Hank knelt to make sure the tree was settled securely in the stand. He gave one of the metal pins another twist. “Christmas is about more than just giving gifts, and trimming a tree.”

“Let me guess.” Ally paced over to the white stone fireplace. She turned so her back was to the mantel and took in what otherwise would be a cheerful tableau. “It’s about family.” Which was something else she no longer had, thanks to the fact that she had been an only child, as had each of her parents. Ally’s only remaining link was to the house and the land, and soon that would be severed, too.

“And friends,” Hank added, grabbing a cranberry-red throw off the couch and settling it around the base of the tree, like a skirt. “And wrapping up one chapter of your life, celebrating the bounty of it, before moving on to the next.”

Unfortunately, Ally thought, she did not have much of anything positive to reflect on…especially this year.

“Although…” He paused, clearly thinking back to the events of last summer that had landed him here, in her absence. He straightened, then closed the distance between them, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his palm penetrated her clothes, to reach her skin. “…I imagine it’s pretty rough for you now, since this is the first holiday since your dad passed.”

Ally didn’t want to think about that, either. She stiffened her spine and deliberately lifted her chin. “No need for pity.”

He studied her with a gentleness that threatened to undo her. “How about a little empathy then?” he insisted softly.

She shook off his compassion, and his light, consoling grip. Taking a deep breath, she gestured carelessly toward the eight-foot-tall symbol of Christmas. “So…back to the tree. If you’re doing this for me-” she pressed her lips together, aware all it was going to do was remind her of what she’d never had, and likely never would “-don’t.”