was nice. There was even, amazingly enough, a few inches of new snow on the ground. And more was drifting down by the time Cal appeared at the door.
He was smiling and looked happier than she could remember. She knew he’d met someone. It was early days yet, he’d told her last week. But there was a light in his eyes she hadn’t ever seen before.
He took one look at her pale face and the dark circles under her own eyes and said, “You look awful.”
Daisy laughed wryly. “Thank you very much.”
But Cal frowned. “I shouldn’t be taking him away from you today. Come with us.”
Adamantly Daisy shook her head. “I’m meeting Josie’s family at their place at one to do some indoor shots, then we’re going to shoot at the Bow Bridge in the park if it’s still snowing.”
“Come after you finish.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Go on. Have a good time.” She gave Charlie a hug and a kiss. “Behave.”
“I always behave,” he said stoutly. “I’m bringin’ my new guys to show Grandpa.”
“He’ll like that.” Daisy gave him one more squeeze, then stood up. Her smile was strained. Of course Charlie didn’t notice. She hoped Cal didn’t, either. “See you tomorrow,” she said with all the cheer she could manage. Then she shut the door behind them, leaned back against it, and pressed her hands to her eyes.
It was letting Charlie go, she told herself. This was, after all, the first Christmas that she hadn’t had him with her all the time. Always before, after their divorce, Cal had come here and they’d celebrated together. But they both knew that couldn’t last. He had a life now—and she had to get one.
Now she scrubbed at her eyes and took a deep, hopefully steadying breath, then she went upstairs to get ready to go, picking out the lenses and filters she wanted to take, determined to keep her mind busy so she wouldn’t think about where Charlie was and what he was doing and …
… about Alex.
She had to stop thinking about Alex.
It had been two weeks since they’d had their confrontation. Two weeks since she’d spurned his offer of marriage before he could even make it, since she’d told him exactly what she thought of it—and of him—and had shoved him out of the door and out of her life.
He hadn’t been back.
Was she surprised? Of course not. It was for the best, really, and she knew it.
What surprised her was how much she cared.
She didn’t want to care! She didn’t want to miss him, didn’t want to remember him sitting on the floor playing with Charlie, didn’t want to think about him telling their son a story, didn’t want to close her eyes and be plagued by images of him with Charlie in his arms or on his shoulders, the two of them grinning at each other.
She didn’t want to remember how proud she’d felt the night he’d got the award for his hospital design, how intently she’d listened when he’d told her about his inspiration for it, how much she heard and understood what he didn’t ever say.
She didn’t want to think about him—and she couldn’t seem to stop.
Now she finished packing her gear bag, slipped on her puffy, bright blue down jacket and headed toward the park.
It was Christmas. A time of hope. A time to put the past behind her and move on. She squared her shoulders, and picked up her bag. Maybe after she’d finished Josie’s family’s photo shoot, she would go ice skating, meet the man of her dreams, fall in love.
Fairy tales. Would she never learn?
Daisy sighed and headed for Josie’s place.
Four generations of the Costello family were ready and waiting. Josie swept Daisy into their Fifth Avenue sixth floor apartment overlooking the park, equal measures eager and apologetic. They were so glad to have her take photos of their family holiday, they were so sorry they were taking her away from her own family today of all days.
“It’s all right,” Daisy assured them. “I’m glad to do it.”
It was every bit the distraction she had hoped. The seven children—cousins who didn’t see each other often—along with their parents, grandparents and two great-grandparents, were a noisy energetic mob. And Daisy, intrigued by the possibilities, threw herself into the work.
She did a series of family groups, then gathered them around the table, shot Josie’s grandfather slicing the turkey, her grandmother helping the youngest grandson fill his plate. She caught two cousins playing chess in front of the fire, three little girl cousins playing dress-up with the small trunk of fancy clothes one had got for Christmas.
It was the perfect family Christmas, the kind she’d seen in movies and on TV. The kind she’d always wanted for herself. And especially for Charlie.
She shot their preening and their giggling. She shot four generations of Costello men watching football on television, simultaneously cheering or groaning. She had all the children make a human pyramid that mimicked the Christmas tree.
Then, as soon as she shot that, she said, “Let’s go to the park,” before things got rowdy, which the human pyramid showed signs of becoming.
The snow was still falling, picture-perfect, when they got to the Bow Bridge. She posed them there and did a couple of formal shots for posterity while passersby, walking off their Christmas dinners, stopped and watched then, smiling, moved on.
Daisy didn’t pay them any mind. She glanced their way, then turned back to shoot a series of photos of great-grandpa and grandpa and two little grandsons building a snowman. The girls were making snow angels, their colorful scarves flung out against the snow as they moved their arms and legs. They danced and played and she captured it all—the grace, the laughter—mothers and daughters, grandmothers, great-grandmother and granddaughters. The boys were wrestling in the snow now, pelting each other with snowballs, laughing madly.
Family.
How she envied them their family. She tried to shove the thought away even as it tightened her throat, made her swallow hard. She blinked hard and stopped shooting for a moment, needing to turn away.
Several people who had been watching, smiled at her and scuffed their feet and moved away. She got a grip, started to turn back, then caught a glimpse of someone else out of the corner of her eye.
Her gaze stopped, jerked back, dismissed it. She turned to shoot the snowball-throwing boys again. But her heart was beating faster as she edged around to get a different angle, to look west without turning her head.
He was still there, standing in the shadows beneath the trees.
Lean, tall. Dark wind-blown hair. Wearing jeans and a hunter-green down jacket.
“Lookit me!” one of the Costello boys shouted. He had scrambled up into the crook of a tree and peered down at her.
Daisy turned, focused, shot. Then she swivelled again, taking more shots of the snowball fight,
