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The thought of eggs actually made her stomach turn again, but she pushed the feeling down. It was Christmastime. She didn’t have time to be sick. She just needed to power through this, whatever it was, and she’d be fine.

Before Katie could respond, there was a knock on the front door. “Come in!” Imogen called out as she took a carton of eggs out, figuring that anyone knocking at just after seven in the morning must be someone close to them.

Sure enough, Vanessa walked in a moment later, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, holding Philip. “I hope it’s okay that we dropped by,” Vanessa said, shrugging off her coat one arm at a time as she juggled Philip. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you with how busy things have been, and⁠—”

“Of course,” Imogen said, setting the eggs down as her stomach gave another uncomfortable lurch. “Come in, come in. I’m making some breakfast.”

Vanessa slid her boots off, and Katie immediately jumped up, her face lighting up at the sight of the baby. “Philip!” she exclaimed, moving forward with her arms outstretched. “Can I hold him? Please?”

“Of course,” Vanessa said with a smile, handing the baby over to Katie. Philip cooed happily as Katie bounced him up and down, a bright smile on her own face.

“Can I take him into the other room?” Katie asked, already moving toward the living room. “I have that gingerbread house kit Aunt Mabel gave me. We could work on that. I mean, he can’t actually help, but he can watch and I can show him how it’s done.”

“Katie, Vanessa surely has things she needs to get to sooner than the amount of time that it takes to make a gingerbread house,” Imogen said with a laugh. “She’s just stopping by for a minute. Plus I need to open the chocolate shop soon. I can’t⁠—”

But Vanessa was studying Imogen’s face now, and her expression had shifted from cheerful to concerned. She set her bag down on the floor and walked into the kitchen, her eyes narrowing. “Imogen, you look terrible. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Imogen protested, but even as she said it, she swayed slightly, her hand reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for support.

Vanessa frowned. “Katie, you have plenty of time for that gingerbread house. Take Philip into the living room and turn on some cartoons for him. Your mom and I need to talk.”

Katie, sensing that something was wrong, nodded quickly and disappeared with Philip into the other room. Imogen heard the television click on a moment later, followed by the bright, cheerful sounds of a children’s show.

“Vanessa, really, I’m okay,” Imogen tried again, but Vanessa was having none of it.

“You are not okay,” Vanessa said firmly, taking Imogen’s arm and guiding her toward the kitchen table. “Sit down. Right now.”

“But the shop⁠—”

“The shop can wait. Sit.”

Imogen sat, too tired and queasy to argue further. She watched as Vanessa moved around her kitchen with surprising efficiency, filling the kettle for tea and setting it on the stove, then opening cabinets until she found what she was looking for.

“Ginger tea,” Vanessa announced, pulling out a box of tea bags. “My mother swore by it whenever I wasn’t feeling well. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

“How did you know my stomach was upset?” Imogen asked weakly.

Vanessa gave her a look. “Imogen, you’re green. Actually green. And you’re looking at those eggs like they personally offended you. It’s not exactly subtle.”

The kettle began to whistle, and Vanessa poured hot water over a ginger tea bag in one of Imogen’s favorite mugs—the one with snowflakes painted on the side and the Snowdrift Diner logo on it. She set it in front of Imogen and then took a seat across from her at the table.

“Now,” Vanessa said, her voice taking on a motherly tone. “Tell me what’s going on. How long have you been feeling sick?”

“I’m not sick,” Imogen protested, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. “It’s nothing. Probably just something I ate. And you’re getting too good at this ‘mom’ thing,” she added, trying to weakly make a joke.

“Imogen.”

The concern in Vanessa’s voice broke through Imogen’s resistance. She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “A few days,” she admitted. “I’ve been tired, and my stomach has been off. And this morning I woke up feeling really nauseous. But it’s probably just a stomach bug. There’s something going around, isn’t there? I’m sure I picked it up at the shop. You know how many people come through there every day.”

Vanessa was quiet for a moment, studying Imogen’s face with an expression that Imogen couldn’t quite read. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“For a stomach bug? That seems excessive.”

“Imogen, you look like you’re about to pass out. That’s not just a stomach bug.” Vanessa leaned forward, her voice softening. “You should go get checked out. Maybe they can give you something.”

“I can’t,” Imogen said automatically. “I have to open the shop. It’s the busy season. People are expecting⁠—”

“I’ll run the shop,” Vanessa interrupted. “Mabel will be at The Toy Chest today and I know she can handle it on her own for a day while I keep things running at Artisan Chocolates.”