Jonah’s eyes narrow on his stepfather. They’ve done a decent job of sidestepping each other since the major blowup two days ago, but I fear that’s about to change.

“You forget what you were like at that age, don’t you?” Astrid pipes in, likely sensing the impending squabble. “Stubborn, argumentative. You were always right.”

“So, you’re saying I’m about to marry thirteen-year-old Jonah?” I tease, handing Toby the peeled potato to dice and drop into the pot.

My mother guffaws. “You’re one to talk. If you weren’t screaming at me about how unfair I was for not letting you traipse all over downtown Toronto, you were locked in your room, sulking.”

“That’s so not true!”

“Simon? Would you say that’s accurate?”

“I’m going to make it hearts, for my partner,” he announces, seemingly missing her question. Or choosing to ignore it.

“Simon—”

“Teenagers need to be kept busy.” Muriel shifts the cards around in her hand before laying one on the table. “Deacon and Toby never had time to get into mischief. They were too busy workin’ at the resort. Don’t you worry. We’ll get Mabel occupied with cleanin’ cabins and cutting grass, collecting trash. She can even work in the kitchen on busy nights. She’ll be so busy makin’ money and learning responsibility, she won’t have time for mischief. She’ll be asleep on her feet at night!”

“And she wonders why I never learned how to talk to women,” Toby murmurs under his breath, earning my snort.

“Maybe they’re hanging out at the cabin and not getting my messages.” Agnes dries her hands on the tea towel. “I think I’ll boot over there and see.”

“You want me to go?” Jonah offers, taking a step toward the door.

“No, no, you stay put,” Agnes is quick to say, heading for her coat and boots. “I could use some fresh air, anyway.”

And if Mabel is over at the cabin, an angry Jonah blowing up at her won’t go over well.

“Last one.” I slap the peeled potato into Toby’s hand and reach for a homegrown carrot. Muriel was right—yet again. I’m feeling immense satisfaction knowing that everything we’re eating today, short of the turkey, was grown in the garden I once despised.

“Oh!” Agnes exclaims at the open door, and for a second I assume it’s Mabel, back from her ride, the sound of the snowmobile drowned out by the generator. “It’s good to see you, Roy. Calla wasn’t sure if you were coming to dinner.”

Roy is here?

Roy is actually coming to Christmas dinner?

In the split second of distraction—and shock—I skate the peeler over the corner of my thumb. I drop the carrot with a curse, assessing the stinging damage. It’s a tiny wound, though a drop of blood is already forming.

“You’re fired.” Toby hands me a paper towel and then ushers me away.

“Hey, Jonah. You mind helpin’ Roy out?” Agnes hollers.

It’s followed by Roy’s grumble of, “Don’t need help. I got it in the truck. I’ll get it out of the truck.”

Jonah spares me a curious glance on his way out.

“Have to say, never thought I’d see the day Roy accepted a dinner invitation,” Muriel muses. “What’s he up to out there, Teddy?”

Teddy frowns as he cranes his neck to see out the window from his seat. “Can’t tell. Whatever it is, it’s wrapped in a sheet.”

Commotion stirs at the door.

“Christ, Roy. How the hell did you get this into your truck by yourself?” Jonah’s muscles strain as he leads with backward steps, holding up one end of the covered object.

“It’s awkward, is all.” Roy appears on the other end, his feet shuffling along the carpet runner.

I can’t help the wide grin of pleasure that takes over my face. He’s actually wearing the navy-blue winter coat and wool aviator hat I wrapped and left at his place. They fit him well and they look much warmer than that ratty plaid jacket and raccoon hat.

Roy pauses, his attention wandering over our living room and kitchen, his eyebrows arching as he takes in the festive décor. He stalls on the set dining table before meeting my beaming smile.

His mouth curls at the corners. Only a touch. It’s enough for me, though.

“Where should this go, Roy?” Jonah asks.

“Over there.” He juts his chin toward the corner next to the fireplace.

“Here. Let me.” Jonah stoops to prop what appears to be a beam on his shoulder. With a grunt, he stands, lifting it off the ground.

“My son. The ox,” Astrid muses as Jonah carries Roy’s surprise delivery across the room. He sets it down with a dull thud.

Roy remains near the door, still in his coat and boots, his hat in his hands, looking as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him.

Agnes has temporarily abandoned her plan to check the cabin for Mabel, sidling up to Roy. “I don’t think you’ve had a chance to meet Astrid and Björn, or Simon yet, have you?” She makes introductions.

“Sounds like you’ve been taking good care of Calla this year,” Simon says by way of greeting.

Roy smirks. “That girl don’t need any taking care of. She figures things out fine on her own.”

Simon nods, smiling to himself. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Are we doin’ this, Roy?” Jonah is holding Roy’s creation upright. It must be what Roy was working on that day I surprised him in his barn.

“Here, let me help you.” Muriel marches over to pull the sheet off.

It takes me a moment to recognize it for what it is: a mantel. A stunning, rustic wooden construct in a natural maple stain, with two pillars on either side, meant to frame the hearth.

“Always thought it was silly to have such a big stone fireplace and no mantel,” he mutters.

I stumble over a chair leg on my way around the dining table to get a better look. “I was literally thinking about this the other day.”

“Yeah, well …” Roy shifts on his feet. “I happened to take measurements when I was here in the fall, so I know it’ll fit. Should be an easy install whenever you’re ready for me to do it.”

A prickle of emotion swells in my throat, not because of the thoughtful gift, but because the man who everyone stamped too selfish to think of others was thinking of me. He’s proven them wrong, time and time again. “It’s perfect. I couldn’t have picked a more perfect mantel to go here.” I smooth a hand over the long cross beam. Where did he get such a large, beautiful piece of wood?

Toby must be thinking along the same lines. “That had to be one hell of a solid wood beam you used for this, huh, Roy?”

“I’ve had that monster in my shop for years. I was holdin’ on to it for the right project.”

It suddenly dawns on me. “Was this the beam that fell on you?” That would have crushed him, had the full weight of it not been hindered by other fallen hunks of wood.

Roy shrugs. “Still a good piece of wood.”

I shake my head, but I can’t help but laugh.

“What?” he challenges, but the way the corner of his mouth curls tells me he sees the twisted humor. Only Roy could make such a lovely gift out of something that nearly killed him.