The hand-thrown ceramic mug filled my hands just right. Nutmeg and vanilla teased the cold morning air. It was one of the irregular pieces that somehow kept filling my cabinets. I was becoming a haven for the misfit toys my Aunt Laverne sent me home with after my daily shifts at the gift shop.

  I didn’t mind so much. They were a little banged up just like me. I traced my fingertip along the oval lip dragging a dollop of foam clinging to the edges, popping it into my mouth with a soft hum of pleasure.

  Black coffee was in my past just like so many other things. I wasn’t mad about it. I lifted the mug to my mouth without drinking—too hot yet—and grinned over the lip as I caught my cousin Beckett racing through the orchard on his gray gelding.

  The workers scattered in his wake. I could hear his gruff, clipped voice in my head. I was sure he was barking orders as he headed for the new pumpkin patch that had been planted this year.

  A new addition to the Happy Acres family. The Ronsons and Mannings were always finding new ways to extend the season. Summers were for wine and cider tastings with intimate concerts by local—and sometimes famous—musicians, depending on the day.

  Ian Kagan, my cousin’s fiancé and baby daddy, had been playing the night I’d arrived, fresh punctures in my hand from an IV and wariness pulling at my bones. My aunt and uncle had come to get me, no questions asked.

  That dark day in August was still a fuzzy, distant memory. My best friend had called for them above my own parents and I was forever grateful. Even if Natalie, my best friend and assistant, had endured a month long gift of the silent treatment for her actions.

  Exhaustion, the doctor said.

  Burnout, the shrink said.

  Oh, and a full emotional and physical collapse for good measure. Good times.

  Rachel Doyle, event planner to the elite Manhattanites of New York, had crashed and burned in an epic fashion.

  Now I was a junior shop girl in Happy Acres’ newly expanded gift shop. My aunt and her team took great pains to pick out curated pieces that lured people into the store. From the baked goods to the thoughtful trinkets tucked into fun little crevices—the gift shop was miles away from the little kitschy apple-themed afterthought of my youth.

  Eventually, I’d convinced my aunt I needed to earn my keep. I’d had to gain twenty pounds first. I was pretty sure it was the first time I’d ever been happy to see the numbers on the scale go up. Seeing my hollowed out cheeks disappear had been pretty nice too.

  Heroin-chic only looked good on models. And even then, I usually wanted to give them a sandwich.

  I should know. I could walk down any street in the city and trip over seven of them. Usually on the arms of businessmen that called on me for private dinners or quarterly meetings.

  Nope.

  I wasn’t going back there.

  Back to the old me. The old life.

  I took a sip of my coffee and hissed at my scalded tongue. Coffee was better when it was hot—period. Even at the height of summer, I always had hot coffee in my cup. But we were in the middle of fall now, my favorite season. Oversized sweaters, spicy scents, and some form of baked apple treat was always waiting for me at the main house. Somehow summer had dissolved into September, which was the height of the season at the orchard, and kept right on going in a blur of fall festivities.

  I swore half of Central New York had landed in Turnbull to pick apples and buy all the glorious baked goods Happy Acres was known for. Aunt Laverne’s pies were almost as famous as her rockstar son-in-law. And Nick Crandall from the band Oblivion loved them just as much.

  I’d personally taken the order for three apple crumbles to send out to California. He was married to my cousin Lila and never missed a pie if he could help it.

  The phones were one area that I’d been able to jump in with relative ease. Auto-pilot had saved me for the rest. I’d thrown my hand in whenever and wherever I was needed, but now things were slowing down again. A blink later, and I’d careened from September through October. Suddenly, November was on my doorstep—literally.

  I leaned on the porch railing and looked out over the orchard. The apple trees were picked clean and the Manning men were busy taking down the Halloween hayride set-up that signaled the end of the main season.

  The Mannings and Ronsons were always finding new ways to innovate—and extend their season. Between the two separate lodgings and the renovation of the old chapel, they were fast becoming a prized wedding location as well.

