Chapter 3 December 19
“No… no… this can’t be happening!” I’m still driving the same VW Golf I left Harmony Hills in, when I was eighteen and off to university. The black car, which I named Pepper Munro, has been the most consistent thing in my life for the past decade and a half. It has never let me down. Until now.
“ The Check Engine indicator will stay solid or blink. Blinking Check Engine Lights mean the situation is serious, and you should slow down, find a safe place to stop, and contact a Volkswagen Service Centre ,” I read.
Glancing at the dashboard, I see the blinking indicator and curse under my breath.
The service centre is a one-hour tow away, and besides, I let my CAA membership lapse earlier in the year.
Back when Austin drove us everywhere in his highly reliable and exceptionally more comfortable Range Rover.
Waking up my phone, I notice the lack of bars. Of course—this is a cell service dead zone, of which there are plenty out here in the middle of nowhere. Regardless, I try texting Amelia, but the message won’t go through. I close my eyes and let out a long sigh.
“It’s only four kilometres, Elizabeth,” I tell myself, as I reach into my duffel bag for my running shoes.
Tugging off my suede, knee-high boots—a feat in the cramped driver’s seat—I manage to get my runners on and laced.
I’m shoving my arms into my parka, only then realizing my gloves and hat didn’t make it into my overnight bag, when there’s a sharp rap against my window.
I scream, throwing my arms into the air.
My phone goes flying, then skitters under the front seat.
There’s a guy at my window, with crossed arms and a tight look I interpret as annoyance.
What’s he annoyed about? He nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on my car like that.
He takes a half step back, clearly hearing my alarmed yelp, but his expression reads more irritation than apology. I crack the window an inch.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my tone confidently firm so he knows I can take care of myself.
The guy stuffs his hands in his coat’s pockets and gives me a curious look. “Seems you’re the one who needs help?”
I’m about to say, “All good here,” but then we both notice the steam coming out from under the car’s hood.
I look at him and shrug, and he raises an eyebrow.
First impression, aside from the evident grumpiness?
He’s gorgeous. Thick, dark, wavy hair and bright green eyes.
Five-o’clock shadow that works very well on him.
At least a handful of inches taller than my five-foot-nine height, probably over six feet.
Broad shoulders under his corduroy jacket with a shearling collar, which nicely complements his perfectly faded jeans and rugged work boots.
I’m not sure where he came from, but he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a romance novel.
Handsome, no question, but still a stranger. I muster a polite smile, roll my window all the way down so we don’t have to speak through a one-inch crack. A chilly gust of wind bursts into the car, and I regret leaving my hat and gloves behind. “I’m… having car trouble.”
He checks his watch, then his eyes drift again to the steam creeping out from under Pepper’s hood. “I can see that.”
I’m half considering telling him to just move along, I’ve got this , when he adds, “Do you need a ride into town?” Again, a hint of irritation in his tone. Why did you even bother to stop? I think. It’s only four kilometres—I’d rather walk than get in the truck with Mr. Gorgeous-but-Grumpy.
“No, thanks,” I reply, giving him a saccharin-sweet smile. “I haven’t hit my ten thousand steps yet today.”
He sighs, runs a hand through that wavy, dark hair. “Are you always this stubborn?” There’s a twitch in his jaw, as though he’s holding back a smile. But nothing else about his body language suggests this is someone with whom I want to spend a minute longer.
“Are you always this friendly?” I ask, matching his tone.
There’s a brief pause, and then he lets out a booming laugh—a real one, and his entire demeanour changes.
“Let’s start over,” he says, setting a hand to his chest. “I’m Liam, Liam Young, and I’m sorry for scaring you earlier.
Also, for that terrible first impression—I’m usually much more charming,” he adds, and I can’t resist returning the smile. “But it’s been one hell of a day .”
His smile dims slightly, but he quickly recovers. “I promise you, I am neither a serial killer nor a jerk.”
“Isn’t that exactly what a jerky serial killer would say in a situation like this?” I raise an eyebrow, but my shoulders relax. I’m mesmerized by Liam’s matching dimples, which have settled into his cheeks thanks to his mega-watt smile.
“I see your point. Okay, how’s this…” Liam crouches, resting his crossed arms on my open window.
He’s only inches from me, and the scent of cloves and pine reaches my nose with another gust of wind.
Up close, he’s also somehow even more good-looking.
“I live just outside Harmony Hills on a Christmas tree farm—true story—and I cry at life insurance commercials. Also, I have those bird-safety stickers up on every window in my house.”
“A Christmas tree farm, huh?” I chuckle. “I would expect nothing less in Harmony Hills.”
My small-town instincts kick my city-girl ones to the curb, and I decide I’m safe with this guy. “I will take you up on the ride,” I say. “Otherwise, I’ll be walking in the dark.”
We both look up to the sky, which is quickly losing its light.
“Happy to give you a lift.” He stands, checking his watch once more. “Again, sorry for my impatience earlier. I’m dealing with a starter emergency.”
“That sounds… important,” I say, before rolling up the window and opening the door. Starter emergency? I consider asking what that means but decide to mind my own business. “So, life insurance commercials? Really?”
“I’ve been told I’m too ‘soft.’?” He shrugs. “Can I take your bag for you… sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Um, sure. Thanks,” I reply, handing him my duffel bag. “I’m Elizabeth. Nice to meet you, Liam.” I grab my boots, lock the doors, and follow him to his truck, which is parked behind my car.
“Likewise,” he says, opening the passenger door of his pickup. It’s warm inside, and it smells like orange slices warming in cinnamon-laced apple cider. I inhale deeply. Then I immediately sneeze. And sneeze again.
