Chapter 8
Tessa woke to the sound of a distant snowplow rumbling down the street.
She lay in her childhood bed, staring at the ceiling.
The memory of her mother helping her put up those glowing stars on her ceiling flashed through her mind.
Her mom helped her shape them into constellations.
She glanced at the window where the curtains her mother had sewn for her still hung, faded now, but still there.
For a moment, she let herself be still. No alarms blaring, no overhead announcements, no rush to check vitals or administer medication. Surrounded by comforting memories. Just peaceful quiet, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of the plow against asphalt.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a morning without urgency. Enjoyed a morning without pressure.
Down the hall, she could hear her father’s voice mingling with Beckett’s, their words indistinct but their tones comfortable.
Last night’s conversation with Beckett by the fire had left her unsettled.
Not because of anything he’d said, but because of how much she’d wanted to keep talking.
How for the first time in years, she’d felt the tightness in her chest loosen just a little.
She pushed back the covers and padded to the window. Fresh snow blanketed the yard, pristine except for the path Beckett had cleared to the driveway. The sky was a brilliant blue that hurt her eyes, so different from Denver’s hazy urban gray.
“I should read a book,” she said aloud to the empty room. The thought surprised her. When was the last time she’d read something that wasn’t a medical journal or hospital policy update?
She showered quickly, pulled her hair into its usual low bun, and headed downstairs. Her father sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and the newspaper.
“Morning,” he said, not looking up.
“Good morning.” Tessa poured herself coffee from the pot. “Is Beckett around?”
“Hardware store. Something about a broken latch on the shed.”
She nodded, though her father couldn’t see it. “I thought I might walk into town. Get some fresh air.”
He folded the newspaper and looked at her then. “Supposed to be clear all day. Good day for a walk.”
Was that approval in his voice? She couldn’t tell. “Do you need anything before I go? Medication check or...”
He tapped his pill organizer on the table. “I’m all set. Beckett makes sure of it.”
Of course he did. “Right. Well, I’ll have my phone if you need me.”
He nodded and returned to his paper. She hesitated, then grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and stepped outside.
The cold hit her lungs like a shock, clean and clarifying.
She followed the shoveled sidewalk into town, her boots crunching in the snow.
Sweet River Falls looked charming, with the storefronts decorated with garlands and lights, and smoke curling from chimneys.
She’d forgotten how beautiful it could be.
She passed the town square, where a Christmas tree stood tall and bright even in daylight. A banner hung across Main Street announcing, “Sweet River Falls Welcomes You Home for the Holidays.”
Home. The word caught in her throat.
She pushed into Bookish Cafe, and the warmth enveloped her immediately, along with the rich scent of coffee. The cafe was busier than she expected, with nearly every table occupied by people chatting over steaming mugs.
Annie looked up from behind the counter and waved. “Tessa! What a nice surprise. What can I get you?”
“Just coffee, black. And I thought I’d get a book while I’m here.”
“Coming right up. And the new releases are on that shelf by the window.”
She wandered over to the display and ran her fingers along the spines, reading titles that meant nothing to her. How had she fallen so out of touch with current books? There had been a time when she devoured novels, staying up late to finish just one more chapter.
“Here you go.” Annie appeared at her side, holding out a large mug. “See anything that catches your eye?”
She accepted the coffee. “I honestly don’t know where to start. It’s been... a while since I’ve read for pleasure.”
“Hospital work doesn’t leave much time for that, does it?”
“No. Though that’s not a great excuse.”
“Well, let me help.” Annie scanned the shelf and pulled out a paperback with a blue cover. “This one’s gotten wonderful reviews. It’s about a woman who inherits her grandmother’s house in a small coastal town and discovers family secrets. A bit of mystery to it.”
She took the book, flipping it over to read the back. “Sounds perfect, actually.”
“Excellent choice,” a deep voice said from behind her.
She turned to find Beckett standing there, a small paper bag in his hand. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his eyes bright.
“You’ve read it?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded. “I read a lot these days. That one’s good. Great mystery. The ending will surprise you.”
Annie glanced between them, a small smile playing at her lips. “Beckett’s one of my best customers. He’s working his way through my entire fiction section.”
“Just the good ones,” he said with a slight shrug. “Stan asked me to pick up his medication while I was out. I should get back. Enjoy your book.”
He nodded goodbye and headed for the door. She watched him go, noticing how several people called out greetings as he passed. He responded to each one with a quiet word or nod.
“He’s really found his place here,” Annie said, following her gaze.
She turned back to Annie. “It seems that way. Everyone treats him like he’s lived here forever.”
“That’s Sweet River Falls for you. Once you’re one of ours, you’re family.” Annie squeezed her arm. “That includes you too, you know. No matter how long you’ve been away.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She sipped her coffee instead.
“Actually,” Annie said, “since you’re here, I could use your help with something.”
“Oh?”
“I’m decorating for our holiday reading night. My usual helper is down with the flu.”
