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Jill stretched her back and let out an audible groan, tempted to take a break and run around the block in the crisp midnight air to keep herself awake—the coffee wasn’t doing its job anymore. She had pulled numerous all-nighters over the years, trying to meet her publisher’s stringent editing deadlines, so the sluggish fatigue was completely familiar to her. However, the specific level of intensity and pressure she felt was not. The time crunch toward her deadline felt more personal. She had to get the piece right—too much depended on it. It wasn’t about fictional characters she’d created or scenarios she’d made up in her head. It was real life. And it was Rick.
After that afternoon’s interview, Rick had offered to do a quick drive-by at Juan’s, his treat, so Jill accepted then took her tacos up to the apartment to get to work while Rick disappeared to return some calls. Lucille had told Jill she could stay in the kitchen and work at the table, but Jill knew that the possible distractions—loud dogs, unexpected phone calls, Lucille watching a movie—would multiply if she stayed inside the house.
Scanning the current draft of her piece, Jill realized she’d made more progress than expected. After listening to her recording multiple times, pausing at certain points to jot down exact quotes, Jill had created a basic blueprint of how the piece would progress, including which quotes she would use and where. As it all came together, she discovered it was actually much easier than penning her other articles. Rick was the obvious focus, so she wasn’t forced to find a certain angle or explore a particular aspect of her subject. Using Rick’s words and his perspective was powerful enough on its own. She wanted him to do the talking. She wasn’t so much the writer as the conduit for what he wanted to say.
Jill hovered her fingers over the keyboard and reread her last paragraph. As she began to type, her phone buzzed with a text from Rick: Need a break? Gran made apple cider. And I have a decision to share.
Curious, Jill saved her work then slipped on her shoes and wrapped her coat around the flannel pajamas she wore. She’d already removed her makeup, but she knew Rick and Lucille wouldn’t care about her bare face. She felt comfortable enough with both of them, by that point, to walk into the kitchen with confidence no matter what state she was in.
As promised, Lucille had apple cider waiting in the kitchen, both in a steaming pot on the stove and in individual mugs, and asked how the piece was coming along.
“Very well,” Jill told her, uncertain if Rick’s decision was about to change that. She wondered whether he regretted certain comments he made during the interview. Will he want to soften parts I’ve already typed? Or has he changed his mind about it altogether? There was no use speculating until she heard him out.
Lucille secured her robe tightly around her waist then walked with Jill into the living room, where Rick waited on the sofa, also in comfortable attire, sweatpants and a white T-shirt, but his face was all business.
“Did I wake you with my text?” he wondered.
“No, I’m pulling an all-nighter. Seems we all are,” Jill observed, feeling oddly comforted by that notion. She wasn’t the only one awake so late. “You’ve got my curiosity piqued.”
Lucille had already sat in the chair nearest the corgis, so Jill joined Rick on the sofa, careful not to slosh her cider as she sat. She shifted her legs underneath her then reached up to touch the amethyst—a new habit she’d formed was checking to make sure it was safe and sound around her neck. The night of the surprise party, Jill had toyed with keeping the precious antique jewel tucked away inside the apartment, but it was meant to be worn, and in the past three days, it had become a natural part of Jill’s wardrobe. Jolene was right—the piece, a slice of Morgan’s Grove’s history, belonged with her.
“I’m in the dark too,” Lucille said. “Rick wouldn’t give me a clue until we were all here together. I don’t know if my heart can take any more dramatic announcements. I hope it’s something good?”
“It is,” Rick assured her. “I decided it tonight, and I wanted y’all to be the first to know. I’m handing over the reins of Quantum to James, the VP. I just got off the phone with him.”
His announcement was met at first with silence, except for the crackling fire.
Finally, Lucille spoke up. “Do you mean quit the company? Oh, honey. Isn’t that a bit drastic?”
Jill watched Rick’s face, looking for any sign of hesitation or second guesses. But she only saw confidence.
Rick shook his head. “Not as drastic as it sounds. I won’t sell off my shares and won’t step down officially yet. I’ll become a sort of silent partner, behind the scenes for a while. James has agreed to handle the day-to-day elements, but he’ll keep me in the loop until I step away for good someday. I need to do this gradually so I won’t scare the shareholders. They need to see a united front right now. But by the end of next year, I plan to walk away entirely. I’ll announce it then.”
