Chapter 9
9
T he air in Mistletoe Hollow had taken on a sharper chill, and the golden hues of autumn leaves were beginning to give way to the gray promise of winter. Emily stood in the hardware store, scribbling notes on her clipboard as Grace stacked a shipment of birdseed near the counter.
“I think that’s the last of it,” Grace said, brushing her hands on her jeans. “You’d think we were stocking up for an avian apocalypse with all this seed.”
Emily chuckled, setting the clipboard aside. “Mistletoe Hollow loves its birds. Doug said someone bought a heated birdbath last week. Heated. For birds. ”
Grace grinned. “People here go all out. Speaking of going all out, are you coming to the cider tasting at the square tonight?”
Emily hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot to do, and?—”
Grace crossed her arms, giving her a look. “And nothing. You’re going. It’s time you let yourself have some fun that doesn’t involve inventory spreadsheets.”
Emily sighed but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine. You win. But if the cider’s terrible, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
At the cider tasting, the square was alive with activity that evening, strings of fairy lights casting a warm glow over the crowd. Long tables were set up with steaming pitchers of cider, each labeled with the name of a local orchard. The smell of cinnamon and cloves mingled with the crisp autumn air.
Emily wandered through the crowd, sampling a cup of spiced pear cider as she admired the decorations. She hadn’t expected to feel so at ease, but the festive atmosphere was contagious.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Emily turned to see Noah standing behind her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. His smile was small but genuine, and the sight of it sent an unexpected warmth through her chest.
“So far,” she said, holding up her cup. “The pear cider is pretty good. What about you?”
“I’m partial to the apple cinnamon,” Noah said, holding up his own cup.
As they strolled through the square together, they paused near a group gathered around a makeshift stage. Lila and Jack stood front and center, watching Doug as he introduced the latest “winner” of the town’s ongoing cider contest.
“And this year’s Best Original Blend goes to… Martha!” Doug announced, holding up a small wooden plaque.
Martha beamed as she stepped onto the stage, her floral scarf trailing behind her. “I told you my secret ingredient would win,” she declared, wagging a finger at the crowd.
“What’s the secret?” Jack called out, earning laughter from the audience .
Martha smirked. “I’ll never tell!”
Emily laughed along with the crowd, her spirits lifting. As Martha stepped down, Doug caught Emily’s eye and waved her over.
“Emily, you’re just in time,” Doug said, holding out two mugs of cider. “Try this. It’s the runner-up.”
Emily accepted the mug, taking a cautious sip. The tartness of cranberries balanced perfectly with a hint of orange zest. “This is amazing,” she said.
“It’s Mrs. Hart’s recipe,” Doug said, nodding toward the retired schoolteacher, who was chatting animatedly with a group of parents nearby. “I think she’s secretly trying to outdo Martha every year.”
“You mean Mistletoe Hollow has a cider rivalry?” Emily teased.
“Oh, it’s a full-blown feud,” Doug said with mock seriousness. “You should hear them during the planning meetings. It’s like the Great Cider Debate of ’97 all over again.”
Emily chuckled, the warmth of the cider and the town’s camaraderie wrapping around her like a blanket.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Doug suggested. “Shall we? ”
As they passed the Holly and Hearth Café’s table, Emily noticed Evie standing to the side, her expression unusually subdued. She excused herself from Doug and made her way over.
“Hey, Evie,” Emily said gently. “You look like you’re about to burst. What’s going on?”
Evie turned to Emily with a wide, beaming smile. “Oh, hi, Emily! Guess what? Will’s coming to the community garden cleanup!”
Emily’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Wait… really? You asked him?”
“I did!” Evie practically bounced on her heels, her excitement contagious. “I figured, why not? He’s always here, lost in his writing. I thought it would be nice to get him out of his little bubble.”
Emily grinned. “And he said yes?”
“He did,” Evie confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. “He actually seemed interested! I know we are just cleaning things up for spring planting, but I was expecting a polite no. I was thrilled when he asked for details and everything.”
“Wow, Evie, that’s great!” Emily placed a hand on her shoulder. “See? He’s not as unreachable as you think.”
Evie laughed, her cheeks pinking slightly. “I guess not. It’s just... he’s so serious all the time. I want to see him in a different setting—maybe where he’s not glued to his laptop.”
Emily gave her a playful nudge. “Well, a day in the dirt should do the trick. Nothing like a little gardening to shake things up.”
Evie grinned. “Exactly! Thanks for encouraging me to give it a try.”
“Anytime,” Emily said, her smile warm. “Now let’s just hope he knows how to wield a shovel.”
As the evening wound down, Emily found herself back at one of the cider tables, sipping a second cup of the spiced pear blend. The crowd had thinned, and the festive hum of earlier had softened into a peaceful murmur.
Noah appeared at her side again, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly tousled by the wind. “Still holding up?”
“Barely,” Emily joked, though her smile was genuine. “It’s been a good night.”
Noah nodded, his gaze drifting toward the glowing fairy lights. “It has. ”
They stood in companionable silence for a moment, the crisp air wrapping around them.
“You know,” Noah said eventually, his tone thoughtful, “you’ve been spending a lot of time helping everyone else lately; Evie, Grace, the garden project… When do you get to take a break?”
Emily shrugged, a hint of self-consciousness creeping in. “I like helping. It keeps me busy.”
“Busy doesn’t mean happy,” Noah said quietly, glancing at her.
Emily felt her cheeks warm under his gaze, but before she could respond, he gestured toward the cider table.
“Come on,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think there’s one pitcher we haven’t tried yet.”
Emily followed him, grateful for the lightness in his tone—and the unspoken promise of his steady presence.