams first in one direction and then another. She awoke often during the night and lay awake listening to the soft sound of her grandmother’s breathing in the bed across the room. Then her mind would turn to thoughts of Michael and the bright hopes he’d given her.

  It was a special Christmas with the person Claire loved most in the whole world, and she dared not spoil it by thinking of how few Christmases she might have left with her grandmother.

  On New Year’s Day Claire made the four-hour trip back to Hanover Falls in bright sunshine and a biting, cold wind. At times she had to fight the steering wheel to hold her car on the road in the strong crosswinds. But it was the sunshine, not the bitter wind, which reflected her spirits.

  The first day back in her third-grade classroom was much like the day of the first snowfall. Not much schoolwork was accomplished amid all the exchanging of news. Everyone had brought a favorite Christmas gift to share at show-and-tell, and each child wanted a turn to tell about his or her family celebration.

  Claire was delighted to see her students again, but she was exhausted when she pulled into the driveway at home that evening.

  Smokey met her at the door, purring like a cat who’d been deprived of his companion for too long. Millie had insisted on looking after Smokey while Claire was in Kansas City, even though she’d recently given up driving and sold her car. Millie had assured Claire her daughters would get her over to Claire’s house to feed Smokey and allow him some time outdoors. Claire had half suspected Millie might spirit the cat away to her apartment for the week, but judging by the cat food scattered across the garage floor and the little clumps of fur clinging to the sofa, Smokey had remained on the premises.

  By evening, the winds had died to a breeze and the sunshine was so inviting that, despite her exhaustion, Claire decided to walk the mile and a half to Millie’s apartment. She was eager to find out how her landlady’s holidays had been spent and thank her for caring for Smokey while she was gone.

  The succession of school and church parties and the rich food she'd eaten in Nana’s dining room had taken their toll, and Claire was determined not to let the extra five pounds take up permanent residence on her hips.

  She set out with a heavy coat, stocking cap, and mittens, but by the time she'd walked half a mile she’d shed the cap and mittens and unzipped her coat. The sun dipped quickly toward the horizon, but the exercise warmed her and flushed her cheeks.

  The Riverview complex had just come into view when Michael Meredith rounded a curve of the long, winding drive that led to the entrance.

  “Claire! Hi!” He gave her a light, spontaneous hug and stood back to smile into her face, suddenly looking boyish and uncertain. “How was your Christmas?” he asked, burying his hands in his coat pockets.

  “My Christmas was great . . . really great,” she answered, out of breath from more than just the brisk walk. “How about yours?”

  The pure joy she felt at seeing him again took her by surprise, and his nearness sent a thrill through her. She could scarcely keep herself from falling back into his arms.

  “Mine was perfect. My youngest sister, Betsy, was back from Michigan, so my whole family was together for the first time in three years.”

  “Oh, how nice. I’ll bet you hated to come back.”

  “Not really. It’s always kind of good to be home. Here, I mean.” He swept an arm as if to embrace all of Hanover Falls.

  “You know, I thought the same thing. It really did feel like I was coming home this time.”

  “Well,
after all, you told me you were going to make this your new hometown.”

  “It’s kind of a nice feeling.” She laughed, pleased he’d remembered.

  He nodded knowingly. “Are you on your way to Millie’s or just out for a walk?”

  “Millie’s. Have you seen her since the holidays?”

  “I ran into her in the hallway ten minutes ago, as a matter of fact. But I’m afraid you won’t catch her at home. She just left with one of her daughters to go out for supper.”

  “Oh. Well . . .”

  He patted his stomach sheepishly. “I wish I could tell you I was trying to walk off some of the Christmas cookies and pies I’ve inhaled over the past month, but the truth is, I was on my way to get some pizza. They have a Tuesday night buffet at Mario’s—all you can eat. Could I talk you into coming with me?”

  “Oooh… I really, really shouldn’t,” she groaned. “I am trying to walk off the Christmas goodies.”

  “They make a great pizza.”

  Mario’s was a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza place downtown. Claire had always thought of it as a teenagers’ hangout and had never eaten there, but Michael made it sound like the most appealing place in town.

  “It does sound good… I guess I could order a salad.”

  “Let’s go.” He took her arm. “We’ll walk and work off all the calories before we get there.”

  Still smiling, he turned her in the direction of downtown.

  The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and the air was growing chillier. Reluctantly, Claire let loose of Michael’s arm to zip her coat and put her mittens and hat back on. They walked briskly, their breath forming wispy clouds in front of their mouths as they recounted their holidays to each other. Michael told her about his family’s Christmas Eve celebration in Springfield, laughing over the antics of his sisters’ children.

  “You should see my youngest nephew, Claire. He is the cutest little guy. For some reason he really took a liking to me this visit. He actually cried when I left yesterday.”

  “Now, which one is this? Eli?” Michael had talked a lot about his nieces and nephews.

  “Right.” He sounded impressed she’d remembered. “He’s Sarah’s youngest.”

  “How old is he?”

  “He must be . . . oh, two or maybe three. Whatever age they start speaking clearly. Well, mostly clearly. He still calls me ‘Unco Mike-o.’ “ He formed his mouth into a toddlerlike pout.

  “Unco Mike-o… How sweet. You know, that’s the worst part of being an only child,” she said wistfully. “I’ll never get to be an aunt.”

  “Oh, I’d never thought about that, Claire. Didn’t mean to rub it in.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m enjoying your nieces and nephews vicariously. How many do you have altogether, anyway?”

  “Nine. My sisters each have three kids. Mom told me this weekend that she’s counting on me to contribute my three and make it an even dozen.”

  Claire flushed and was glad it was nearly dark so he couldn’t read her mind. She was beginning to think she would love to be the one to bear those children for him.

