The Cottage on Juniper Ridge. Sheila Roberts

if she lived it at a slower pace? What if she took a few minutes to sit by her condo window and watch the snow fall (not that much snow ever fell in Seattle), instead of running around like a gerbil on a wheel, dashing from event to event, working at a feverish pace so she could live the good life? When it came right down to it, was her life that good? She was racing through it so fast, she had no time to savor any of it. It would be nice to learn how to bake bread, grow a garden, knit. Date! Heck, it would be nice to have time to breathe.

      The bus lurched to a stop and a fortysomething woman got on, balancing a huge armful of purchases, shopping bags dangling from her fingers. She squeezed in between Jen and an older man in an overcoat that smelled of damp wool. The newcomer smelled like perfume overload and Jen sneezed.

      “Bless you,” said an older woman who was occupying a seat behind where Jen stood.

      “Thank you,” Jen murmured.

      The newcomer grabbed for a hand rail and bumped Jen with one of her bags. That, plus the sudden forward motion of the bus, nearly sent Jen toppling into the lap of the older woman. “Sorry,” she muttered.

      Meanwhile, Suzy Shopper was still wrestling with her bags. One got away and landed on Jen’s foot, nearly crushing her toes and making her yelp. What did she have in there, weights?

      “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the woman said, picking it up and whacking Jen with another bag in the process. “My daughter’s Christmas present.”

      Jen’s eyes were watering. Was her foot broken? She caught her breath and managed a polite smile. “Looks like you got a lot done.” Which was more than she could say. She hadn’t started her shopping yet.

      “This is the last of it,” the woman said. “I found these dumbbells on sale at Penney’s.”

      “Dumbbells.” Jen nodded. “You had weights in that bag.”

      The woman blushed. “Mmm-hmm.”

      May the next toes you drop them on be yours.

      The bus driver called Jen’s street and she hobbled toward the back exit, trying to make her way through the crowd. “S’cuse me, s’cuse me. Sorry.”

      One passenger was too engrossed in what was on her ereader to even know she was on a bus. She stood in the path of the exit like a boulder in a red coat. An inconsiderate boulder.

      “Excuse me,” Jen said, trying to slip past. The boulder didn’t budge.

      The bus doors heaved open.

      Jen tried again. “Excuse me,” she said a little louder. Still nothing. She said it a third time and gave the boulder a nudge. It was just a nudge, really.

      The red boulder lost her balance and grabbed for the nearest source of stability—a tall, skinny woman in sweats and a Santa hat bearing a pink bakery box. The tall, skinny woman lost her hold on the box and down it went, spilling cupcakes with green frosting everywhere. She gasped and the woman next to her, who now had green frosting skidding down her sleeve, let out a groan.

      A nearby man wearing a dirty peacoat and a scruffy beard picked up a cupcake that had landed on the floor, frosting side first, and began to eat it.

      All three women glared at Jen. The skinny one with the Santa hat bent to pick up her ruined goods. “You should watch what you’re doing.”

      “Sorry,” Jen said. Willing the bus doors not to close, she fumbled in her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Let me pay you for those.” The minute she opened her wallet and found nothing there she remembered that she’d impulsively put her last three dollars in a Salvation Army bucket the day before. “I guess I don’t have any cash on me.”

      The skinny woman scowled at her.

      “If you’re gonna get off the bus, get off,” the driver called. “We have other stops to make.”

      “I’m really sorry,” Jen said again. “Um, merry Christmas,” she added as she hobbled down the steps onto the curb.

      Neither woman wished her a merry Christmas in return. In fact, the skinny one wished her something about as far from it as a girl could get. The doors shut and the bus lumbered off, shooting up a rooster tail of icy water and splashing her.

      Bah, humbug.

      * * *

      It was the first week of December, and at Stacy Thomas’s house the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. They were lucky to find any place to hang because the mantel was already packed with greens and ribbons and candles, as well as brass letters spelling Peace.

      And that was only the beginning of the holiday decorations. There was no room on the coffee table for coffee cups, due to the presence of Stacy’s nativity set, and her lighted Victorian village took up every inch of space on the buffet in the dining room. She still had to unpack the box with all the other candles, the candy dishes and the gingerbread man cookie jar, as well as the one with her holiday centerpiece. Then there was the bag with the Christmas quilt, the tub with all the wall hangings and the box containing her collection of Santa figurines. And then there were the two storage boxes of ornaments waiting to go on the tree....

      “This is the last of it,” her husband, Dean, said as he set down the long box containing their artificial tree. “Thank God.” He wiped his damp brow and looked around him. “Do we really need all of this?”

      “Of course we do!”

      Stacy surveyed the pile of boxes in front of her. How was she going to get everything put up before her book club arrived? She wished they’d gotten the decorating done the day before. But the day before had been consumed with putting up all the outside lights and the yard art. It had been an exhausting team effort, and by the time she’d finished helping Dean she’d been too tired to even think about the inside of the house.

      Tree trimming wasn’t quite as much fun as it had been when the kids were living at home. In fact, none of the decorating was. And taking everything down after the holidays was really not fun. But Ethan and Autumn would be back home in Icicle Falls for Christmas. They’d expect holiday razzle-dazzle.

      “One of these days I’m going to keel over with a heart attack after lugging all this stuff around,” Dean grumbled.

      “Oh, you’re much too strong for that,” Stacy assured him as he started to unpack the fake fir. “Really, Deano, I don’t know why you’re complaining. All you have to do is help me trim the tree and set up the train around it.”

      “Don’t forget hauling down all these boxes.”

      “The exercise is good for you,” she informed him, looking pointedly at his growing belly.

      He tried unsuccessfully to suck it in. “I’m not that fat.”

      That was exactly the same thing she told herself every time she looked in the mirror, but her hips had definitely spread. And at forty-six, those gray hairs were popping up among the blond ones like dandelions in a neglected yard. If not for Rory at Sleeping Lady Salon, she’d be in big trouble.

      “We could both stand to lose a few pounds.” She sighed. “We should go on a diet.”

      “Well, let’s not start now,” Dean said in horror. “It’s Christmas cookie season. And speaking of food, I’m hungry. Were we planning to fit dinner in somewhere between now and your book club?”

      Dinner. She’d been so busy decorating she’d forgotten about that minor detail. “Let’s order a pizza from Italian Alps.”

      “Good idea,” he said, pulling his cell phone out of his pants pocket.

      “Make it quick, Deano. We need to get this tree done.” The thought of how lovely it would be with the little electric train running around it and presents spilling everywhere made her smile.

      He shook his head. “With all the ornaments you’ve collected, that should take a millennium. I’m married to the pack rat of Icicle Falls,”