Page 57 of The Christmas Arrangement

“Tea with lemon and honey. For Holly.”

“Is she sick?”

She laughs. “No, she’s being competitive. She saw Griselda and Marley drinking it earlier—vocal prep—and said she needed to up her game. She’s in the ladies’ room right now doing warm-ups.”

We both laugh and I’m about to pull her close when my mom appears beside us.

“Ivy, what’s that?” She nods at the mug, curious.

“Herbal tea,” Ivy tells her.

“Oh.” Mom pauses, something flickering across her face. “That’s very mindful.”

“Um, I guess?” Ivy gives me a confused look.

There’s an awkward beat. Then Mom brightens. “Ivy, thank you again for inviting me. This town is delightful.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ivy says, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“I’d love to do a duet later,” I tell Ivy, trying to bridge the weird moment. “Want to go pick something out?”

“Oh, but you have to sing with me first!” Mom exclaims. “Come on, Dasher. Just one song. I haven’t sung in . Not since—” She stops herself. “Well. It’s been a long time.”

The unspoken ending hangs there: Not since I gave up performing to raise you.

I glance at Ivy, apologetic. She gives me a tight smile. “Go on, sing with your mom. We’ll do ours later.”

Mom’s already heading to Nebula’s table to sign us up.

An hour later, I’ve sung two duets with my mother (she’s fantastic, of course—the whole bar loved her), met approximately two dozen new people, and haven’t had a single real conversation with Ivy.

Every time I try to make my way to her table, something happens. A tourist asks for a photo. Titus wants to confirm Santa Paws details. Mom needs another drink. Or she’s in the middle of a conversation and gestures me over to introduce me.

I’m sure my mother’s not doing it on purpose. She’s just here. Present. And everyone wants to talk to her.

As if I’ve summoned her with the thought, she appears at my elbow. “This town really commits to the season, doesn’t it?” She’s smiling, but there’s something wistful in her voice. “It’s charming. Very ... settled.”

I give her a close look. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She glances toward Ivy, who’s laughing with Quinn. “Your girlfriend is lovely. She fits in here perfectly.”

“She does.”

Mom’s quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Fit in here.” She says it gently. “I’m just trying to understand, honey. This is so different from your life in LA. Do they have theater here? Museums? Culture? The things you’re used to?”

“There’s a theater in Stonebridge. And Manhattan’s not that far.” Why is she asking these questions?

“Of course.” She touches my arm. “I’m not criticizing.” A pause. “I want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“I just worry.” She looks down at her drink. “I can tell you care about Ivy. But you’ve worked hard to get where you are. You need to remember that.”

Before I can respond, Nebula calls my name. Just mine this time.