In Love By Christmas. Cari Lynn Webb

then quit. So many starts and stops in her life—it was something of a theme. She had to finish tonight for Adriana to have something to try on by Sunday. Mia was depending on Josie. “Nothing feels right for someone like Adriana Taylor.”

      “Then don’t think of her as Adriana Taylor,” Mia said. “Think of her as your ideal winter bride. The one radiating a love that lights her from within. And wrapped around her in the tulle and lace are the magic and joy of the season.”

      Winter was a tricky time for Josie. December had been the month Mimi had learned about her diagnosis. It had also been the same month Mimi had taken Josie to get her first public library card—a card she still carried in her wallet. It was a reminder that even seemingly small moments were precious. One year, she’d moved from her second foster home to her third the week before Christmas. Yet Josie could still tap into the delight that had seized her Christmas morning when she’d opened colored pens and reams of paper from her foster parents. They’d urged her to continue drawing, no matter what happened. That was a gift. Even more special was they’d noticed more about Josie than her reserved, withdrawn nature.

      “It’s dinnertime. One thing I know—nothing ever gets accomplished on an empty stomach.” Mia jumped up and zipped up her coat. “I know the perfect place and you should come with me.”

      “Where?” Josie touched her stomach. She hadn’t eaten much at lunch.

      “My mother-in-law’s house.” Mia held up her hands and rushed on, blocking out Josie’s argument. “It’s only the moms. A small group. Well, not even a group, more like a collection.”

      Josie squinted at Mia. “A collection?”

      Mia grinned. “It’s been said that if you own three pieces of art by the same artist, then you have a collection. My mom, my mother-in-law and I are all family now. So, we’re like a collection.”

      Family. How easy the word rolled off Mia’s tongue. How safe the word sounded coming from her friend. Josie knew so little about being part of a family. Knew only that she’d always wished for her own. But she realized wishes weren’t always meant to come true. Now Mia wanted Josie to spend time with her family. But Josie couldn’t even accept Adriana’s trivia-night invitation without overthinking the evening. “I should—”

      “Come with me,” Mia said, cutting her off. “Eat because Helen and my mother don’t know how to cook for less than a dozen people and food that good should never be wasted.”

      Josie twisted a piece of thread around her fingers. She had designs to create. A deadline to meet in four days. And not a minute to lose not sewing. Her stomach growled.

      “My mother is making homemade spring rolls and egg rolls.” Mia pointed at Josie. “Don’t deny those are your favorite. You order takeout from Ginger Sun at least once a week.”

      “That’s not fair.” Josie had already considered placing a to-go order from the Chinese restaurant on her walk home.

      “Helen made homemade white-chocolate raspberry cheesecake.” Mia picked up her camera bag and laughed. She knew full well that cheesecake was one of Josie’s other favorites. “I bet they’ll give you all the leftovers you can carry.”

      Josie could very well disappoint Mia in the next few days. She’d most likely disappoint Theo, too, and confirm that the critical look on his attractive face at lunch had been warranted. But tonight, she could take a small step to being unfettered by debt and expectation and join her friend. “I’ll get my coat. But I can’t stay long.”

      “You can eat and leave. The moms are happy just to share their food.” Mia grabbed Josie’s design book and headed toward the door. “Always good to have it within reach. The muse doesn’t always play fair.”

      The muse disappeared a while ago. As for her insistent worry, she refused to let it affect her right now. She also refused to overstay her welcome with Mia’s family. She glanced at her watch and calculated the appropriate length of her stay. One hour and twenty-five minutes. Long enough not to appear rude. Short enough not to forget she didn’t belong.