Chapter 11
Hannah
A fter Levi leaves, I sit on the swing long enough for the pumpkin to look smug about being the only witness to what just occurred. His business card in my hand feels heavy. Just a scrap of paper with numbers on it, but it might as well be a stick of dynamite.
Once inside, I blow out the candle and check on Ivy twice. She’s curled on her side, hand tucked under her cheek, breathing soft and even. I’m glad. If she had known the ‘train man’ was here, it would have excited her too much to sleep.
Back in my room, I lie down but can’t turn off my head.
Each time I close my eyes, I see Levi’s face under the porch light, his blue eyes almost glowing.
There’s a part of me that feels weak next to his huge stature.
He’s at least a foot taller than me and muscular in a way that makes my knees buckle.
But I can also sense a tender spot in him – the way his voice went gentle when he said my name.
I recall the warmth that spread through me when his shoulder brushed close.
And then the panic. The what ifs. What if I were to begin at least a friendship with him?
And … what if he means every word? What if he doesn’t?
What if Ivy gets attached and then it all falls apart?
I’ve survived enough disappointment for both of us, but I can’t let her heart be collateral damage.
My hand strays to the card on the nightstand. One little call. One little risk. The idea curls in my mind like a spark that wants to be a flame. But sparks can burn. And … they can also start a fire – maybe one I can’t put out.
“No,” I whisper into the dark, as if saying it aloud will settle the war inside me. “This spark needs to be snuffed out now.”
I roll onto my side, clutch the pillow, and force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My body begs for rest even as my mind claws at the thought of him. Finally, sleep takes me anyway, heavy and unwilling, and soon I’m dreaming.
I’m back on the porch swing, only it’s not mine anymore.
It’s hanging from a broad timber beam, mountain air sharp with pine.
The firelight spilling from inside is his, not mine.
Ivy is there, her legs tucked under her, chattering to him about pumpkins and cats, and he listens like every word is gold.
His big hand rests easy on the chain of the swing, steadying it, steadying us.
I’m there too, watching. But when I look down, the card is gone from my hand. Instead, my fingers are twined with his. Heat radiates up my arm until I can’t tell if it's a dream or truth.
A soft rumble of thunder sounds. No, not thunder. Laughter. His. It vibrates through me, deep and unshakable. The scene blurs at the edges, warmth giving way to cold, porch swing dissolving into nothing. I reach for him, for Ivy, but they slip away like smoke.
I jerk awake in the dark, heart pounding, hand clutching the sheets. I press the pillow to my face and force a breath. Just a dream. Only a dream.
But even as I close my eyes again, I know better. Some part of me already wants that dream to fall into my reality … more than I should.
???
The alarm buzzes too soon, and I roll out of bed feeling like I’ve wrestled something ferocious the entire night. Coffee helps, but not enough to chase away the memory of Levi’s laughter booming in my dream.
Ivy comes barreling into the kitchen with her backpack already half unzipped, hair sticking up like a dandelion gone to seed. She climbs onto a chair and swings her legs while shoveling cereal into her mouth.
“Mommy,” she says around a mouthful, “can we carve the pumpkins tonight? All of them? Please?”
“All of them?” I respond, reaching for her lunchbox. “That’s a lot of pumpkin guts.”
Her grin is instant and radiant. “That’s one of the fun parts!” I shake my head, but my lips twitch into a smile anyway.
“Okay. We’ll do the small one and the medium one. But the big one?” I glance out the window where it sits oversized on the porch. “That one might be more than we can handle.”
Ivy doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe we could get Levi to help. He’s pretty strong and besides, he knows all about pumpkins and trains.” She kicks her legs faster, like the idea alone charges her with energy. “You have to ask him. You promised we’d make the best jack-o’-lanterns on the street.”
Her words land like a pebble dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward until they bump against every wall I’ve built. Levi’s number waits on my nightstand. His voice waits in my memory.
“We’ll see. Maybe we’ll manage to carve it just fine on our own.”
Ivy just shrugs, unconcerned, like she knows something I don’t. “He likes us,” she says simply, spoon clinking against the bowl. “You’ll see.”
I watch her for a moment, the innocence in her eyes mixing with a certainty that makes my heart ache. Kids don’t overthink things. They just trust what feels good and true. They believe the fairytales and yes, they’ll even believe lies. If only it were that simple for me.
???
Millie’s Mountain Café is alive with Monday noise.
The espresso machine hisses behind the counter, dishes clatter in the sink, and the rhythm of conversation rises and falls.
I tie my apron tighter and slide another tray of rolls onto the cooling rack.
Cinnamon and sugar hang in the air, sticky sweet and warm, clinging to my skin like perfume.
“Smells like you’re trying to kill us all, Hannah,” Millie says, poking her head into the kitchen for a moment. “Those rolls won’t make us famous, unfortunately … but they do add a lot of the bottom line. You’re an expert at them.”
“Thanks, Millie. It seems to be a favorite,” I say, dusting flour from my apron. “Mrs. Harkins ordered a dozen for her church meeting on Wednesday evening.”
“Mm-hmm.” Millie sets down the pot long enough to rest her hands on her hips. She’s older, hair pinned up in a bun that somehow never comes loose, sharp eyes softened by laugh lines. “You’ve been glowing all morning. Have a good weekend?”
“Ivy and I went to the Harvest Festival out at this ranch.”
“Ah, the popular Stone Valley Ranch,” Millie says, leaning against the counter like she’s about to settle in for a story. “How was it?”
I can’t help a smile. “Ivy loved it. We rode the train, picked pumpkins. She begged for kettle corn, of course.” I set the icing knife aside, glance at Millie, then back to the cinnamon rolls.
“We also ended up with the world’s largest pumpkin.
Bigger than our porch. I told her our arms were no match for it. ”
Millie chuckles, pinching off a corner of one roll that didn’t form right. “So how’d you get it home?”
I try to sound casual, but the words feel heavier than they should. “The guy who runs the place – Levi. He arranged for one of his employees to follow us and drive it over. Left it right on the porch. Now it looks like we’re hosting the county fair on Maple Street.”
Millie’s brows rise. “Levi Rowe, huh? Heard he’s running that ranch single-handed since his aunt and uncle left it to him. He seems like a solid guy. Keeps to himself mostly. Must be busy with a huge place like that.”
“Seems that way,” I say, finishing the icing on the batch.
“Okay, I can’t resist. Give me the rest of that messed up roll,” Millie demands, a sly tilt to her mouth. “Funny how you forgot to mention him first. Your eyes light up a little when you talk about him”
I roll my eyes, but heat creeps into my cheeks anyway. “It’s nothing. Just … he was helpful.”
“Helpful’s a start,” Millie says, patting my arm. “Don’t go writing it off too quickly.”
Before I can answer, she flies out of the kitchen as fast as she flew in.
Millie’s words echo: Helpful’s a start . Maybe so. But a start can be dangerous and risky, even if it feels like something good.