She thought of the hot, exciting kiss she and Grady had shared on the porch only a few short days before and her skin turned to goosebumps.

Whatever feelings she had for him felt as dangerous as walking on ice. Fall over or fall through – it was going to hurt.

They broke apart as the sound of running feet came outside and Daisy catapulted through the door, home from school and brimming with enthusiasm. ‘Auntie Laurel, are you ready to decorate our Art December window? Oh, hey, Grady.’ She gave Grady a friendly nudge.

He rose, managing a reasonably convincing smile. ‘Hey, Daisy. I’ll leave you to talk to Laurel.’

Daisy looked disappointed. ‘Will you be at Craft Stuff tonight? I’m only going for a bit because Auntie Laurel and me are delivering wreaths.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Dosh!’

He scooped his coat from the floor. ‘Dosh is always good. I don’t think I’ll get to this session.’

But Daisy wasn’t going to let him get away that easily. ‘What about the Christmas scene? Isn’t what Auntie Laurel’s done awesome? When’s Tess going to do her bit? And the others? I want to paint the cable car. We thought red would look amazing against the blue sky.’

Grady paused. ‘Those are all good questions. What do you think, Laurel? Are you free to come to my place at the weekend? Daisy’s right. There’s a lot to do on the scene.’ Was it her imagination or was there the tiniest hesitation before he clarified?

Grady’s enthusiasm was quite obviously manufactured for Daisy’s benefit. Laurel followed suit. ‘Of course.’ But her heart was heavy as they thrashed out a rough plan for those wanting to work on the Christmas scene. Then Grady finally took his leave, melting away into a fast darkening afternoon.

‘Right,’ Laurel said brightly, to disguise how sad and unsettled Grady’s visit had left her. ‘Time to decorate our window, Daisy. Good job your mum doesn’t mind us taking over that bit of her office.’

‘Yay!’

They spent the rest of the afternoon stringing fairy lights around the office window, Daisy as flushed and excited as a five-year-old. Rea finished work early to join in. They propped up Laurel’s portrait of two little boys against old encyclopaedias Rea usually kept in the hall for their aesthetic qualities. Daisy fetched two of her best wreaths, one clustered with blue, silver and pink baubles and ribbon, the other decorated with holly, berries, crab apples and pinecones for those who preferred the compostable option. Daisy ran outside to huddle on the frosty driveway shouting, ‘It looks awesome! Really Christmassy! Shall we bring in some holly?’

‘Some with berries would look fantastic,’ Laurel called back. She tried to fill the hollowness inside her with a dose of Christmas spirit, but it was hard going.