Her bedroom, at least, showed some life. A slipper peeked out of the closet. A mirrored tray of jewelry was a splash of favorite colors and treasures. Her bedcovers were too fluffy to be tidy—she loved down, so had both a down mattress and down comforter, both in the deepest of purple, all billowy and warm. She’d found an old wardrobe at a rummage sale, finished it in a polished pecan, added a plush rug in furry white. The faint scent of Chanel’s “Chance” seemed part of the room—she’d never spent much money on herself, but she loved that scent. It was an odd relief to find something of herself, something that mattered, when the rest of the house seemed so . . . lonely.

  Poppy hiked the stairs to the last room—the only room under the gable—that she’d made into her home office. The slanted ceiling would make it impossible for Sam to walk in here without ducking—not that she was thinking about Sam. But this room, she figured he’d like. A real person lived and worked here. The bookshelves were stuffed. A C-shaped desk nestled under the gable, so she could see outside and yet still have a big workspace. The file cabinets were covered with doodads, photos, sayings. Framed pics of family and lake projects and awards filled up the wall space. She regularly did work reading in the oversize monster chair, chintzy and old—but comfortable enough to curl up in. A Tiffany lamp had been her grandmother’s; she’d started a collection of interesting stones she’d found somewhere, and various mugs seemed to reproduce on the shelves. A violet throw on her desk chair was a threadbare velvet but still a treasure, because it was so drafty up here in the winter months.

  She jumped when she heard a doorbell from downstairs. For certain, she wasn’t expecting anyone, but she was also done checking the house and hot to get back to the cottage. And Sam.

  “Coming!” she called out when the doorbell rang a second time and reached the front door out of breath, opening it quickly. Her jaw dropped when she recognized an old friend from high school. “Gary Pruitt!! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come in—what a surprise!”

  Poppy hadn’t seen that familiar grin in a blue moon. And yeah, she was antsy to lock up and get on the road, but it seemed rude to just kick him out. It wasn’t as if a few minutes’ visit was going to make any big difference.

  She directed Gary toward the kitchen, popped a pod in the Keurig, and then sat across from him at the glass table. “I’m sorry—I don’t have more time than a quick cup of coffee. I’m headed upstate for a couple weeks, just came home to check the house after the blizzard. But you’re here—so tell me what you can. How’re you doing? What have you been up to? How did you even know I lived here?”

  “Just like old times. You get me talking about myself before I even get my coat off.”

  She grinned, as she retrieved his mug of French roast from the machine and carried it to him. “I remember our crossing paths sometime in college? But I thought you left Wisconsin after you graduated. I had no idea you were back in town.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, just give me the short version for now, okay?”

  Gary was built like a barrel, all muscle and brawn. He’d been the heartthrob of the high school—which was how they’d gotten to be friends. He was the football star with the big brown eyes, the good student who was adored by the teachers. And every girl—except for her—had shamelessly chased after him.

  They’d never gone out. She always figured he found her when he was hiding from all the cheerleaders trying to hunt him down. He’d find her sitting on a cool spot of grass in the summer, or in the upstairs balcony of the library in winter. He’d talk her ear off.

  “Well, here’s the thing. A couple months ago, my brother bought the house on the corner. He’s getting married in June, and he had the crazy idea that getting that house ready to live in was going to be a piece of cake. When he figured out it was going to be a nightmare, he pulled me in to help. My place is on the other side of town, so easy enough for me to show up with tools and swing a hammer with him.” He took a long slug of coffee.

  “That’s going okay?”

  “Hard for one guy. Easy enough for two.” He scratched his chin, an old gesture she vaguely remembered. “I knew where your dad lived, but I didn’t know you’d bought a house on this block until a neighbor mentioned it a couple weeks ago. It’s not like my brother and I have been out and about. We’ve been trapped inside every hour we can get, painting, putting in new counters, laying floors, stuff like that. But once I heard you lived here, I stopped by a couple times, just to say hey, but never found you home. When I just saw the car in the driveway, figured I finally caught up with you.”

