Josh had been dreaming about pie for three weeks: apple crumb, blueberry, pumpkin, even rhubarb, which he didn’t particularly like. He knew why — Ashley.

She was determined to make a delicious Christmas Eve dinner for herself, with all her favorites: turkey, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, pie, and of course stuffing and cranberry sauce. And to top off her evening, a cheesy holiday movie — one that Dan never would have watched.

Two years had passed since their wedding day. Meghan still smiled when she thought of the Round Barn milking parlor, the dress she loved, and the earnest poetry of Tony’s handwritten vows. But marriage was harder than a wedding….

Tony’s proposal a year ago surprised her, but he’d clearly been planning it for weeks.

Erin loved her sister, she did. Her sister looked gorgeous and glowing, just like a bride should. 

Grace pulled her white robe off its hangar and swore to herself. She’d forgotten to iron it, and now there was no time. Just another bump in this bumpy day. 

But Sara was on a mission to try new things. Hiking, getting dirty, being out in nature—these were all a far cry from the cosseted life she ran away from. And, today, that meant tackling this mountain on her own.

Sugaring, what was that? Ben opened his mouth to ask, but decided he wasn’t going to appear like an ignorant city kid. As they rode the escalator down to the bags, he pulled out his phone and googled maple sugaring in Vermont. He pulled up a YouTube as they walked to baggage claim. In five minutes, he knew everything he needed to know. Nothing to it.

I noticed him because of his outfit: green knickers with striped socks and black short boots, a matching green jacket over a white shirt. Sure, he had a beard like half of the men at my favorite bar in the Mad River Valley, but his whiskers connected via long sideburns, forming a U-shaped display of facial hair. It was a statement look, for sure. But, despite his colorful attire, I could tell something was wrong as he slumped over a pint of dark beer, elbows on the bar.

His car bounced on its springs, rattling the skis in the back as he pulled into the dirt parking lot at Mad River Glen. 

“You will love this place,” he said. “Runs to die for.”

“Jim, this place looks kind of hardcore,” I said, newly worried about my first-timer skiing status as we walked through the narrow walkway between the rental shop and the general store.

There it was, in my Instagram feed on Sunday morning, tempting me. An ad for on-line dating. How did the algorithm target me, a happily married woman with three adult kids?

Ten minutes later, I had googled dating sites, laughed my way through the kitschy names: OurTime, SilverLoveCupid, Eharmony Senior. I gasped at that one. Am I a senior? At 62? And my colored hair wasn’t silver either.