Chapter Seven #2
We made our way toward the river, past the row of food vendors setting up shop. The air grew crisp, carrying the spicy scent of pine and smoke. Someone was selling caramel popcorn, someone else homemade fudge, and I swore there was a booth devoted entirely to gingerbread baked goods.
“Lydia, this is insane,” I said, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. “You weren’t kidding about Reckless River going all out for the holidays.”
“I told you,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “It’s magic. Pure, small-town, peppermint-scented magic.”
“I thought you were exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate.”
I gave her a look. “You literally told me last week that your engagement ring sparkles brighter than the Northern Lights.”
“Well, it does,” she said, entirely unbothered.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re hopeless.”
She smiled. “And you’re smiling.”
I froze. “What?”
“You heard me.” She stopped walking, facing me with that knowing expression that could see through every wall I’d ever built. “You’re smiling. Like, really smiling. I don’t think I’ve seen that in months.”
“Don’t start,” I warned, though it came out softer than I intended.
“I’m just saying,” she said, watching me closely. “You’ve been wound tight for a while. And now…”
“Now what?”
Her smile gentled. “You look like you finally snapped a few strings.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, to make some sarcastic quip about small towns and their contagious wholesomeness. But the words stuck in my throat because, dammit, she was right.
Standing here, surrounded by the smell of pine and cocoa, hearing kids shriek with laughter while adults haggled over fudge prices, it did something to me. Something I didn’t expect.
It reminded me of when life used to feel… simpler. Before schedules, before city noise, before my heart got all tangled up in things it shouldn’t have.
“Can you believe it feels like this?” I asked quietly.
Lydia tilted her head. “What what feels like?”
“This.” I gestured around us at the snow, the lights, and the laughter. “Being in a place that doesn’t need to prove anything. It just… is.”
She smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s special.”
We stood there for a moment, watching a little boy run past us, rolling a half-built snowman head, his mittens covered in glitter from the ornament table.
“Seattle’s beautiful,” I said after a pause. “Don’t get me wrong. But everything there feels… transactional. Fast. Loud. Here, it’s like people actually stop long enough to live.”
“That’s why I stayed,” Lydia said simply. “Well, it might have had to do with Callum too.”
I laughed and looked out toward the river. It glimmered beneath the nearly all white sky, ribbons of sunlight breaking through in streaks that caught the snowflakes midair. The whole town was glowing, alive in a way that made my chest ache a little.
“You thinking of staying?” she asked, her voice teasing but hopeful.
I shot her a look. “Don’t start matchmaking me with a zip code.”
She laughed. “I didn’t say forever. Just… longer.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Part of me feels like if I stay too long, the spell breaks.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Sure it is,” I said. “You grow up, you get cynical, you start to see the cracks.”
“Or,” she said, nudging me again, “you let yourself stop pretending you don’t need any of this.”
“Any of what?”
“The magic. The connection. The people, Mel.”
“I have a classroom.”
“They need teachers here.”
I didn’t respond right away because there was a part of me, small, stubborn, still raw, that didn’t want to admit she was right.
But the truth was, Reckless River was sneaking under my skin. And not just because of its charm.
Because of him.
I hated that the thought crept in so easily. Drew Benedict. Tattooed menace. Pancake flirt. The reason my heart hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in forty-eight hours.
I glanced back toward The Rusty Stag without meaning to. Even from here, I could see him through the frosted windows, laughing with Callum, and flipping pancakes like it was an art form.
Lydia followed my gaze and smiled. “You could just say it, you know.”
“Say what?”
“That you like him.”
“I don’t.”
She arched a brow. “Your eyes say otherwise.”
“My eyes are frozen.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lydia, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she said, looping her arm through mine again. “Look, you don’t have to know what it is or where it’s going. Just… let yourself enjoy it. You deserve a little joy, Mel.”
Joy. The word felt strange in my mouth.
I looked around one more time at the snowman contest, the twinkle lights, the ridiculous Reckless River Chili Throwdown banner strung across the street, and felt something in me shift.
Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe I didn’t have to figure it all out right now. Maybe it was okay to just… be here.
I smiled faintly.
“Fine,” I said. “But if I get tinsel in my hair again, don’t let Drew get it out.”
Lydia grinned. “Deal.”
We started walking again, our boots crunching against the snow-dusted path that led toward the wreath-making tent. The air smelled like pine and cinnamon and something bright and possible.
For the first time in a long while, I let myself stop overthinking.
Maybe Reckless River wasn’t just a detour. Maybe it was the part of the map I hadn’t known I was missing for the holidays.