Ruth put on her coat and boots and crossed the snowy lawn, her heart beating a little faster than it should have.
Inside the bag was a jar of honey with a handwritten label, a pair of thick wool socks, and a box of the exact brand of peppermint tea she always bought.
There was no note.
She stood there in the cold, turning the box of tea over in her hands. How on earth did he know?
She hadn’t told anyone what tea she drank. Not even Michael knew that.
Ruth knocked on his door. No answer. His car was gone. She went home and put the socks on, and they were the warmest socks she had ever owned.
The next morning she wrote a thank-you card and slipped it under his door. In it she wrote: You are a mystery, Daniel Hale. But a kind one. Thank you.
Something shifted after that.
He still didn’t come over. But when the snow fell heavy in December, Ruth woke to find her driveway already shovelled, right down to the pavement. When her gutter came loose in a storm, it was mysteriously fixed by Saturday afternoon.
Once, she caught him at it. He was on a ladder at the side of her house, his breath puffing white in the cold.
“Daniel! You don’t have to do that!”
He climbed down slowly. For the first time, he almost smiled.
“I know,” he said. “I want to.”
“Then come in for coffee. Please. I insist.”
He hesitated, and she saw something cross his face. It looked almost like fear.
“Not today, Mrs. Callahan,” he said quietly. “Soon. I promise.”
Mrs. Callahan.
Ruth froze. She had introduced herself only as Ruth. She was sure of it.
She had never once told him her last name.