  “So what have you been up to?”

  “Well. The first plan started with the football college scholarship. I was doing great until senior year, when halfway through the season I blew my knee out. Really blew it out. Had to have a knee replacement. So that ended any hope for going pro. Have to admit, I fumbled around for a while, finished up college but just couldn’t seem to find something I really wanted to do. Just by chance I heard there was a job back at the high school here, and well, it was coaching. That clicked for me, more than anything else had.”

  She cocked her head. “I’ll bet the kids love you. Are you happy to be back in town? Happy with coaching?”

  “It’s okay. I like working with the kids, like being around sports again. Truth is, I never planned on anything beyond playing football. You were the big planner and worker. I was just sailing through life.”

  “Hey, you got a degree.”

  “Yeah. I got a degree, but never had any ambition. Pretty much lucky. The coach thing’s working out okay.”

  Just seeing him brought back memories—not so much of him but of those school years. Poppy had loved school. Loved being with kids her own age.

  She had rarely gone out with any guys—not because she didn’t want to, but because there just wasn’t time. Her sisters needed her home at night. It took time to manage the household and caretake her sisters, and she had needed outstanding grades to get a serious academic scholarship.

  Gary had turned into a completely unexpected friend. She wasn’t a talker like he was, but he’d made her feel comfortable around him. They’d just chitchat. Grouse about calculus and trig. Tell stupid jokes. Analyze teachers. And, of course, discuss all the girls chasing after him. He had an exhausting love life, or so he’d complained.

  Which naturally made her ask, “So . . . by now, have you got a wife and family in tow?”

  “No kids. But I had a wife. Eloped the end of our junior year, got an apartment. Everything was going good, until my knee got busted and she figured out there was never going to be big money coming in.”

  Her face creased in sympathy. “Yikes.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “The bad girls always seemed to go for you.”

  “I know. And I swear I loved them all. But you’re the only female I could ever really talk to.”

  Out of nowhere Poppy felt a weird vibe. Since he’d walked in she’d been happy enough to catch up with him, glad to share that old history—but suddenly everything about his visit felt different.

  Gary used to be wonderfully comfortable to be around. They had a lot in common. They both had friends, but not “best” friends, not people they easily confided in. They’d both had the same rating in the high school yearbook—Most Likely to Succeed. They’d both had the heavy-hitter teachers, headed to college with honors. Maybe Poppy had the highest grades, but Gary pulled his weight in a classroom.

  But the way he was looking at her now wasn’t just different, but unexpected. She couldn’t define it. Couldn’t even imagine why she suddenly felt uneasy.

  With a startled glance at the clock, Poppy jumped to her feet, took Gary’s empty mug to rinse out and plunk in the dishwasher. “Darn it, I hate kicking you out, but I really, really need to get on the road. Normally a two-hour drive wouldn’t be a big deal, but I really hate driving in the dark, especially with all the snow and ice.”

  “But I need a chance to hear what you’re up to, what happened after you left school and all that.”

  She nodded briskly. “And I’m sure we’ll have another chance. Just not today. Hey, I’m glad about your brother being engaged and the coach job and all.”

  Poppy didn’t race. She just kept moving, turned off the lights, found her jacket, and slowly but surely aimed for the door. “Say hi to your brother, okay? And give him a hug from me.”

  “Wait a sec. If you have to take off like this, I need a big hug goodbye first.”

  Gary had yanked on his jacket, kept up with her pace, watched her lock the door. It was downright freezing in the overhang of the porch. Snow was dripping down in silvery ribbons. He opened his arms, like he might have done when they were in high school, for a big old brotherly hug.

  She hesitated for a second—told herself to quit being ridiculous—and then stepped closer with a smile. She felt his arms go around her, accepted and returned the hug. But when she tried to edge back, his arms tightened around her.

  She shot him a startled glance. His face was close. Too close.

  “Poppy.” His voice was slow. Quiet. “I was always hoping I’d see you again. Didn’t you ever wonder? How good it might be between us?”

