Christmas at Rose Hill Farm by Suzanne Woods Fisher

bridge of her nose. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re at Rose Hill Farm. You must know all Bertha’s roses inside and outside and upside and downside and any other side.” She peered at him. “Don’t you?”
    Jonah handed Maggie a platter of hash browns. “Bess came across one that had somehow escaped everyone’s notice. We weren’t sure about its identity. Right, Bess?”
    Billy noticed that Bess kept her eyes down. He still had a feeling she knew something about this mystery rose that she wasn’t telling him. What? And why?
    Maggie chewed a piece of bacon thoughtfully. “Billy, how does a person go about finding a rose’s identity?”
    â€œI compare its characteristics on a database. If I still can’t figure it out, I’ll call a few Rose Societies and see if they have seen it before.”
    â€œEver been stumped?”
    â€œNot yet.” He glanced at Jonah. “Maybe this will be the one to flummox me.” But if it did, that would mean it was a very, very unique rose. He turned back to Maggie. “I have to wait until this rosebud opens to confirm its identity.”
    Maggie lowered her spoon and looked up. “When do you think it’ll open up?”
    â€œMaybe in a week or two. Hopefully before Christmas.” Oh, how he hoped. He couldn’t handle being near Stoney Ridge for Christmas. Near, but so far away.
    Maggie clapped her hands. “Oh good! Then you’ll be here for Bess’s wedding.”
    Billy felt frozen in place, but his gaze was drawn to Bess, whose cheeks had started to flame. Her napkin slipped to the floor and she nearly overturned her juice glass when she bent down to pick up her napkin.
    It took him a beat to recover and reply sensibly, “Ah, no. I’mnot staying.” He said it without moving a muscle. He saw Bess cast a furtive glance around the table. Lainey was wiping Lizzie’s face, Jonah was stirring sugar into his coffee. Bess jumped up to rescue toast burning to a crisp in the oven.
    He turned to Maggie. “And who is Bess going to marry?”
    â€œAmos Lapp.” She tapped her chin. “Let’s see. Amos is your cousin on your father’s side. I’m your cousin on your mother’s side. So I’m not related to Amos, but we’re both related to you. Sometimes it seems that everyone in Stoney Ridge is related one way or another, a twig on a tree. Bess, doesn’t it sound like one of those math puzzles in school? If a train is traveling at a certain speed, when does it arrive at the station? Why are manholes round? What did we call those, Bess?”
    Bess kept her eyes on the burnt toast she was scraping in the kitchen sink. “The teacher called them brainteasers. We called them conundrums.”
    â€œYes! That’s the word I was looking for! Conundrums. Because they made no sense.”
    An awkward silence filled the air. Bess sat back down at the table with the scraped toast and put heaping spoonfuls of boysenberry jam on top, carefully spreading it to the edges.
    â€œWhen?” Billy asked, a little louder than he intended. So that’s what Maggie meant when she said Bess was safe—she couldn’t be the new schoolteacher because she would be married. “When will the wedding be?”
    â€œIn a few days,” Bess said at last, the words coming out on a soft gust of breath. Her gaze held his for a moment, then flickered aside.
    My best friend. She’s marrying my best friend. Overwhelmed, Billy did the only thing he knew how to do: clamp his jaw shut and reset his features, cutting off all traces of emotion. He took a bite of baked oatmeal and chewed it, trying to look calm and thoughtful and nonchalant. The oatmeal had lost its taste.He swallowed past a large lump stuck in his throat. “I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.” There were a thousand more churning thoughts seething for release, but