A Christmas to Remember. Rebecca Moesta

on my hair…”

      Reliving the memory, she felt her throat tighten, and tears threatened to fall as she said, “It was so magical. And I just don’t know if Christmas is ever going to feel like that again—not this pressure to be perfect, just the simple magic of Christmas.”

      Being the only child of a single mom might’ve seemed like a disadvantage to some people, but Jennifer’s mother had managed to make their family of two feel complete. Christmas had been their holiday. The two of them had decorated the house to Christmas music playing on their stereo. They’d shopped for groceries together. When money was tight, they’d had to be creative. Her mother had often said, “Make something out of what you have.” They’d gone window shopping for ideas. They’d baked and made homemade gifts for friends and neighbors.

      Jennifer had always dreamed of passing those traditions on to her own children. She wanted to see the magic of Christmas through their eyes. But she’d never had kids. It was one of her regrets. So instead, she showed her viewers how to make their own homes and families feel special. At their core, her shows, articles, and blogs had all been inspired by her amazing mother.

      “You know, your mom sounds like she was a wonderful woman,” Paula said. “And maybe you can have it that way again: simple and perfect.”

      Jennifer held up her wine glass in a toast. “Here’s to my mom, who made Christmas magical.”

      Paula clinked her glass against Jennifer’s. “To your mom.”

      Reluctantly, Jennifer stood up and said, “I should be going. If I’m going to get to Colorado in the morning, I have to pack.”

      “Yes, you do!” Paula’s genuine excitement for Jennifer was contagious.

      “I’ll call you when I get there,” Jennifer promised, giving her friend a hug. “Thank you!”

Chapter 5

      Was there anything more uncomfortable than a first date? John despised them.

      Aiming for somewhere between casual and dressy, he’d worn a black dress shirt with the collar unbuttoned and black jeans. He’d chosen a nice restaurant in a reasonable price range, decorated in what the owner called “Grandma’s house shabby chic.” Julie would’ve laughed at that description since she’d claimed that everything that started out new in their house eventually ended up “shabby chic”—thanks to the kids.

      White fairy lights lined the windows of the restaurant inside. Soft jazz renditions of Christmas music played on the sound system.

      John looked across the table at his date, Brooke Hanson, the first woman he’d been out with since Julie died. Brooke had been his classmate in high school. They’d both been popular, but he’d been studious—a sort of jock-nerd—while she’d hung out with cliques of fashion-conscious party goers. Their paths had only crossed at football games. Now, though, she was one of the few single women in town his age, so he’d finally relented and let his friends Stan and Holly Barbour set them up. Stan and Holly were such romantics that they wanted everyone to be happy and in love. But John already regretted agreeing to this date. It just didn’t feel right.

      “Well, this is nice,” Brooke said.

      “It is. It’s nice,” he said, hoping she couldn’t tell how uncomfortable he felt. He wondered if Brooke felt that way, too. He was certainly struggling to make small talk. Had it always been this hard?

      Brooke took a sip of her wine. “I just can’t believe we’ve never been on a date before.”

      Fumbling for a reply, John took a gulp from his wine glass, too. “Hm.”

      “Because, you know,” Brooke went on, with a nervous-sounding laugh, “I had a crush on you in high school.”

      She had? John felt a strange mixture of surprise and embarrassment. “Uh, no, I definitely didn’t know.” High school seemed like a lifetime ago.

      Brooke gave him a look of disbelief. “Oh, come on.”

      “I-I didn’t,” John stammered, shaking his head. Although she had been pretty enough to catch his eye back then, they hadn’t seemed to have much in common, so he had never asked her out.

      “But you were the quarterback, and I was the cheerleader. We should have been a couple.”

      When she put it that way, it did seem obvious, John thought. “I guess so.”

      “Then you got married,” Brooke went on, “and then she—”

      John froze. It was jarring to hear her chatter blithely about his marriage when he still missed Julie so much. And now he couldn’t help but compare Julie’s generous, caring, and easy manner with Brooke’s thoughtlessness and forced conversation.

      Brooke seemed to notice her mistake. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up.”

      “It’s okay. It’s all right,” John said, trying to put her at ease. But he wasn’t sure that it was all right. The strain of making conversation was even greater now. Trying to cut the tension, he began, “So how’s—”

      “So how was your burger?” Brooke asked at the same time.

      “My burger is…it was good. It was fine,” he replied, still stumbling over small talk. “How’s your tofu?”

      “Do you want some?” Brooke offered. “You should try it.”

      Tofu did not sound appetizing at all. John had tried bean curd a few times and found it flavorless and either slimy or spongy, depending on how it was served. So tofu fell into his life-is-too-short category of foods. He held out a hand to forestall Brooke. “Oh no, I really don’t like tof—” he began.

      She held out a forkful right in front of him. What could he do? He couldn’t refuse without looking like a jerk. With resignation, he accepted the bite and chewed.

      “It’s good, right?” she said, waiting for his reaction.

      Good was not a word he could honestly use to describe the tofu. He didn’t like it. At all. But he couldn’t very well say so without hurting her feelings. John searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound rude. “Mm-hm. It’s, uh…interesting consistency,” he said, still chewing. It was the best he could do on the spur of the moment.

      Brooke’s expression fell. “It’s nice,” she said, but her smile did not return. She looked away, drew a deep breath, and sighed.

      John signaled for the waitress to bring the check. He didn’t want to make Brooke feel bad, but he did hope to wrap up the date fairly quickly. She must be able to see by now that they weren’t well matched. Stan and Holly would be disappointed that John and Brooke hadn’t hit it off. It hadn’t been a total loss, though. The evening had told John what he needed to know: Brooke was not right for him.

      When he finished paying the bill, John helped Brooke put on her winter coat. At the truck, he held the door for her as she got in. Most of the five-minute drive to her house was silent. Still, as a gentleman, he was determined to finish the date as pleasantly as possible. He helped her out of the truck, walked her to the door of her small bungalow, and thanked her for having a meal with him.

      Getting out her key, Brooke gave him a flirtatious look. “Would you like to come in?”

      He felt his face flush. She wasn’t making this easy on him. “Uh, no, thank you. I need to be getting home.”

      “All right.” She blinked in disappointment and looked up at him through her lashes. “But…we can’t end the evening without a good-night kiss, can we?”

      That was exactly what he had hoped to do.

      She leaned toward him.

      He gave Brooke a swift peck on the