Chapter 22
T he taxi glided to a smooth stop in front of the Grange Hall, its tires crunching over gravel as if even the vehicle respected the quiet charm of McKenzie Ridge.
Will stepped out slowly, stretching his arms overhead as the crisp mountain air greeted him like an old friend.
The scent of pine and possibility lingered in the breeze, brushing against his skin with the kind of welcome you couldn’t fake.
Lady leapt out after him, her paws landing with purpose and her nose already working overtime to catalog the new smells. Her tail swished with excitement, a happy metronome that kept time with her curiosity.
Jack, the ever-cheerful cab driver who looked like he could’ve stepped straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting—if Norman had painted mountain men with a coffee addiction and a knack for small-town gossip—handed over Will’s leather duffle with a knowing grin.
He didn’t say anything right away, but the twinkle in his eye said plenty.
“Welcome to McKenzie Ridge, friend,” Jack said, tipping his head in greeting. “And welcome back, Lady.”
Will blinked, glancing between his dog and the driver. “How... how’d you know?”
“Oh, I’d recognize her anywhere,” Jack replied with a wink. “I also heard about the old switch-a-roo and put two and two together.”
Without another word, Jack climbed back into his taxi, the engine humming to life. “Give me a call if you need a ride,” he added, pulling away with a casual wave.
“Will do. Thanks,” Will called after him, then turned to Lady with a crooked grin. “Well, you’re already famous.”
Together, Will and Lady set off along the narrow path that led toward the Grange Hall—a building that looked like it had hosted everything from pie contests to town hall debates, and probably both on the same night.
Its weathered clapboards bore the soft patina of time, but the flower boxes brimming with cheerful petunias hinted at the care poured into every creaky floorboard and dusty windowpane.
As they climbed the short steps to the front entrance, the faint scent of lemon polish wafted through the open door, mingling with the warm, earthy aroma of aged wood.
It was the kind of smell that whispered of community dinners, talent shows, and generations of whispered secrets exchanged over folding tables.
Just inside the doorway stood a woman who seemed to embody the spirit of the place itself—Lou Shaw, clipboard in hand, her silver-streaked hair swept into a no-nonsense bun that had probably survived more than one town crisis.
Her expression balanced somewhere between welcome and regulation, the kind that said she could bake you cookies or issue a citation with the same smile.
She took one look at Will and Lady, and her eyes twinkled with immediate recognition—as if she'd been expecting them all along.
“Well, hello there, Will,” Lou greeted warmly. “We weren’t expectin’ you.”
Will looked behind him, uncertain. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Not at all,” Lou said with a twinkle in her eye. “But that there’s Lady, which must make you Will.”
“So, you heard,” Will replied, half amused, half amazed.
“Oh, honey,” Lou said, chuckling. “The whole town’s heard by now—small town and all. Can I help you with somethin’?”
“Yeah, I was hoping to find Alex,” he said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder.
“Here?” Lou asked, glancing around the hall.
“She’s the Mayor, right?”
“Sure is,” she confirmed. “But why would she be here?”
“Isn’t the Mayor’s office here?” Will asked, eyebrows lifting.
“Says so on the sign outside,” Lou answered with a shrug.
“Am I... missing... something?”
“Sounds like you’re missin’ the Mayor and your dog,” Lou teased lightly. “She’s not here.”
“So where...?”
“Follow me,” Lou said, already turning toward the door. “We’ll go find her.”
Will exchanged a glance with Lady, who gave an eager little bounce before falling into step beside Lou. Will followed close behind, the promise of answers—and maybe a little more—just ahead.