  I’d even spotted what looked like a Christmas tree farm on one of my many walks around the vast property. Since I’d read that cardio could help people sleep—which was a lie in my case, by the way—I walked miles and miles and still stared at my ceiling almost every night. I was tempted to find a tutorial on how to put in a skylight in my little cabin. At least then I could stare at the stars.

  Until the snow came.

  Yeah, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Was there a way to swap it out during the winter? Maybe little filaments that would stop the snow from staying on the window?

  Oh, and maybe I could stop finding tangent avenues to roll my way down? Probably not. It seemed to be a side effect of too much time on my own.

  My aunt had given me all the space I could handle. It was like she knew exactly what I needed before I could even ask. I’d stayed at the main house for the first few weeks so she could take care of me.

  The fact that I let her fuss over me told me just how bad off I’d been. Then one day, she’d packed me up in her truck. I’d figured it was time for me to leave, but instead she’d stashed me in one of the cabins on the edge of the orchard and told me to decorate it as I pleased. It had been the perfect bit of solace for me.

  I was pretty sure the miniature cabin was supposed to be an AirBnB type rental for the winter season. But as always, Laverne was generous from every angle—including with her lodging.

  I slipped inside and hung my sweater on the hook beside the door then my slippered foot bumped into an oversized box. More misfit toys. Laverne had a bunch of samples leftover that hadn’t ended up making the Christmas cut. She didn’t want to use them in the store since no one could buy them.

  I’d said I would take them before I could think twice about it. They’d been right there ever since.

  I kicked the box for good measure. “Stop mocking me.”

  Luckily, it didn’t answer me back.

  I headed for the kitchen to tidy up from my breakfast, but a jumble of yarn caught my eye. I shook my head and crouched to gather it up. One skein was definitely hitting the trash can. “Gary, you’re gonna drive me to drink.”

  My small living room had an oversized loveseat and small wood burning stove. A basket sat on the tray table beside my couch. Bulky yarn spilled out in various autumnal colors. I guess my latest project was too tempting for my roommate. I scooped up the ends and tucked them back in the basket.

  I’d fallen into a sea of crafts during my alone time. The nights were damn long and I could only spend so many hours gazing at the ceiling. Even if it was gorgeous weathered shiplap. However, the only hobby that stuck was crochet. I had enough scarves and hats to outfit an army, and now I was creating a fleet of stuffed pumpkins.

  I picked up my first try and shook it lightly. It was lopsided and bright pink with frayed edges. I’d tucked a bell into the center of it for my furry houseguest.

  A ball of black, brown, and ginger fluff with pure white feet bounded into the room. His ears were far too big for his little kitty head and his white whiskers were wide and wild. I crouched down and shook the pumpkin again. Gary’s green eyes focused as intently as if it were a field mouse.

  “This is your toy, not my basket of yarn.”

  His eyes were full of kitty chaos, and he definitely wasn’t listening to me. I tossed the pumpkin and he raced after it, rolling into a clumsy somersault. His prize was tangled in his claws as he rolled onto his back to shake it furiously.

  Good thing I hadn’t introduced catnip yet.

  I brought my now cold mug of coffee into the kitchen and quickly cleaned up. I only had an hour before my shift at the gift shop. No lazy bath this morning. I checked my ancient flip phone to make sure it was still charged.

  Staying mostly unplugged was safest for my psyche. There was no need to scroll the ‘Gram or TikTok to keep up on the movers and shakers of New York City. I got more than enough local and national news from my uncle when we had lunch together a few times a week.

  The city wasn’t my focus anymore.

  After a quick shower, I dried my mop of dark hair. I supposed I would have to find someone to cut it. I pulled my bangs down to touch the tip of my nose. At the very least I needed to get my bangs trimmed.

  And not by me. I’d made that mistake in high school, thank you very much.

  I fluffed them up a little and hit them with some hairspray. Pretty soon I’d be trying out for the next iteration of Cousin It.