  When they reached the downtown business district, Michael sniffed the air. “Mmm. I can smell the pizza from here. Smell that?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, she followed his lead and inhaled deeply through her nose. “Yes, sir!” she teased, smelling only the sharp scent of wood smoke from a chimney. “Smells like pepperoni to me.”

  “Come on!” He grabbed her mittened hand and took off in a slow trot, half dragging her toward the restaurant. Their laughter carried on the clear night air, and Claire thought she might float away with the lightness of joy.

  When they emerged from the cozy pizza parlor an hour later, the temperature had dropped almost twenty degrees. They stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant and buttoned up against the cold. Claire was grateful for her hat and mittens.

  “Here.” Michael took off his woolen scarf and wrapped it around her neck. She lifted her chin to him and their eyes met. “You look cold.” He seemed almost embarrassed by his actions. But his gaze didn’t leave her face.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, touched by the tenderness of his gesture.

  Finally, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked down and brushed at some imaginary dirt on a mitten.

  He cleared his throat and pulled on his own gloves, the spell broken. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” He took her hand and started in the direction of her house.

  The biting cold was forgotten as they walked, mitten in glove, deep in conversation. When they reached her doorstep, Claire pulled off a mitten and dug in her coat pocket for her keys.

  She turned to thank Michael for the pizza and for walking her home, but before she could say a word, he took her face in his gloved hands. Leaning over, he kissed her lightly. “Good night, Claire. I’m glad you’re home.” He turned and headed briskly toward the street, shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll call you.”

  She stood, openmouthed, staring after him, too surprised to squeak out a reply. When he'd disappeared into the shadows between streetlamps, she unlocked the front door and went inside.

  Still dressed in all her cold weather gear, she flopped down on the sofa, heart pounding, hands trembling. She relived their evening over and over again, committing every word, every touch, every expression to memory. She could still feel the strength of his hand enveloping hers, the warmth of his lips against her own.

  What was happening to them? It was almost frightening to realize they'd entered strange new territory in their friendship tonight. Strange and new . . . and wonderful.

  Overly warm and drowning in a sweet drowsiness, she took his scarf from around her neck. She held it to her face and breathed in the hint of his aftershave that lingered there.

  “Oh, Michael,” she whispered.

  Chapter 10

  Michael called Claire the next evening. Their conversation was playful and easy, but neither of them mentioned the kiss. Before she disconnected the call, they’d made plans to spend the following Saturday together. Though it took some persuading, she talked him into going antiquing with her.

  On Friday night she balanced her checkbook and decided that with the money Nana had given her for Christmas and if she pinched pennies the rest of the month, she could just afford the bookcase she’d had her eye on since her first visit to Ozark Antiques, a charming shop on the square downtown.

  When Michael picked her up early Saturday morning, she warned him to make room in his pickup and to be prepared for hard labor.

  “Ohhh, now I get it,” he joked. “You’re just using me for my truck.”

  “And your muscles,” she added, squeezing his biceps with an impish grin.

  The day was cold and sunny and they grabbed donuts and coffee before heading to the square.

  Hanover Falls had several antique and specialty shops on the courthouse square downtown that drew shoppers from the surrounding communities. Saturdays usually found the square crowded with groups of talkative women and reluctant husbands pushing strollers. The courthouse lawn was dotted with craft booths and food vendors offering funnel cakes, homemade fudge, and coffee or hot chocolate. The whole atmosphere had the air of a county fair Claire had attended with Nana once when she was small.

  They poked around in the other shops for an hour, but Claire felt impatient. Ordinarily she could spend an entire morning browsing the aisles of antiques booths, but she was chafing to get the bookcase home and see how it looked in her house.

  “Are we going to be here all day?” Michael joked. But he didn’t complain when she steered him toward the west side of the square.

  Inside the musty smelling shop, she strode purposefully past the merchandise in the front of the store to the back wall where she’d first discovered “her” bookcase. It was an old lawyer’s bookcase—oak, with four glass-doored sections stacked one atop another.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Michael? Can’t you just see this between the window
s on the south wall in my living room?”

  He agreed it was a nice piece, and all the nicer because it was in such good condition. Even the original brass pulls were intact and only slightly tarnished.

  The proprietor approached Claire with a smile of recognition. “Ah, you brought help with you today. Does this mean you’re finally going to take this thing off my hands?”

  “Today’s the day!” Claire told the woman, barely containing her excitement.

  “Great! Let me wait on this customer.” The owner nodded toward an elderly gentleman who stood at the front counter. “I’ll be right back to help you take it apart.”

  While they waited, Claire paced anxiously back and forth in front of the wall where the bookcase stood.

  “You’re like a little kid on Christmas morning,” Michael teased.

  “I’ve been saving for this a long time, Michael. Now don’t give me a hard time about it.” She feigned a pout.

  He raised his hands in defeat, and she laughed and ran her hand over the smooth, golden oak for the tenth time.

  The proprietor emptied the bookcase of the glassware that had been displayed inside, and together Claire and Michael lugged the heavy sections to his pickup, carefully covering them with the old blankets and towels Claire had brought.

  When they unloaded the bookcase at Claire’s house and started reassembling it, Michael discovered several missing screws and drove back to his apartment to get his tool box.

  By noon the bookcase was in fine repair, smelling of fresh lemon oil, and filled with Claire’s growing collection of books. She had arranged a few old framed photographs and a mantel clock she'd inherited from Nana on top. They nestled among the trailing leaves of an English ivy plant Michael had bought for her at a flower shop on the square to celebrate her purchase.

  With the tail of her flannel shirt she wiped at an imaginary smudge on one pane of glass and stood back to admire the total effect. “Oh, I love it. It’s just perfect.”