Ten minutes later, the boys were safely tucked in, and Missy reappeared with a new bottle of wine and a fresh can of Sprite. Reaching for the remote, she sank back onto the couch with a sigh. “And now . . .” she said, flipping to the Hallmark Channel. “It’s girl time. We’ll do a nice sappy movie, then switch over to Anderson around eleven for the festivities.”

Christy-Lynn watched as Missy took a sip from her wineglass then rested it carefully on her knee. Her movements were slightly exaggerated, her speech slower than usual and more than a little slushy. They were signs she recognized only too well.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked Missy tentatively. “And feel free to tell me it’s none of my business.”

Missy grinned, waving her glass expansively. “Ask away.”

“I can’t help noticing that every time we get together, you seem . . .” She paused and took a breath before plunging ahead. “I was wondering why you drink so much.”

Missy’s chin lifted a notch. “Why don’t you drink at all?”

Christy-Lynn recognized the reply for what it was—deflection—but decided to answer anyway. “It’s a family thing. My mother.”

“She drank?”

“You could say that. She came by it honest, though. Apparently her mother died of cirrhosis when she was twelve. Given my gene pool, not tempting fate seems wiser than just hoping it skips a generation.”

Missy’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

Christy-Lynn shrugged. “It’s no biggie.”

“But you still look for the signs.”

“Not purposely, but when I see them, I do wonder. And maybe worry a little. You didn’t answer the question, by the way.”

Missy stared into her glass, swirling the contents idly. “When you said you wanted to ask me a question, I wasn’t expecting that one.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I’ve just noticed that you seem to—”

“Self-medicate?” Missy supplied without blinking. “Yeah, maybe I do. But I am careful. Never more than two if I’m driving.”

“And when you’re not driving?”

Missy’s gaze slid away. “Then I don’t really have to count, do I?” She raised her glass to her lips, then seemed to change her mind, setting it aside instead. “It’s hard, you know—doing what I do. Two little boys and an inn to run. I’m not complaining. It’s the life I chose. And I love it most of the time. But it’s nice to step away and just . . . numb out once in a while. To pretend I don’t have to hold up the entire world by myself.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Sometimes. I mean, all I do is take care of other people. And you just know there are people out there, women mostly, who think I’m doing it all wrong, who think it’s selfish of me to try to run a business and raise two boys on my own. They have no idea what I do to make it work—or what I’ve given up. Hell, I don’t even date. Because I swore the day I kicked their father out of this house that my kids would always come first. And they do. I might not be president of the PTA, and the cupcakes I send for class parties might come from Harris Teeter, but my kids are healthy and smart and happy. And just maybe, when they grow up, they’ll know how to handle a woman with goals of her own. At least I hope they will.”

Christy-Lynn’s admiration for Missy ticked up another notch. “I don’t know how you do it. I know I couldn’t. You have an amazing family and a business you’re proud of. So I say screw anyone who says you aren’t doing it right. All you have to do is take one look at those boys to know you’re doing it great.”

Missy’s expression brightened. “That’s sweet of you to say. And you could do it. Something happens when you have kids. It’s like some switch gets flipped somewhere, and all of a sudden you have these superpowers.”

“I don’t know about that,” Christy-Lynn said, feigning interest in the Star Wars–themed Christmas tree withering in the corner.

“So,” Missy said when the silence grew heavy. “Can I ask you a question?”

Christy-Lynn dragged her attention from the tree. “I guess it’s your turn.”

“Why didn’t you ever have any? Kids, I mean. I didn’t want to pry before . . .”

“But now you do?”

Missy grinned sheepishly. “A little bit, yeah. So what’s the deal? You tried and couldn’t. You just never got around to it? Your husband didn’t want them?”

“I didn’t want them.”

Missy blinked back at her, clearly surprised. “Oh.”

“Weren’t expecting that, were you? Which is why I don’t talk about it. You worry about people thinking you’re doing it wrong. How about people thinking you’re defective because you’re not doing it at all?”

“Do they?”

“Not out loud, but you see it when you tell them you don’t have kids. They assume it’s because you can’t, because what normal woman doesn’t want children?”

“You don’t.”

Christy-Lynn nodded but said nothing.

“I feel like I should say I’m sorry again, but I’m not sure why. For bringing it up at all, I guess.”