  I tossed my brush into my small bag of cosmetics. Rummaged around for some mascara and my trusty Dr. Pepper chapstick. I didn’t need my Kylie Cosmetics lip kit these days. Just a little bit so I didn’t look washed out and lashless and voilà, good enough.

  Hoofing it downstairs, I found Gary nestled on the top of the back cushion on the loveseat. It was already turning into an indent from his rapidly growing body. Soon, he’d match his ears and that would turn the indent into a crater.

  I double-checked his water and food, did a quick refill and locked up before I hustled outside. Getting a car up to my little cabin was pretty useless. And to be truthful, I hadn’t needed a car when I was a city girl. The subway and car services were far more convenient, not to mention the cost of insurance on the perpetually bumper car life of a city driver…nope. Not for me, thanks.

  But there was a great path to the main house. If I worked at night, I usually had one of the guys drop me off, but I liked the morning shift.

  New days, new starts every day.

  It was only a ten minute walk, and I met Taylor, a fellow shop girl, as she was climbing out of her car.

  “Hey, Rach. I got you a coffee.” She set a drink holder from the Happy Acres bakery on the roof of her car.

  “Bless you.” I ran over to help her. “What have you got in there?”

  She popped the hatch on her ancient Honda. “A few boxes ended up over at the orchard that should have gone to the gift shop.”

  “Oh, a reason to go over and bug that hottie you’ve been pretending not to flirt with?” I followed her and lifted out a box.

  “Shut up. He’s a seasonal. He’ll be gone next week.”

  “One more week of fun.”

  She blew a burgundy curl out of her face. Not that it helped. The coiling explosion of tight curls just went back to the same place. “No fun. I’m tired of random flings with guys who don’t stick around.”

  “If I didn’t do random flings, I would have cobwebs growing down in kitty town. As it is…” I gave a mock shudder.

  Taylor busted out laughing. “I’m sure glad you’re feeling better. I missed that smart mouth of yours.”

  I looked down at the box I was holding. “Yeah, I missed me too.” I really didn’t want to talk about the Rachel who landed at the orchard. I was hoping to get further away from her. “Now put that other box on top here so we can do one trip. That way you can grab the all important coffee.”

  “One trip for the win.” She set a smaller box on top.

  I headed for the gift shop. The antique sign over the building had been restored with jet black enamel paint for the letters with gold accents. Wood from the actual orchard had been used and carved out by my grandfather a million years ago

  Everything about Happy Acres was keeping the old alive with pieces of new. It was why I loved it so much. They’d added onto the gift shop last year when things started exploding.

  The add-on looked as if it had been there for years. The same forest green paint had been used and the new large window showed off the carved pumpkins from the kids.

  Today was the day to change over the store just like the orchard. Christmas was officially coming at us. I backed my way through the door.

  My aunt Laverne bustled out of the back. “Oh, there you are.” She glanced at her watch. “Look at you, only ten minutes early.”

  I flushed. “I don’t like to be late.” I gestured with my box. “I ran into Taylor. Looks like another shipment got rerouted.”

  She sighed. “I’m going to have to bribe that new UPS man with some extra sugar to get his attention.”

  “I’m sure it’ll do the trick.”

  Laverne took the top box off my stack. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for these.” She went right to the counter and ripped it open.

  I set the bigger box on the floor. It wasn’t heavy, but it was bulky.

  She flashed the contents to me. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  I moved to her. “Oh, are these hand-carved?” I pulled out a wooden star.

  “They sure are. I found an artist in Montana a few months ago. I loved her stuff so much I commissioned a few for the store.” She tucked a snowy white lock of hair behind her ear where a pair of earrings jangled merrily. “I want you to do the window.”

  “Me?” I shook my head. “No. I don’t…no.”

  “You do.” She took the star from me. “You’re the best window designer I’ve ever seen. Remember how many times I bribed you to come here and do them?”

  That was another life.

  I’d done tablescapes, decorated whole apartments for parties. Christmas had always been my specialty for my company.