She glanced at her watch out of habit, then realized she had nowhere else to be. No shifts to cover, no patients waiting. Just time, stretching out empty before her.
“I’d be happy to help,” she said.
“Wonderful! Let me just tell my worker at the counter, and we can head to the back.”
While Annie spoke with the young woman behind the counter, she noticed a large corkboard near the register. It was covered in small pieces of paper in various colors, each pinned haphazardly across the surface. A sign above it read “Wish Notes” in flowing script.
She moved closer, reading a few of the notes.
“I wish for a new bike for my brother. His got stolen, and Mom says we can’t afford another one.”
“I wish my dad would come home for Christmas this year.”
“I wish someone would notice me.”
“I wish for one day without pain.”
“I wish I could forget how much I miss you.”
Each note was unsigned, anonymous wishes sent out into the universe. Some were hopeful, while others were heartbreaking in their simplicity.
“It’s our annual tradition,” Annie said, coming to stand beside her. “People write down their holiday wishes, and sometimes others in town make them come true. Anonymously, of course.”
“That’s beautiful.” She stared at the corkboard.
“It started small, just a few wishes. Now we get hundreds.” Annie pointed to a blue note near the bottom. “That little boy got his puppy last year. And this woman,” she indicated a pink note, “received two months’ worth of meals after her surgery.”
She read more notes, feeling a tightness in her throat.
“I wish Mom would smile again.”
“I wish for courage to start over.”
“I wish to belong somewhere.”
That last one hit her like an unexpected punch. How many times had she felt that exact sentiment, even in Denver, where she’d built her whole adult life?
“People think small towns are simple. But we hold just as much complexity as anywhere else. Pain and hope side by side.”
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“Come on,” Annie said, touching her arm gently. “The decorations are in the storage room.”
She followed her through a door behind the counter into a small hallway. Annie unlocked a door and flicked on the light, revealing a room lined with shelves stacked with boxes.
“These are the holiday ones,” Annie said, pointing to a stack labeled in the corner. “We need the ones labeled Reading Night.”
She pulled down the first box, surprised by its weight. “What’s in here, bricks?”
Annie laughed. “Book-themed ornaments, mostly. And the fairy lights. Lots and lots of fairy lights.”
They carried the boxes out to the main cafe area, where Annie had cleared a large table. As they unpacked, she found herself surrounded by tiny book ornaments, miniature reading lamps, and strings of lights shaped like open books.
“These are amazing,” she said, holding up a tiny replica of Pride and Prejudice.
“I’ve collected them throughout the years,” Annie explained, untangling a string of lights. “The reading night is my favorite event. We turn off all the regular lights and read by these fairy lights. Kids come in pajamas with their favorite books. It’s magical.”
She could almost picture it in her mind with the soft glow of lights, children curled up with books, and the warmth of community surrounding them. Something inside her ached at the image.
“Would you like to come?”
“I... maybe. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.”
Annie nodded, not pushing. “Well, the invitation stands. Now, can you help me hang these lights around the windows?”
For the next hour, they worked together, transforming the cafe into an even cozier space. Tessa climbed the ladder to hang lights while Annie directed from below. The physical activity felt good and purposeful in a different way than her hospital work.
As they finished, she found herself back at the wish board, drawn to the anonymous hopes and dreams of her hometown.
“Would you like to add one?” Annie asked, holding out a small green slip of paper and a pen.
She hesitated. What would she wish for? Health for her father seemed too obvious. A return to normal in Denver? But what was normal anymore? The panic attacks in supply closets? The trembling hands she tried to hide?
“Maybe later.” She handed back the paper.
Annie nodded, understanding. “The board will be here when you’re ready.”
She paid for her book and thanked Annie for the coffee. As she prepared to leave, Annie called out, “Tessa, wait. I forgot to give you this.”
She held out a small paper bag. “Blueberry muffin. Will you give it to your dad? It’s his favorite.”
She took the bag. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Outside, the temperature had dropped. She tucked the book and muffin into her coat and started the walk back to her father’s house.
Her mind kept returning to those wish notes. All those quiet desires, some simple and some profound. It struck her that beneath the picture-perfect surface of Sweet River Falls, there was so much more happening. People struggling, hoping, dreaming, hurting. Just like anywhere else. Just like her.
She paused at the edge of town, looking back at the twinkling lights strung across Main Street. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel quite so much like an outsider looking in. There was pain here, yes, but there was also hope. And maybe, there was room for her pain and her hope too.
The wish board had shown her that everyone had their own story and their own struggles hidden beneath the surface. Even Beckett, with his quiet strength and careful distance. Even her father, who had somehow changed enough to welcome a stranger into his home.
As she continued walking, snow beginning to fall in gentle flakes around her, she found herself wondering what Beckett might have wished for or what her father might write on one of those colored slips of paper. What would healing look like for each of them?
She didn’t have answers, but the questions didn’t fill her with dread. Instead, she felt a flicker of something that might have been curiosity. Or perhaps, more dangerously, it might have been hope.