Page 38 of Her Christmas Wish

But it was Gray.

He was going to attend.

And was playing nice.

She was safe.

Was getting her closure.

The weeks ahead looked brighter.

So she typed:

The broccoli salad your grandma taught you to make. The one with the dried cranberries in it.

And hit Send.

Darkness had fallen. Gray stood at the edge of the small gathering—residents from thirteen of the fifteen occupied cottages on Ocean Breeze. The other two had had previous commitments. He’d already met the residents from one of the two—Harper and Aggie. And there were still several more cottages yet to be renovated and sold. Or sold and renovated, he’d been told. In case he was interested in joining them.

That last had been offered by Dale, a bearded writer, whose constant companion, Juice, was the quiet but strong man’s service dog.

He’d been so busy meeting neighbors—at least ostensibly—that he’d managed to be out of speaking distance of Sage’s daughter, Leigh, ever since he’d arrived. He’d caught sight of her, of course, many times, but had always had his attention drawn back into one or another of the conversations going on around him.

Talking to everyone, most particularly Dale, he’d been germinating his impromptu morning plan to perhaps start a service dog water rescue course on the beach. And as he stood there, with a brief moment in the shadows, holding his mostly full bottle of beer, he contemplated just making the announcement right then and there. The class would be free.

No business or tax ramifications.

He’d make copies of his service dog training certificate for everyone.

And... “Mr. Buzzing Bee?”

He heard the voice. It was close. Glancing down, he saw the pudgy-cheeked face looking up at him with a way too serious expression for a child that young.

He hadn’t heard her approach. Glanced out over the crowd for Sage.

Or Scott.

First glance gave him nothing.

He had to glance down again. “Mr. Buzzing Bee? Who’s that?” He sure as hell wasn’t up on kid shows and their various characters. Past or present.

“Mommy says you’re Mr. B, like the alphabet, but I like Mr. Buzzing Bee, that’s who.”

Mr. Buzzing Bee.His heart flipped. And then flopped.

Sage’s daughter had given him her own name.

He looked for her mother. Didn’t see her.

“Are you mad at me?”

Peering down into those big, soul-deep eyes, Gray dropped down to his haunches. “Oh no, never,” he told her. Not because Sage had told him to be nice. Or because he feared her child would ruin their truce by saying he was mad at her.

But because...nothing else came to mind except making certain that he did not, in any way, have an adverse effect on the child.

“You know why I could never be mad at you?” he asked, sifting through a dozen reasons that popped immediately to mind, so he gave her the best one.

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded so big her chin touched her chest full of unicorns with every downward pass.