“What brought you to this point?” Jill asked. “I mean, was it all because of Mark?”
“His arrest was the catalyst. And then talking to you this afternoon, hearing myself say it out loud, talking about the company. I think I’ve wanted to walk away for a long time but didn’t have reason enough. Or courage enough, maybe. I haven’t been happy at Quantum for a long time. I’m a computer guy, not a CEO. I never liked the business side of things, but gradually, that’s all it became for me. I’m still proud of what I built. But I’ve lost that creative spark somewhere, and I want it back.”
“What will you do now?” Lucille asked. “With your time, with your days? You love to work, to stay occupied.”
Rick shrugged. “I could eventually start another business in Austin or even create a nonprofit. The pressure of running a company this size... I didn’t realize how it was eating away at me. I never really got time off from it. Even if I wasn’t doing actual work, I was worrying about the company’s welfare, day and night. Never a real break. And I don’t want to live that way anymore. Being in Morgan’s Grove has influenced me more than anything. A simpler life, a slower pace. It’s reminded me of who I used to be. Who I want to be.”
“Does this mean,” Lucille asked with a timid voice, “that you’re moving back home?”
“I can’t commit to that yet, but probably. Maybe. There’s still a lot to sort out in California with the beach house, the company, and all the technicalities and paperwork. My whole life is out there. Or was. I’m not sure anymore. It’s time to reevaluate things.”
“One step at a time is the smartest way to tackle a new path.” Lucille nodded firmly. “I’m proud of you for thinking it through, making the hard decisions. And I can’t say I’m disappointed that Morgan’s Grove is a possibility. I’ve missed you.” She stretched her hand out between the sofas, and Rick grasped it. After a beat, Lucille let go. “I need to warm up my cider. Anyone else?”
Rick and Jill both gave a polite “no.”
Lucille left the room, and Rick looked toward Jill, half his face glowing in the light of the fire. “How’s your piece coming?”
“Our piece,” she corrected. “It’s good. Truth be told, I thought you were about to throw me a curveball tonight, like maybe you changed your mind about my writing it.”
“Nope. Won’t happen. It’s still the right thing to do. I haven’t wavered.”
Lucille reentered the room with her mug and some strips of paper, which she waved as she sat down on the sofa. “Guess what these are!”
When Lucille held them steady, Jill made a guess. “Tickets to something?”
“Precisely. I bought them this afternoon. Three tickets for Thursday’s concert.” She turned to Jill. “You’ll still be here? In Morgan’s Grove?”
“I’ll be here,” she confirmed.
“Do you know what barbershop music is?” Lucille prodded.
Jill pictured the only cliché she knew, a group of four men, each wearing greased, sculpted moustaches and red-and-white striped suits, singing an old-fashioned tune. “Sort of.”
“Well, our local quartet, Then and Now, is performing. People come from all over to hear them. They’ve won awards at our local and state contests.”
“Impressive,” Jill said then finished off her cider.
Rick chimed in. “They’ve been together”—he shifted toward his grandmother for confirmation—“thirtysomething years?”
“Thirty-five.” Lucille handed the individual tickets to Jill and Rick as she spoke in wistful tones. “Frank loved to hear them sing. In fact, he’s the one who took credit for forming them in the first place.”
“I never knew that,” Rick said.
“It’s true. He heard Stan humming one day and thought of two other men interested in creating a musical group. Frank suggested Stan to them, they added another fella, and voila! Instant quartet.”
“Like The Music Man,” Jill added. “You know, the part where he asks the guys to sing, then they harmonize, then they do nothing but walk around and sing together the rest of the movie.”
“Right!” said Lucille. “Well, when they first got together, Frank came up with the name and even helped manage them for a few years, finding them bookings and such. I think he was living vicariously through them. He always wanted to be musical, but bless him, he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” She chuckled. “So what do you say about the concert?”
“I’m in,” Jill said.
“Me too,” Rick agreed.