  She thought about making a joke. Saying something, anything light, to lessen the awkwardness. But his expression was too serious. He’d wanted to kiss her. Still might try, unless she handled this. And handled it clearly.

  “The truth?” Poppy stepped back. “No. Very seriously, no. I thought we were good friends back then. For me, that was special. I mean it. I don’t think good friends are that easy to find.”

  “That’s exactly what I felt. But then a lot of life passed. And I remembered all the time I wasted on the wrong girls. And how easily you and I always talked together.”

  “We did,” she agreed. Although if she really thought about, he did most of the talking. He needed to be able to talk, she’d always believed. To someone who listened. To someone who didn’t care if he was a football star or not.

  His arms dropped. “So you’re married? Or with someone?”

  What an easy out, she thought. To think of Sam. To bring up Sam’s name. Unfortunately that fish wouldn’t swim. First of all, because she’d never use Sam. And more than that, this was her problem to solve, not anyone else’s.

  “Gary, it wouldn’t matter whether I was married or a three-time bigamist. I’m not in the market.” She took another step toward the porch edge. “I appreciated you as a friend, but never had romantic feelings for you. For me, that’s just a plain nonstarter.”

  He opened his mouth to say something more, but she shook her head. “I hope you find someone who’s right for you. But right now, I really have to go.”

  She angled away from him, took the porch steps, and aimed for her car. It didn’t take more than a minute to climb in her Subaru, strap in, and turn the key.

  After waving goodbye to Gary and a half-dozen turns later, Poppy merged onto the interstate. Every mile toward the cottage, she felt freer. Lighter. She stopped for a burger and Coke, but otherwise zoned straight north.

  Tension eased from her shoulders that she hadn’t been aware of. Gary hadn’t really upset her. She was sorry an old friendship had turned awkward, but whether she’d handled him well or badly, she’d said no. Clearly. Surely that was progress? Not just getting sucked into what someone else wanted or needed from her.

  If there wasn’t so much traffic, she’d have been inclined to sing along to the radio. She really was gaining ground. Getting smarter, stronger, and on her own terms.

  Traffic picked up as Poppy got closer to the cottage. Snow started coming down, nothing worrisome, just a slow drift of crystal flakes, a splash of white magic. Her heart lifted and she couldn’t seem to shake a smile. One more turn and she’d be there. Back to her wonderful refuge.

  SAM WASN’T THERE. But he’d stopped by. As Poppy pulled into the driveway, she could see a slip of white paper Scotch-taped to the door. She dug for her cottage key, hustled to the door to read it.

  MISSED YOU. HAD TO FEND OFF VULTURES FOR ENDLESS HOURS. TAX PEOPLE. BANK PEOPLE. LAWYERS.

  BUBBLES WAS VERY BRAVE. WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS BUSINESS NONSENSE EVERY YEAR.

  KEPT THINKING I’D HAVE TIME TO STOP OVER, BUT COULDN’T MAKE IT HAPPEN.

  I CAN SEE YOUR FACE IN MY MIND’S EYE. YOUR FACE, YOUR SMILE. YOU.

  I’LL BE AROUND TO CAUSE YOU TROUBLE JUST AS SOON AS I CAN.

  Poppy plucked the paper from the window, unlocked the door, shook her head . . . and let loose an outright laugh as she went inside.

  Maybe she should be worried that he’d already come to mean so much to her.

  But just maybe, she’d give him more trouble than he was expecting, too.

  * * *

  POPPY DIDN’T SEE Sam for a couple more days, but she understood. He did his business planning this time of year, met with companies where he was bidding on bigger projects for the coming year. No sweat, she thought—but still appreciated that he explained why he hadn’t been around, that he’d been stuck doing work things.

  She skated. Explored around the lake, where she could find paths through the snow that were penetrable. She discovered a country grocery store. She didn’t immediately need food, just some ingredients to make a few different things.

  But she had super curl-up time, too.

  It snowed all afternoon on Sunday, a good thing, since she’d barely budged from the couch in two days. When she heard the rap on the door, she finally grudgingly put the book down.

