“Very. Now take my hand and come with me.”

“Jonas—”

“Do as I say.”

Even with her eyes closed, she could hear his smile widen. She felt calloused fingers wrap around hers.

“Come with me.”

As insistent as a child on Christmas morning, he tugged her hand. She followed, and as the surface beneath her feet changed from concrete to gravel and then to grass, she let out a squeal. “Is it finished?”

“Just keep your eyes closed.”

She stumbled over bumpy lawn until the ground softened, and pine boughs ruffled her hair with fragrant fingers. “It’s finished, isn’t it? I know it is.”

“Easy now. Step up.”

He was ahead of her now, holding both hands and leading her up three wide steps. Her sandals clomped on hard wood. She breathed in the smell of fresh-cut timber. Sawdust tickled her nose.

“Sit here,” he said in her ear.

Sit where? The gazebo she designed didn’t come with seating. Still, she allowed him to guide her down next to him and leaned into the warmth of his body, knees bouncing in anticipation.

“Now. Open your eyes.”

She did…and drew in a quick breath at the sight. Before her were her initials and her parents’ initials, lovingly etched into the sycamore so many years ago. All around, surrounding and embracing her, was the completed gazebo. Though she watched it grow over the span of several weeks, today, with Jonas beside her not just as her builder but as someone far dearer, she took in the structure afresh.

Nothing like the curlicued follies of the Victorian era, this rustic structure was of the earth. It was built upon an octagon and supported by rough-hewn posts. An intricate and beautiful support system allowed for an octagonal opening, through which her family’s beloved tree reached to the sky. A smooth railing encircling the outer edge spanned artfully placed branches in an Adirondack style. The wood glowed with the richly golden hue of fresh-milled lumber. Yet, she could almost believe the gazebo had been there for years, growing inch by inch with the tree it encircled and the red-haired girl in the house down the hill.

Giggling with glee, she dashed across the floor and down the steps. Cedar shingled and sturdy, yet at the same time airy and wind-filled, with the towering sycamore canopying the entire structure…the gazebo was magic. She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I can’t imagine a more perfect gift.”

Crossing his arms, he regarded his work. “I sealed the wood to protect it. Your parents can paint it if they want, or they can just let rain and snow weather it. I’d probably do the latter. By the end of this winter, it should blend into the surrounding trees.”

She scampered back up the steps and opened her arms. “This is so far beyond the gazebo I imagined. Jonas, you’re an artist.”