“I don’t know, actually. Probably a lot of grunt work. Muriel told me to be there at ten.”

“Is that the bossy neighbor?”

“Yeah. She’s in charge of planning the night. She asked for my help.” More like told me I was helping, after recognizing that my marketing plans might have had a hand in the smashing success of the Winter Carnival—with record attendance and its highest earnings in fifty years. “Teddy dresses up as Santa.”

She quietly admonishes Björn as she picks at wayward banana-bread crumbs on the counter around his plate. “Is that the grouchy neighbor?”

“No. That’s Roy.” I laugh at the thought of Roy donning a red suit and white beard. He’d be Billy Bob Thornton’s version of Santa. He’d be a child’s worst nightmare. “Teddy is Muriel’s husband, and he’s probably the happiest man I’ve ever met—oh, crap! He forgot his thermos.” I spy the tall navy-blue cylinder sitting by the coffee pot. Jonah has taken to filling it on his way out the door in the morning, without fail. Whatever they were fighting over before I came down distracted him.

“Go, go …” Astrid ushers me away. “Bring it to him, before he flies off. We can talk more when you come back. Maybe about setting a wedding date?” She reaches for the magazine. “So perhaps those who are traveling twenty hours to see their only son get married have sufficient time to prepare?” It sounds like a suggestion, but the cutting glance she follows it up with tells me she doesn’t plan on boarding that plane home without arrangements etched into her calendar.

Björn mutters something in Norwegian to Astrid. It doesn’t sound nearly as musical in his gruff voice.

She collects his plate and puts it in the sink.

And I fill Jonah’s thermos with black coffee, thankful for an excuse to track him down and find out what’s going on.

Chapter Four

Toby’s burgundy pickup truck is parked outside the hangar when I sail in on the green snowmachine that has unofficially become mine. Now that the regular fishing season is closed and Trapper’s Crossing Resort is without guests, he’s been able to dedicate more time to working on Phil’s old plane, coming here early in the day, before the mechanics shop where he services small engines gets busy.

Toby and Jonah are standing beside the 1959 Beaver when I stroll through the side door. They turn in unison at the intrusion.

“You forgot this.” I wave the thermos in the air.

“Yeah. I realized halfway here, but there was no way I was goin’ back to deal with them again.”

By “them,” I know he means Björn. Still, I shoot him a disapproving look before turning my attention to the burly thirty-five-year-old. Toby was my first friend when we moved to Trapper’s Crossing this past March, back when I was still struggling with acclimating to this isolated place. “Didn’t think I’d see you here today, with the Christmas dinner happening later.”

“Yeah.” He scratches the brown scruff on his chin. Come May, he’ll be clean-shaven again, but until then, he’ll let it grow all winter. “I just stopped by to double-check on a part I’ve been trying to find.”

“How long is the task list Muriel has for you?”

His face splits into that wide grin that instantly softens his features. “Two pages, front and back.”

And yet I’m sure he didn’t utter a word of complaint, even when his mother would deserve it. The man is as kindhearted as his father and always willing to offer a hand. I laugh. “Good luck.”

His grin grows wider. “She’s got one for you, too, and it’s longer.”

“Don’t tell me that,” I groan.

“Sorry. Figured you should be prepared.”

“So, you’re thinking you’ll have it by Monday?” Jonah asks, steering the conversation back to plane talk.

“They said they’d try to get it here before the storm. Once I get it, I can start putting this baby back together.” He gives the loose engine a pat.

“When do you think we’ll have it in the air again?”

Toby shrugs. “Hard to say. Last I heard, seats will be back by late January, but that’s more an estimate. I should have everything else ready by then, barring any more surprises.”

“Perfect.” Jonah’s blue gaze drags over the carcass of the plane. It’s in pieces and looking like it belongs in a scrapyard. “And then all it needs is a fresh coat of paint.”

“You want to paint it?” Toby studies the plane’s body, which I’ll admit is already in decent condition.

“Canary yellow,” Jonah answers without a moment’s hesitation. “That was Wren’s favorite color, and that’s this guy’s name.”

And if Jonah is anything, it’s sentimental. Surprisingly so.

I close the distance to rope my arms around his waist. “He would love it.”

He returns the affection, pulling me tight against his chest.

Toby’s phone chirps in his pocket. He checks the message and, by the soft grunt that escapes, I can tell it’s Muriel, beckoning. “Well, I better head out now. See you in a few, Calla?”

“With bells on. Literally.” Volunteers are required to wear elf costumes. I haven’t seen mine but Emily warned me to be ready for a lot of jingling.

Toby’s chuckle follows him out the door.

“Thanks for this.” Jonah slips the thermos from my hand and kisses me in one smooth motion before peeling away. “I should get going.”

I hook my hand around his arm, stalling his escape. “Not before you tell me what that was back there. Why are they staying in Agnes and Mabel’s room, if the cabin is okay?”

Jonah pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose as if in pain. “My mom had a pulmonary embolism last year, in August.”

“Oh, wow. That’s … bad, right?” I stumble over my words. I don’t actually know what that is, but I’m doing the math—last August was just before my father died. “That’s something to do with her lungs?”

“A blockage, yeah. She started having chest pain, so they rushed her to the hospital and ran all the tests. They found a blood clot. A pretty big one.”

“Did she have to have surgery?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Something to do with a catheter put into her lung to feed medicine in to break up the clot. It sounds like surgery to me, but she said she was awake through it. Then they put her on blood thinners. Her blood clots really fast. It’s always been like that. She’ll probably have to take the thinners for the rest of her life.”

“Is she doing okay now?”

“She says she is, but who the fuck really knows. She didn’t tell me about this, so what else isn’t she telling me about?” Jonah is scowling. “Björn should have called me.”

“It sounds like she told him not to.”

“I don’t care. He should have told me, anyway.” He paces around the plane engine. “I’m her son.”

“You’re right. Someone should have told you. But why do you think she might not have? What would you have done?”