“Did you find them?”

I track Muriel’s voice to the doorway where she stands next to Roy. A sizeable cardboard box sits in his arms. “Yup.” I hold the packages of votive candles in the air as proof. Despite the persistent chill in the community center, rummaging around the cluttered storage room has made my skin feel clammy, and I use this opportunity to brush my forearm against my forehead. “They weren’t in the green bins.”

Muriel purses her lips, her accusing gaze flipping to Jamie Gill, who oversaw last year’s Christmas dinner cleanup and is, in Muriel’s own words, “as scattered as an upturned bowl of glitter.”

I toss the packages onto one of the rectangular buffet tables—someone else can fill and light a hundred and fifty candles because it’s almost four p.m. and I have yet to take a break—and stroll over to them. “Hey, Roy.”

He grunts, his attention wandering over the hall.

“Looks good in here, huh?” Supersized poinsettias donated from the local garden center mark the doors and Santa’s threshold. The centerpieces they’ve used every year were tacky and dated, so I repurposed the vases and pinecones and added birch branches that Emily and I scavenged from the forest to make chic displays. And, after twenty minutes of begging, I convinced Muriel to let Toby and me string strands of white twinkle lights canopy-style over the dressed tables, creating a cozy ambiance.

We’ve managed to transform the drab, drafty room into a place primed for a festive party.

I nod toward the box. “Whatcha got there?”

“Somethin’ for the auction,” he grumbles.

“A donation from Roy Donovan?” I can’t hide the surprise from my voice, even as I tease. Getting so much as a free egg out of this man is a rarity.

Roy scowls. “Didn’t turn out. Was gonna burn it, but I figured I may as well let you guys have it. See if you can make a few bucks.”

“What is it?” I lean over to steal a glimpse at a wooden basket nestled inside.

“It’s for harvesting the garden,” Muriel explains.

I frown. “You were going to burn this? It looks perfect to me.”

“The handle’s wonky. Here.” He thrusts the box toward Muriel. “Gotta get back to milk the goats before it gets too dark.” He bolts out with nothing more than a nod my way.

I chase after him, out into the hall. “Hey, Roy, why don’t you come back for dinner after you’re done with the animals? I know my table has a few extra seats.” I would have asked Astrid and Björn to come, but I figured they’ll be falling asleep at their table settings by five.

He keeps marching toward the door. “I don’t do Christmas.”

“But you do eat.” I temper the annoyance in my tone. “They’re serving turkey and roast beef … and apple pie for dessert.” A weakness of Roy’s, I learned this past fall when I was experimenting with pastry.

“I’ve got dinner ready.”

“Yeah, canned meat.” Eating the same meal seven days a week is bound to make anyone certifiable. “Come on, Roy. You can sit with me. You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

He snorts. “I’ve been alone for over thirty years. No reason to change that now.”

I can think of one reason. Three, actually. An impulsive urge strikes me. “Hey, Roy?” I clear my voice to steady it. “So, I was thinking … have you ever given any thought to maybe reaching out to your daughter? Maybe she’d want to hear from you. You never know.”

He stops abruptly and spins around. His eyes narrow as he studies me for one … two … three long seconds. “You been snoopin’ through my things, girl?”

“No.” I punctuate that with a firm headshake but have to avert my gaze to the speckled linoleum floor. Real smooth, Calla.

Roy is a lot of things, but naïve is not one of them. “Yeah, you have. That’s why you’re being so pushy all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

Shit. There’s no point lying. “I saw the Christmas card on your table yesterday and … I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Yes, you did.” He stabs the air with his index finger, his face turning beet red with anger. “You’re always pokin’ around, tryin’ to fix things for me. But you can’t fix this!” His deep, grating voice ricochets along the narrow hall.

There’s no point backing down now. “It seems like she’d really like to talk to you, though.”

“That’s ’cause she don’t know me. If she did, she’d figure out pretty quick that I’ve got nothin’ to give her or those two kids.”

I frown. “I don’t think she was reaching out to you because she wants money, Roy.”

“Mind your own business. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you!” He slams his palms against the double doors, throwing them open on his rush to exit. “And don’t be bringin’ over any more goddamn Christmas trees!” he hollers.

I shiver against the gust of frigid that sweeps in. Or maybe it’s because of the layer of ice that’s just coated our relationship.

“Haven’t seen him that mad in a while. For once, it’s not on account of me.” Muriel sidles up beside me, her eyes following his wiry body as he stomps to his truck. “So, his daughter’s finally wantin’ to get to know him.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Jonah’s right. Roy is as temperamental as a wild animal. Whatever trust I’ve earned has disintegrated. An ache swells in my chest with that knowledge.

“Nah.” She waves my concern away as if it’s a mild inconvenience. “Don’t be too bothered by his little tantrum. What Roy wants and what he says he wants are usually two different things.”

“Still.”

Muriel’s lips twist in thought. “Did you get her information?”

I hesitate. “Maybe.”

That knowing smile forms. “I don’t need to tell you what I’d do if I had her number.”

“I know.” She’d be on the phone within the next five minutes, informing Roy’s daughter that Roy is a horse’s ass, but she should fly up here right away to meet him, anyway. There’s no way I’m giving Delyla’s number to Muriel. “Let’s stick with those wool socks you made him. No need to give Roy another heartache for Christmas.” Some say Muriel was at the root of his first one, years ago.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to him about it. We still got that truce, after all, and I don’t need a reason to shoot him over the holidays.” She turns to head back to the hall, but then stalls. “You know, me and that old badger go back decades, through all kinds of hardships. And, sure, we’ve had our disagreements. But I ain’t ever seen him as happy as he’s been since you’ve been around. That says somethin’.”

I snort. “You call that happy?” She heard Roy yelling at me. Hell, everyone in the hall must have heard it.

“Oh, don’t buy none of what he’s tryin’ to sell you. He pretends to enjoy his solitude, but that’s all that is. Pretending, by a chickenshit who’s too afraid to admit that he cares.”