Lucille clutched her ticket and said softly, “I was telling Jill the other day how I hadn’t expected this holiday to feel very Christmassy. I knew it would be sad and lonely. In fact, I almost wanted to bow out of the whole experience.” She raised her eyes to Jill and Rick. “But spending it with the two of you this way... It’s been an unexpected blessing, hasn’t it?”
Tears stung the back of Jill’s eyes, surprising her. She remembered her own Thanksgiving a few weeks before, spent with Lindsey’s boisterous family. She’d felt out of place and isolated even in a room full of people. And Jill had been dreading Christmas even more, anticipating spending it alone.
But as she sat in the presence of such kind, newly familiar people, Jill felt the very same way as Lucille, unexpectedly blessed.
* * *
AFTER THREE DAYS AND nights spent writing multiple drafts of Rick’s profile piece, making minor changes, rearranging a couple of sections, then editing and polishing it, Jill had finished. She’d sent the final copy to Lucille and Rick that morning and would await their input and prepare for their critiques.
Perfect! Lucille’s text read. And Rick’s was Great. All of it. Wouldn’t change a word.
With that, Jill had reread the piece one final time, attached the candid photo of Rick she’d taken on the porch, then sent it off to Miranda. Instead of a text, Jill received a call minutes later.
“It’s fantastic. It flows well, has just enough direct quotes. And you’ve managed to put some heart into it too. Take this the right way: this piece seems personal.”
“It is,” Jill admitted.
“Well, it shows. And that’s what will draw the readers in, knowing the writer cares about her subject. Listen, I’ll get this edited pronto,” Miranda said. “We might be able to post it online tonight. And Patrick has read and approved, right? No surprises there?”
“None. He’s on board.”
“Excellent. Hey, about the genealogy article... Why don’t we put that on the back burner for now, no deadline? If you want to finish it someday, send it to me. But you’ve worked hard enough on this profile piece. It’s all I need from you.”
“Are you sure?” Truth be told, with all the Rick drama over the past several days, Jill had practically forgotten about the other article.
“Positive. I’ll still publish it anytime you’re ready, but there’s no rush now. Not with this new Patrick piece. So, take a breather. Enjoy your holiday.”
“That sounds like a nice idea,” Jill admitted.
She thought Miranda was about to hang up, but instead, her friend added, “It’s really fallen into place for you.”
“What has?”
“Everything. I mean, who knew that your trip to Texas would produce all this? Finding out about your heritage, then meeting Patrick Wright, and now the profile piece. It all feels meant to be.”
Jill had the same sensation earlier. “I know. It’s weird. When I look back, it all feels like puzzle pieces clicking into place.”
“Exactly. See? You’re a wonderful writer. Even when you’re not writing.”
Jill giggled. “That makes no sense. I think you need some coffee.”
“Now, that’s an understatement. It’s been a whirlwind few days. Take care, my friend. A million thanks. And a Merry Christmas.”
“You too.”
* * *
AFTER THE PAST WEEK, Jill was ready for a break and glad to have the luxury of time while getting ready for the barbershop concert. After she’d hung up with Miranda that morning, Jill had spent a leisurely afternoon shopping with Lucille around the square, where Jill had bought a lovely handmade shawl for her mother, some kitchen towels and baking gadgets for Lucille, candy-cane-shaped toys for the corgis, a “Teachers Are Special” pen set for Lindsey, and a new laptop case for Rick.
As dusk fell, Jill returned to her apartment and tried on a couple of outfits, experimenting with her curly hair then cracking open a new eye shadow. She was primped and ready twenty minutes before she’d agreed to meet Rick and Lucille to leave the house.
Jill had chosen a dark suede skirt and a burgundy sweater to wear. She’d pulled back some of her curls and fastened them into a barrette at the top of her head, not to hide the curls, but to emphasize them in a new way. She’d darkened her makeup with a bit more color than usual on her lids, her lips, and her cheeks. Finally, she’d sprayed on a hint of fragrance, selected her coat, and grabbed her purse.
When Jill clicked open the kitchen door, she saw Rick standing at the island, tapping on his phone. He wore jeans and a chocolate-colored blazer with a dark-green shirt underneath. He swiveled to see her then looked her up and down.
“You look nice.”
Jill shut the door and walked toward him.
“You too.” She touched the edge of his blazer as he set down his phone to give her his full attention.