“You don’t happen to have a cat in here, do you?” My third sneeze is the most dramatic yet, embarrassingly so. I dig around in my crossbody purse for a tissue, feeling another sneeze building. My eyes are watering so much I can hardly see.
“Not today,” he says. “But I did help a friend with a couple of cats the other day. May still be some fur arou—”
“AH-CHOO!”
Liam gives me a sympathetic look. “Guessing you’re allergic to cats?”
“Good guess,” I say, my tone nasally. I take the tissue he hands me. “Thanks.”
“Fresh air might help,” he says, powering our windows down a few inches. He also turns up the heat to counteract the cold air. “Do you have an antihistamine?”
I give him a wan smile, which he doesn’t notice because he’s pulling onto the road.
As a doctor you might think I always have a mini medical kit handy—at the very least, some aspirin or a couple of adhesive bandages.
But the closest thing to medicine I have on me is ChapStick.
At least the fresh air, while chilly, seems to be keeping the sneezing at bay.
“No antihistamine, but I just remembered I have a turkey sandwich in my bag. I don’t cry at commercials—of any sort,” I say, and Liam laughs. “But something to know about me is that I am always hungry. Always .”
I pull out the squished foil-and-paper-wrapped packet, inside of which rests a formerly hot turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwich I picked up at the gas station. Opening the packet, I poke at the sandwich, then take a whiff. Seems fine.
“When did you get that?” Liam asks, glancing over and wrinkling his nose. Fair enough—it doesn’t exactly look appetizing.
“A few hours ago,” I say with a shrug. “Pepper’s heat doesn’t work well, though, so it should be okay.”
“Pepper?”
“That’s my car’s name. I’ve had her for fourteen years.
My longest relationship, by a long shot.
” I’m mildly embarrassed to have revealed both things so quickly, so I take a big bite of the sandwich to keep me from sharing more.
It’s cold and the cranberry has congealed in a gummy way, but otherwise it tastes good.
I’m starving, so I take another bite, and offer him the other half.
“No, thanks,” he says.
“Suit yourself,” I reply through a mouthful of turkey and stuffing.
“So what brings you to Harmony Hills, Elizabeth?”
I swallow and am about to answer when a phone rings through the truck’s speakers. He looks at the screen— Call from Pops —and frowns. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“Of course. Please,” I reply, staring out the window and starting in on the second half of the sandwich while he answers the call. There’s still no snow on the ground, which is odd for this time of year in Harmony Hills. We had more of a dusting when I left Toronto.
“Hey, Pops, I’m almost there,” Liam says, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Crisis averted. No need to rush on over, I’ve got it under control.” The voice is familiar, though I can’t place it. I wonder what this guy’s connection is to Harmony Hills, and who this “Pops” is.
Liam lets out a breath in obvious relief. “Great news. Okay, well, I’m almost in town, so I’ll come by regardless. I’m sure you could use another set of hands.”
“If you mean someone else’s hands, you bet!”
There’s laughter from both, and then Liam says “bye” and ends the call.
“Starter emergency over?” I ask, crumpling up the paper-and-foil packet.
“Thankfully, yes,” Liam replies, shooting me a smile. “How was the old and cold sandwich?”
“Delicious. I love a good turkey and cranberry sandwich.” Though now it feels like a brick in my stomach. I ate too quickly, a hazard of my particular line of work. Always in a rush.
Liam slows the truck, pulling onto the main road that snakes through the tiny Harmony Hills.
We pass the familiar sights—the town square with the giant evergreen, the sweets shop, the pharmacy and dry goods store, the library and redbrick school, the community centre that is the hub of the town—and nostalgia hits me, along with a wiggle of anxiety.
I swallow hard and take a couple of breaths.
“You okay over there?” Liam asks, noting my discomfort.
“I’m fine,” I reply, clearing my throat.
“So where can I drop you off, Elizabeth?”
“Anywhere here is fine. Thanks,” I reply. My parents’ house is only a couple minutes’ walk from the downtown area. I’ll figure out what to do about Pepper once I get there.
Liam pulls into a spot near the town square, puts the truck in park. “This okay?” he asks.
“Perfect.” I’m gathering my stuff when Liam says, “Let me get the door for you.”
I could easily open it myself but wait for him to walk to my side of the truck.
This gesture reminds me where I am—in small towns like Harmony Hills people look out for one another.
Opening doors, bringing casseroles over after injuries or illness, shoveling snowy driveways and raking leaves for neighbours, always having a minute to stop and chat rather than rushing by, eyes fixed to the sidewalk or, more likely, a phone.
For a moment we stand there, my arms full with my bag and boots, and Liam with hands again in his pockets. He smiles and I smile back, but I’m quite aware of the lengthening silence.
“So…” I take a quick glance around. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back, but it doesn’t seem like much has changed.”
“That’s one of the things I love most about this place,” Liam says, making me wonder again what this guy’s story is. But there’s only so long you can stand outside a stranger’s pickup truck before you need to make a move—one way or the other.
“Well, I should probably get going,” I say, setting my duffel bag’s strap across my chest. “I really appreciate you stopping, and I hope your day gets better.”
“It already has.” Liam’s smile deepens ( hot damn , those dimples!), and he holds out a hand. “It was nice meeting you, Elizabeth.”
“You, too, Liam.” I reach out to shake his hand, and he takes it with a warm, steady grip. Firm, but not too firm. I like that.
Just as I turn to go, he says, “Maybe I’ll see you around town?”
I glance back and meet his sparkling green eyes. “That would be great,” I say, as casually as I can. Then I start walking towards my parents’ house, thinking maybe Harmony Hills isn’t going to be the worst place to spend Christmas after all.