Right now, the photo wasn’t as important as what she’d just figured out about Jonas. “You’re never going to make decisions for me, are you?”
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Would you want me to?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I want to stand on my own and make my own choices. I just figured out that you’d let me do that.” They stared at each other for seconds that seemed to spin very slowly.
He held her shoulders. “I know you’re a separate person from me, Daisy. My thoughts aren’t yours. We’re in sync a lot of the time. But I’d rather know what you’re thinking than guess at it.”
She leaned closer to him and laid her hand along his cheek that was marked by the scar. “My feelings for you are growing deeper than I want to admit,” she said honestly.
He covered her hand with his free one. “That’s good to hear.” Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead.
How could that slight show of affection make her quiver so inside?
After he leaned away, he asked her, “So . . . should I send my friend the picture?”
“Yes, send it.”
“Are you going on a wild goose chase?”
Shrugging, she said lightly, “Maybe I’ll catch a goose.”
* * *
The bonfire at the community pond was always festive. This December night was drop-below-thirty-two cold but clear enough to spot constellations. Residents of Willow Creek could wander around the pond under the light of a crescent moon. The volunteer fire company had organized the evening. They handled the bonfire, made sure everything fell within safety guidelines, and even set up tables with hot cider, coffee, and hot chocolate. Pine garlands and wreaths with red bows decorated the tables.
As did most of the residents of Willow Creek who appreciated the bonfire and wanted to attend, Daisy and Jonas brought along folding lawn chairs that they set up about ten yards from the bonfire. Jonas set them close together and hooked his arm into Daisy’s as they sipped cups of hot cider. Daisy stared into the flames of the bonfire, fascinated by the white yellow to blue colors that hopped and danced over the logs and deadwood branches. She’d worn a calf-length yellow down jacket to keep her warm tonight along with heavy jeans, wool socks, and fleece-lined boots. Wearing a hat under the hood of her jacket, she’d tied the strings under her chin. A long cranberry-colored scarf dangled down the zipper of the jacket, its fringes brushing her jeans.
Glancing away from the bonfire, she breathed in deeply a pocket of the cutting cold air tinged with woodsmoke and the scent of the pines that bordered a section of the pond. She eyed some of the Willow Creek residents who stood by the snack tables, sat on blankets, or walked back and forth around the perimeter of the pond.
The production of Christmas in the North Woods had scheduled a matinee today. She’d heard the show had gone very well. Apparently, the cast was in a rhythm that worked without further changes. They knew what they were doing. Arden had told her that Glenda had shown up for each performance and had been very quiet and talked to no one.
Daisy caught sight of Arden Botterill along with Amelia Wiseman and her husband. Ward Cooper wore a long black wool coat and a red scarf tied decoratively around his neck. Red earmuffs covered his ears. She thought she spotted Tamlyn, Rowan’s housekeeper, but she wasn’t sure. With hats and scarves and coats, everyone looked a bit different . . . except for Jonas. In black jeans, a black leather bomber jacket, a flannel shirt, and a black watch cap, she’d recognize him anywhere.
She looked up at the moon and, after a sideways glance at Jonas, saw that he was doing the same. A breeze whipped the edges of Daisy’s scarf.
Jonas unhooked his arm from hers and squeezed her gloved hand. “Are you too cold to stay?”
“I’d like to stay a little longer. Did you ever wonder what the tips of the moon would look like if they froze?”
A chuckle rumbled in Jonas’s chest. “You do have an imagination, don’t you? Do you wonder if there’s ice cream up there too?”
She bumped her elbow into his ribs. “It’s just that sometimes the crescent doesn’t look as if it has points.”
“That’s because of clouds.”
“Maybe, but that’s such a realistic conclusion.”
He squeezed her hand again. “Do you and the girls go ice-skating on the pond when it freezes over?”
“We have. I think last year we only came out here once. When I was little, Dad would bring me. It was such fun. He and I would skate until we couldn’t feel our feet or our noses.”
“Not Camellia?”
“She always had better things to do. Maybe if Dad had just invited her, she might have come with him. I don’t know. Mom wasn’t the type to ice-skate, so she and Camellia would find other things to do. One year when Dad and I got back from skating, Mom and Camellia had made perfume. Mom had bought a kit and they’d had fun doing it for the afternoon.”
“Did you feel left out?”
“Not any more than Camellia felt left out of ice-skating. I don’t know. It was just the way it was. I think as a child you can accept things easier than as an adult.”
“Or else you felt powerless to do anything about it,” Jonas suggested. “I felt that way after my father died until I decided to become a cop. That made me feel as if I had some control over destiny. At least it did until Brenda was killed. Then I knew no one had control over anything, certainly not other human beings.”
“Did you and Brenda celebrate the holidays with family and