“Oh, good. You’re both here.” Lucille, out of breath, rounded the corner from the living room, clutching a manila envelope.
“Are we late?” Jill asked. “I thought we still had a few minutes.”
“We do.” Lucille had gone all-out Christmas, wearing a red sweater decorated with a wintery snowman scene. She stopped short and glanced at Jill and Rick standing at the island. “Aren’t you both gorgeous?! It’s like you’ve stepped right out of a fashion magazine together.”
“I think I’m overdressed.” Jill tugged at her sweater.
“You’re perfect,” assured Lucille.
“What’s that?” Rick pointed toward the envelope.
“Oh!” Lucille’s eyes brightened as she turned the envelope over in her hand then set it on the island delicately, as though it were some ancient artifact she’d been searching for and had finally found. “I was rummaging around at the back of my closet for this sweater and noticed it had slid right off the hanger and onto the floor.”
Jill wondered what the sweater’s connection was with the envelope but remained patient.
“When I stooped down to get the sweater, there it was, this envelope, tucked away into the farthest back corner of the closet. I had to get on my hands and knees to reach it. I knew it wasn’t mine—nothing I recognized, at least. And when I looked closer, I realized it belonged to Frank.”
She swallowed then pushed the envelope closer to Rick. “You need to see what’s inside. I had no idea your grandfather had been collecting these.”
Rick, clearly puzzled, did as his grandmother instructed and slipped his hand inside the envelope. He removed a thick stack of papers, some glossy, some newsprint, and sorted through them one at a time. Jill stood at Rick’s side and peered at them, too. They were all clippings of interviews, photos, and articles about Quantum, dating back years, from the very beginning of the company’s creation.
“Don’t you see?” Lucille prompted. “Your grandfather was following your successes. I had no idea he was keeping these tidbits about your company for all those years.”
Rick paused, holding up the most recent article, from the year before. He looked sideways at his grandmother. “I wonder why he didn’t tell me. Or even why he didn’t tell you.”
Lucille clucked. “Oh, Rick. People are complicated. Your grandfather was an incredible man, but he wasn’t perfect. It took a lot of effort for him to offer compliments, to show support. You know that. He was a proud man. It didn’t come naturally to him, expressing his feelings. But look!” She touched the corner of the article Rick held. “He did care about your company. Otherwise, he would never have gone to the trouble to find all these, clip them out, and save them. It’s undeniable proof, right here.”
“Fair point,” Rick acknowledged. “He was hard on me all those years, but I guess I’ve been hard on him too.” His voice had lowered to a near whisper as he shifted toward Lucille. “I’m just like him, aren’t I? I hide my feelings, guard myself too much, take people for granted...”
Lucille clutched his elbow. “You resemble him in some ways, yes, but that was learned behavior. You learned it by watching him all those years. Rick, you have a heart the size of, well, Texas, and a sensitivity that Frank chose not to show. He showed it to me but nobody else. Maybe it came from years of being a police officer and not being allowed to show emotion on the job. You guard yourself, too, but not so much that you cut people out of your life. And you show me every day that you love me, in a million different ways.”
Rick dipped his head and nodded, acknowledging he’d heard her. He slid the clippings back inside their paper shell and secured it with the brad. “Can I keep these?”
“They’re yours.” She patted his arm. “Now, let’s go to a Christmas concert, shall we?”
* * *
AS LUCILLE HAD PREDICTED, the entire town seemed to turn up for the quartet’s show. Even though they arrived early, Rick had trouble finding a parking spot at the high-school theater located a half mile behind the square.
Inside, Lucille was able to find three empty seats together and led Jill and Rick into the aisle. When Rick sat beside her, Jill noticed that he had trouble getting his long legs to fit comfortably in the snug space, his knees tapping up against the seat in front of him. Jill shrugged out of her coat as Rick helped pull on the sleeves.
As they settled in, Jill observed the buzz of activity: people gathering for the show, finding seats, and tapping on phones. The stage was flanked by two gigantic Christmas trees.
As Lucille’s church and bridge friends noticed her, they waved and started gushing about her gingerbread.
“I can’t get enough!”
“My grandkids ate up every single one!”
“When does the new bakery open?”