  She forgot about books and reading and everything else when Sam stomped in.

  “Well, if it isn’t Father Christmas.” Just walking from the truck, his hat was covered with snow, his red parka dusted with the white stuff, too. Only a week until Christmas now, and he so looked the part.

  “You comparing me to Claus?”

  “No, no. You’re way cuter.” She threw a big towel on Bubbles, draped Sam’s jacket and hat near the furnace. When she turned around, she realized he’d brought goodies. Cherries and chocolate syrup and nuts and marshmallows.

  He expressed shock and pity when she looked doubtful at his plans.

  “What? You never made a snow sundae? What kind of guys did you go out with, just people who took you to movies or out to dinner or concerts and stuff like that? Didn’t anyone excel in the art of a cheap date?”

  Poppy heard him. She just wasn’t positive if she’d misheard him. “We’re really going to eat snow?”

  “Not old snow. Brand-new fresh snow. Snow that’s just fallen. No one’s walked on it or peed on it or put chemicals on it. It’s okay. Trust me.”

  Naturally it took both of them—and Bubbles—to fill up a bowl of fresh snow outside. Inside, he promptly made the fancy sundaes—which both of them devoured. After that he started a fire and carried in a bag of chestnuts from his truck. “So. Did you ever roast chestnuts before? You know. On an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”

  “Stop. Until now I didn’t realize you were going to sing.”

  “Uh-oh. When my brothers and I get together—and have a beer or two—we’ve been known to belt out some college fight songs.” On top of the fire, Sam set up a small rack, and then came through with a long pair of tongs to turn the nuts. “Now, we’re stuck waiting for a while. They just don’t taste as sweet unless they’re roasted real slow. So. I wonder what we could think up to do in the meantime?”

  Poppy figured it was about time she took charge. He was only going to keep flirting with her if she didn’t. He was still hunkered by the fire when she knee-walked closer. Then closer still. Then turned her head to angle a kiss on him.

  Aha.

  This time, for darn sure, she’d surprised him.

  Maybe she’d surprised herself. She hadn’t planned to kiss him, much less seduce him. But the terrifying idea had gotten hold of her and refused to let go.

  Slowly Poppy wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Sam was in jeans and a big sweater, his cheeks still cold from being outside, his chin on the stubbled side and his hair unbrushed. She pushed her fingers through his hair, back around his neck, trying another kiss. A slow kiss. A soft kiss. A kiss of longing and yearning and a whole lot of terror.

  Almost two weeks were already gone. The day after Christmas, she had to head back to Madison, to her job, to her annoyingly cold house, to her life. She’d started coming to some conclusions, some ideas, about who she really was and what she needed in her life. None of them were glued down yet. But it wasn’t as hard as she’d thought to pin down things that mattered.

  Sam really mattered.

  Poppy couldn’t swear that she was right for him. Or that she could be sure of herself quite yet. But this moment was about right now. Whatever happened, she wanted him to know he mattered. She wanted him to feel how much she cared.

  She wanted him, and this should have been easy. She was old friends with risk, had never feared trying and failing. But she really hated being naked. From a young age she’d learned to be tough and strong and capable. But to risk loving a man? Loving, as in really laying herself bare, inside and out?

  She told herself to think about him instead of terror. His skin, his touch, his smell, his textures. She told herself to quit thinking, for heaven’s sake. She’d been thinking her whole darned life. This moment, she just wanted to feel.

  Him.

  “Hey,” he murmured, his voice thicker than dark honey.

  “Don’t talk, Sam. I’m trying to concentrate.”

  “I didn’t come here to push you.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m interested. More than interested. I can’t get my mind off touching you.”

  “Would you please be quiet? For just a little bit.”

  He was quiet. For just a little bit.

  She parted her lips, inviting a more intimate kiss, savoring the wicked-soft sweep of his tongue. She pushed at his sweater, willing it to disappear.

  Sam handily made that happen. She wanted to explore his bare chest. All that sleek muscle, the shoulders bigger than her fists, so much strength.