  I backed away from her. “Taylor does the windows. I couldn’t.”

  My aunt grabbed my hand. “Taylor does them because she has to.”

  “Taylor hates doing them.” Came a voice behind me.

  I bumped into Taylor. “No, I couldn’t.” My heart started racing and little black dots gathered at the edges of my vision.

  Taylor held up a coffee for me. “Just think about it.”

  I took the to-go cup and gratefully took a sip. I could focus on that. Not the window.

  Too much pressure.

  My aunt handed me the stars. “Can you check these into inventory?”

  “Yes. I can do that.” I hugged the box and went over to the table with the laptop set up for loading in sku numbers. My heart evened out and I started doing my usual morning rituals: running reports, setting up the till for the cash register, doing inventory, and unpacking.

  Taylor put on the latest Taylor Swift album. The folksy sound was the perfect backdrop, and she also knew she was my favorite singer. Finally, the last of my knotted muscles relaxed.

  Instinctively, I shifted the new Christmas items into rotation. I moved them from shelves then to another corner. I kept going back to the window.

  The new wreaths would be pretty there.

  Taylor was standing at the now empty window with her hands on her hips. She’d covered her gorgeous burgundy curls with one of her head scarves against the dust. She had a scatter of boxes around her, but there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to them.

  “Maybe use the farmhouse ornaments together.” I nodded toward the box the farthest away from her. “You wouldn’t have to work at matching any colors.”

  “Oh, that’s a great idea.” She instantly started unpacking and arranging.

  I kept switching out boxes with others that I knew would work better. Taylor kept eyeing me as I swapped out materials, but she didn’t say anything. I gathered up the wreaths that had given me an idea.

  “Do we have twine?”

  “I’m sure you can steal some off the shelves to use. I think we have some DIY wreath kits.”

  “Right.” I grabbed supplies, but it wasn’t exactly what I needed.

  The bell over the door jangled, distracting me.

  “I got it. You keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.” Taylor stepped over the boxes and headed to help the customer.

  Taylor seemed to know just about everyone in the area, which was part of why she was so good at running the gift shop. My aunt put her hand in all the time, but for the most part she liked to take care of the main lodge with the guests.

  The chirp of conversations fell into the background as I got more and more focused. I started lining up the wreaths along the floor and added the twine.

  Having them at different heights hanging from a branch would keep with the farmhouse look and give some visual interest. I sat back on my heels. Only problem was I needed to find a branch.

  We did reside next to an orchard with tons of trees going into pruning season. I glanced over my shoulder. Taylor was deep in conversation with a customer.

  Aunt Laverne swung by on her way to her next task. “Hey, Rachel, why don’t you take a break? We have a bus load of people coming in later so you might as well catch a breather while we can.”

  I nodded and stood, wiping my hands on my jeans. I’d picked a good day to wear my flat boots. Maybe I could go out and bug the Manning boys for some supplies.

  I grabbed one of the sweaters I left in the back. It was a sunny day, but cool enough to need a little something. I waved at Beck who was offloading Halloween decorations from the vintage red truck they used seasonally.

  “Hey, I’m looking for a big branch for the window. Strong enough to hold half a dozen wreaths.”

  Beckett had swapped his cowboy hat for a baseball cap. He tipped it up to look at me. “How big?”

  I looked back at the gift shop. “That window sized.”

  “Not sure the apple trees are strong enough for that.”

  “Oh.” I shoved my hands in my sweater pockets. “Well, shoot.”

  “You could probably find something over with the Christmas trees.”

  “We have a tree farm too?”

  Beck scooped his curls back and set his hat back on his head before pulling out a pair of sunglasses. “Yeah, we sold off a few acres to a guy a few years ago. Christmas trees fit in with the all year plan we have going on here lately.”

  “Smart. I just didn’t know we had one of those.”

  “Not quite the season yet. Clay usually comes out for the weekends to get stuff ready. I think he has a day job somewhere. Jim and Mary Townes live on the property and take care of the trees. They’ll help you out.”