“You’ll never be cold,” Ivy said, laughing. She stood up to leave, but Punkin stayed crouched beside the old man’s chair.
“Come, Punkin!” she called. The dog wagged his tail but stayed put.
“It’s the oddest thing,” Ivy said. “Punkin was always standoffish with strangers. Maybe because he was a rescue. He was never mean, or aggressive, but he’s always been sort of wary, if you know what I mean. But since we moved here, he seems to have lost some of his inhibitions. He’s the same way with you as my real estate agent. It’s like you’re his instant best friends.”
Mr. Jones scratched Punkin’s ears. “You’re never too old to have a new friend,” he said.
* * *
She spotted Phoebe sitting alone in a booth in the corner of the diner. The clerk looked up and waved her over.
“Join me for lunch?” the girl asked.
“Love to. I gotta admit, eating alone is my least favorite part of being single,” Ivy said.
“Mine too,” Phoebe said.
Ivy eyed the girl’s meal—black coffee, a hard-boiled egg, and three bedraggled leaves of lettuce.
“That’s all you’re having?” she asked.
The waitress arrived at their booth and Ivy ordered the day’s special—chicken and dumplings and green beans.
Phoebe sighed enviously. “Maybe I’ll just inhale when your lunch arrives.”
“I take it you’re dieting?” Ivy asked. “Pretty hard to do during the holidays.”
“It’s the worst,” Phoebe agreed. “But I’ve just got to lose ten more pounds before … you know.”
“Oh, right,” Ivy whispered. “Before you and Cody elope.”
Ivy studied her friend from across the table. “Your hair is different too. You’ve gone blond, haven’t you?”
The girl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s called Bombshell. You don’t think it’s too blond, right? My mom hates it.”
“I think you’re pretty just the way you are,” Ivy said. “And Cody must think so too, or he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him. Right?”
Phoebe stared down at her plate and her face colored slightly. “Well, the thing is…”
Ivy waited.
The waitress arrived at the table with Ivy’s plate of food. The chicken and dumplings were steaming and sprinkled with bits of parsley, and the green beans were flecked with chunks of bacon.
“Oh Gawwwwd,” Phoebe said, inhaling deeply. “That looks amazing.”
“It’s way more than I can eat,” Ivy said, shoving her plate toward Phoebe. “Don’t you want to share?”
“Noooo,” Phoebe said. “Don’t tempt me.” She sipped her black coffee. “Let’s not talk about food. How are things coming at Four Roses Farm? Have you made any progress finding Carlette?”
“I didn’t find Carlette, but I did find an old photo of her, sitting on Santa’s lap,” Ivy said.
She filled Phoebe in on the cache she’d discovered in Santa Bob’s old trunk.
“I wonder if there’s an old photo of me in there?” Phoebe said. “Mama and Daddy always took me to Atkins to see Santa when I was little.”
“Could be,” Ivy said. “Looking at all those vintage images, I got inspired. And I might have gotten myself a new client.” She took a bite of the chicken and dumplings.
“Mmmm,” she said. “Worth every calorie.”
“Don’t!” Phoebe begged. “Tell me about the new client.”
“Have you ever had any PepperyMints from Langley Sweets?” Ivy asked.
“Sure. My grandmother loves their Cinnamon Twists. And I used to love their peppermint fudge.”
“Right. Anyway, the first time I visited Lawrence Jones, he gave me a piece of their dark chocolate peppermint candies. You know I don’t eat sweets, right? But he insisted I taste one—and I was amazed. They’re really so unique. Not like anything I’ve ever tasted before. I looked up the company on the internet, and their branding was just so pathetic—stale and utterly charmless. I sort of fell down the rabbit hole. The next thing you know, I was designing a new advertising and social media campaign for the company.”
“And?” Phoebe prompted, stabbing listlessly at the edge of a lettuce leaf.
“I just came from the candy shop. I met Nancy Langley Bergstrom and pitched her my idea. She wasn’t too enthusiastic at first, but then, with me using my irresistible charm and salesmanship—plus the offer of doing the work for free—she gave in.”
“Cool!” Phoebe said. “But you’re doing all that work for free?”
“I’ve been in a bit of a creative lull lately,” Ivy admitted. She pushed a bit of dumpling around on her plate, not wanting to own up to the sting of losing her biggest client. “But once I tasted that candy—and I saw all those great old vintage graphics—I was just so inspired, I went into a kind of full-tilt binge. I stayed up working all night. I couldn’t stop myself.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Phoebe said.
“Nancy’s going to build a new display in the shop, using some of the old Santa photos and Christmas cards and letters,” Ivy said. “You’ll have to go by the candy store and check it out.”
“I’ll look, but I don’t dare go inside,” Phoebe said. “Just the smell of that fudge could undo all my hard work. Okay, back to the farmhouse. Did your furniture arrive yet? Have you started fixing it up yet? How are the chickens?”
Ivy sighed. “Well, my furniture got waylaid—it was sent to Florida. So I’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor and making do with the kitchen table and chair the Roses’ son-in-law left behind. I’m already regretting donating the rest of the old furniture to the community thrift store.”
“Oh no.”
“Yep. But at least I had a clean slate to start working on the house. I’ve been painting up a storm—one room a night—and it already looks so much fresher and brighter. And I have to admit, my real estate agent has been a lifesaver. He came over and fixed the front door lock and unclogged a sink and fixed a couple broken panes of glass.”
“Wow! Ezra Wheeler did all that?”
“Do you know him?” Ivy asked.
“I know who he is. All the girls at the courthouse call him the House Hunk. How’d you get lucky enough to hook up with Ezra?”
Ivy felt herself blush. “We’re not ‘hooked up.’ I found the farmhouse online, and he happened to be the listing agent. I’d never laid eyes on him until I pulled up to Four Roses and he was waiting there with the keys.”
“Pretty nice housewarming gift,” Phoebe said, winking.
“It’s strictly a business relationship,” Ivy said. “Nothing more. I moved here for a fresh start. I’m not looking for romance.”
“But it sounds to me like romance came looking for you,” Phoebe insisted. “I’ll bet Ezra Wheeler doesn’t play handyman for all his real estate clients. Anyway, what’s the harm? You’re single; he’s single. And soooo hot.”