Trailing one hand over the tree, she circled it until she found the heart. Her father carved it with his red penknife, gouging the initials JEM and MSM in the middle while she watched. Below the point of the heart and under a plus sign, he etched her initials, TRM. She traced the rough letters with an index finger. The sycamore was her special tree, and Jack and Margaret Meadows loved it more than anything else in their yard.

If only the gazebo could be built beneath the tree. An image of Jonas’s face flitted through her mind. She quickly swept it aside. The pine trees were too close. The only space was immediately around the sycamore. He’d have to build it around the trunk.

Wait a second…around the trunk?

She stepped back and peered into the branches. Was it possible? Could Jonas construct a gazebo around the sycamore with the tree the middle? Such a design certainly would be unique. And quite a feat of engineering. If only she could convey her idea on paper.

Sensing she’d finally struck inspiration, she twirled in a happy dance. Artistic skills or no, she’d make her best effort and deliver the design to Jonas. Maybe this week at market…maybe next. After all, Jonas Rishel wasn’t praising her freckles and telling her she smelled nice and smooching her senseless in the backyard. She gazed again at the tree, where only minutes ago Richard kissed her in a manner that made her knees rubbery even now.

Dinner on Thursday it was.

Until then, she had a gazebo to design.

****

“Wow.” Tessa straightened, and her desk chair let out a squeak. The binder was the size of the Oxford English Dictionary and covered half her desk in the hospital volunteer office. Recessed fluorescent lights hummed from the dropped ceiling, illuminating inspirational posters of Alpine mountains and kittens hanging from tree branches. A row of brightly colored, dry erase markers lay end to end beneath a spanking clean whiteboard. She cast her gaze over the massive binder. The ball almost plans itself, huh?

“The Bible.” Claire genuflected with a grin and pointed to a three-drawer filing cabinet on the far wall. “Oh, and a thousand more files are in there. Happy Monday.”

She took a fortifying sip of iced coffee. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Claire shouldered her bag. “Gotta go sell some houses. If I don’t hear from you in a week, I’ll send the fire department.” With a two-finger salute, she spun on her heels and left.