“This is good for her,” Rick whispered into Jill’s ear from her other side, his breath sweet and minty. “I haven’t seen Gran this happy in a long while.”
The house lights flickered in the auditorium, urging people to find a seat. The show was about to begin. The curtain lifted, displaying even more decorations onstage, nutcrackers and dressed-up snowmen. Jill noticed the thunderous applause when the quartet emerged, and it was apparent before they even opened their mouths to sing that the group of men was beloved by the town. One of the gentlemen stepped forward, introduced himself in a low, resonant timbre as the bass, then introduced the rest of the men. Then they sang song after song of classic Christmas tunes, both secular and religious.
Perhaps because there were no other instruments involved, or perhaps because the vocal arrangements and harmonies were so unique, Jill enjoyed the festive music more than she could have imagined. The atmosphere suddenly felt old-fashioned, and she was transported to another time, a gentler time, where men were gentlemen and ladies were admired and cherished. As the quartet sang, she painted a picture in her mind of ballrooms in the forties, packed with couples dancing at a glitzy party, gliding to the sounds of big bands. The men wore slicked hair and tailored suits while the women donned red lipstick, heels, and polished updo hairstyles.
As they sang, the quartet blended perfectly with every note, using soft dynamics then getting louder to build emotion, ending each song with power chords. This is anything but Podunk, Jill thought.
Rick’s sleeve brushed against Jill’s wrist, which was perched on the armrest, and her attention shifted completely. She became distracted from the stage, distracted from the cheery music and from the dreamy forties ballroom. She was transported back to her seat, strongly aware of Rick beside her.
The quartet launched into a beautiful, moving rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” first explaining to the audience that the lyrics were purposely somber because the tune had been written in 1944, at the height of World War II. Jill experienced the song in a whole new way, listening closely to the lyrics, picturing families torn apart, spending Christmas without each other, praying to be reunited the next year.
As she hummed along, Jill felt something graze her hand. She thought it was a mistake, maybe Rick shifting in his chair again, accidentally touching her fingers. But his hand was near hers on purpose. It stayed there, hovering for a reason, like an open question. And when Jill slowly flipped her hand to meet his, Rick had his answer. His fingers inched steadily closer until they interlocked with hers.
And there in the darkness of the theater, as the lyrics of a bittersweet song floated through the auditorium, Jill wasn’t aware of anything but Rick’s hand, tender and comforting. She smiled in the darkness, feeling thirteen again, a giddiness rising inside. She couldn’t even recall the last time someone had held her hand in a theater. It had been much too long.
When the song ended, the audience gave a hearty standing ovation. Rick released his grasp, and they joined in the applause. And with that, the concert was over.
Turning to gather her coat, Jill noticed Lucille’s expression—she was smiling through tears. She probably missed Frank, especially hearing that final song’s melancholy lyrics about not being able to spend Christmas with the ones we love. Jill offered her a knowing glance, wishing she could do more.
Back at the house, the corgis greeted them with jovial barks. After letting them outside, Lucille asked Rick about his plans for the rest of the evening.
He was already preoccupied with his phone. “I’ve got some important emailing to do.”
“Anything worrisome?” Lucille wondered. “Any new word about Mark?”
Lucille and Jill had tried to steer clear of that topic and let Rick have some space, but Jill was still glad she’d asked. She was curious too.
“Naw, these emails are regular business, mostly with James, trying to figure out the details of my new role.” He leaned forward to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. “Thanks for the concert.”
After a pause, Rick took a couple of steps toward Jill and bent down to kiss her cheek too. “See you tomorrow?” he whispered.
“Tomorrow.”
Lucille watched her grandson leave the room, her eyebrows raised high. “What’s tomorrow?”
“It’s that rain check he’s been promising for the dinner in Austin.”
“Oh, the date!” Lucille’s whisper contained the same hopeful lilt in her tone that Lindsey’s had.
Jill suppressed her grin, gave a slight eyeroll, then whispered, “I don’t want to define it. I like being with him. Can’t we just call it two people having dinner who like each other’s company?”
“Well, it’s a mouthful compared to ‘date,’ but I’ll call it whatever you want.” Lucille gave a wink then reached for the coffee pot.