Chapter 29
T he hallway at Whispering Pines creaked beneath their footsteps, as if it too were winding down for the night.
Will and Alex strolled side by side, their dogs in tow—Lady trotting with stately grace while Fetch zigzagged ahead in a blur of tail wags and curiosity.
The vintage sconces along the walls cast a buttery glow, warming the old bed and breakfast with the kind of charm only small towns could pull off without trying.
“You were great tonight,” Alex said, her voice light and genuine as she glanced at him with a smile.
Will returned it, boyish and a little bashful. “It was fun,” he said with a nod. “I really enjoyed it.” He slowed, gesturing to the door beside them. “This is me.”
They paused outside his room, the dogs circling lazily at their feet.
“I’m sure you do these all the time,” Alex said, tilting her head toward him.
“I do,” Will admitted, leaning casually against the doorframe, “but nothing beats authentic engagement. Usually, it’s just a fast line at a chain bookstore where you barely see faces.”
“You want to get to know your fans,” Alex said, watching him closely.
“They gave me this career,” Will replied, his voice softening. “It only seems fair that they get a little more than a selfie and signature.”
Alex nodded, the corners of her mouth lifting. “You truly care about them.”
“Of course, I do,” Will said, glancing down at Lady. “Without them, there’s... no me.”
A quiet beat passed between them before Alex said, “You really are one of the good guys, aren’t you?”
“I try to be,” Will said with a shrug. “It’s easy to become desensitized and fall into the business of it all, and I think that’s been my problem.”
“Ahh,” Alex said with a smirk. “Uninspired and disconnected.”
“Exactly,” Will said, gesturing broadly. “Somehow, this place, these people, have given me something I thought I’d lost for good.”
“So, your next big series is about McKenzie Ridge?” Alex teased, nudging his arm lightly with her elbow.
“The storylines are endless here,” Will replied with a grin.
“I’m sure they are,” Alex said, her tone playfully skeptical.
Will straightened, reaching for the doorknob. “Anyway, I know you have a busy day tomorrow. I’ll let you turn in.”
“Another full day of fun and chaos,” Alex said, already laughing at the thought.
“Can’t wait,” Will said, his smile warm. “Thanks for tonight.”
“I had nothing to do with tonight,” Alex said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “That was all you.”
Will tilted his head toward her. “No, you took me... and brought me to this town, actually.”
Alex raised a brow. “Because I stole your dog.”
“And I... stole yours,” Will said, leaning in.
The moment hovered in the air, thick with something unspoken. But just as their lips were about to meet, Will’s phone pinged.
They pulled apart quickly, and Will fumbled for his phone. “I, uh, better...” he said, holding it up in explanation.
Alex took a slow step back, eyes still twinkling. “Goodnight, Wylder Hart,” she said with a giggle as she turned and walked down the hall.
Will watched her go, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face as he lingered outside his door.
Still grinning from the hallway exchange, Alex practically floated up the staircase, the old wooden steps creaking beneath her as if whispering secrets from generations past. She reached the landing and turned the corner, her heart still doing a little dance from the almost-kiss and the way Will had looked at her—like maybe he saw her differently now. Like maybe she did too.
Slipping into the warmth of her room, she let the door click shut behind her and shrugged off her jacket.
The air smelled faintly of lavender and lemon polish, a familiar comfort that settled around her like an old quilt.
She tossed her bag onto the bed and dove into it with purpose, fingers brushing aside receipts and lip balm until they landed on what she was looking for—the stack of Wylder Hart books Tori had insisted she borrow with all the subtlety of a freight train.
With a wry smile, she spread them out like a fan, eyeing each dramatic title until one practically begged to be picked—The Heart of Fate. Of course.
She climbed into bed, tugging the blanket around her shoulders and tucking her knees beneath the covers.
The spine gave a satisfying crack as she opened the book, its pages releasing that perfect blend of ink and nostalgia.
The flickering bedside lamp cast golden light across the worn pages, and as the first line pulled her in, the rest of the world gently faded away.
Wylder Hart was charming, broody, and already in over his head by page two.
Alex couldn’t help the grin that crept back onto her face.
If only she knew the plans fate had in store—twisting plots, unexpected turns, and a few scenes so perfectly timed they might as well have been written in the margins of a love story.