“Sure.” His grip around me tightened. “I think making ties is a good thing.” His arm slipped from me, and I followed his gaze to see Ivy glaring at us. “Ivy might not, though.”

Suddenly concerned, I pulled away. Ivy got to her feet, and with steps quick and long, she strode up the porch steps and into the church. The back door shut hard enough to make the wreath fall off.

Not noticing, Erica sprang into a flurry of motion to move a bench closer to the fire. The conversation grew excited, and Keasley and Ceri drifted over when Takata finally pulled out the guitar he brought with him but had been ignoring. He settled himself, long fingers moving slowly from the cold as he strummed. It was nice. Really nice. The only thing missing was Jenks’s wiseass remarks and a sprinkling of pixy dust.

I sighed, and Kisten’s lips brushed my ear. “You’ll get him back,” he breathed.

Surprised he knew where my thoughts were, I said, “Are you sure?”

I felt him nod. “Come springtime and he can get out again, he’ll be back. He thinks too much of you to not listen once his pride starts to heal. But I know all about big egos, Rachel. You’re going to have to grovel.”

“I can do that,” I said in a small voice.

“He thinks it’s his fault,” Kisten continued.

“I’ll convince him otherwise.”

His breath was a puff behind my ear. “That’s my girl.”

I smiled at the stirring of feelings he was instilling in me. My gaze went to the shadow of Ivy in the kitchen, then back to the impromptu music. One down. Two more to go. And they were likely going to be the hardest ones. It wasn’t as if I could ask Ceri or Keasley. There was a spot on that form for a Social Security number. Ceri didn’t have one, and I knew without asking Keasley wouldn’t want to put his down. I had a suspicion by the lack of government checks that he was playing dead.

“Could you excuse me?” I murmured as Ivy’s shadow behind the glass was eclipsed by a swirl of mist from the hot water she was running into the sink. Kisten’s hold loosened. Takata’s blue eyes met mine before I turned away, an unknown emotion in them.

I paused to put the cedar wreath back on its hook before I went in. The warmth of the church hit me, and I took my hat off and tossed it to the black hearth. I entered the kitchen to find Ivy leaning against the counter, her head down and her hands gripping her elbows.

“Hi,” I said, hesitating in the threshold.

“Let me see the contract,” she said, extending her hand and her head coming up.

My lips parted. “How did …” I stammered.