Chapter 3
Ryan stopped in his tracks, Angus pulling against the leash as the dog watched the spectacle in front of them, his head tilted to one side.
Bertha the goat was at it again. With her bright red Christmas sweater and a light-up Rudolph nose, she clambered onto a wooden bench in front of The Lonely Pen and was happily munching away at the fresh pine boughs decorating the door.
Tiny bells on her collar jingled with each bite, making the destruction sound almost festive.
“Bertha! Not again!” Mary’s voice rang out from the direction of Spilled Milk.
The store owner hurried across the street, her bright red hair escaping from beneath a knitted hat, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
“I’m so sorry, Francesca!” she called toward the bookstore.
“She slipped out while I was bringing in a delivery.”
The owner of the bookstore appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips as she surveyed the damage. Instead of being mad, she shook her head, smiling.
“At least she has good taste,” she laughed, reaching out to scratch behind Bertha’s ears. “Those were the expensive wreaths from the Christmas tree farm.”
Ryan leaned down to pat Angus, a smile on his face.
This was typical of his new hometown. Back in Seattle, he didn’t think anyone would have tolerated a free-roaming goat demolishing holiday decorations.
In Miami, during his time with Christina, he figured somebody would have taken the goat for a pet or called animal control.
But here, Bertha was practically the town mascot, and most people laughed at the trouble she got into.
“Hey, Ryan,” Francesca called out. “How were classes today? Professor Williams was in a little while ago and mentioned your ecosystem project was the best in the class.”
Heat crept into his cheeks at the unexpected praise. “Thanks. We’re studying local watersheds this week. It’s pretty interesting how everything connects.”
Mary secured a leash to Bertha’s collar, gently tugging the goat away from the remains of her festive meal. “This one could teach a course on local vegetation,” she joked, patting the goat’s side. “She’s sampled every garden in town.”
The way people here spoke to him like he belonged, like his presence mattered, still surprised Ryan sometimes.
In Seattle, he’d been invisible, just another quiet kid moving through crowded hallways.
It was noisy in the city with so many people, and his mom was always working trying to make ends meet.
Here, the sounds were different. Instead of sirens and honking horns, there was wind through pine trees, the waterfall at the end of the lake from Tara’s cottage, it was like the silence had texture here.
He looked around, glad he hadn’t said that out loud and embarrassed himself.
His mom would have liked Tara. The thought of her made his throat close up, and he knew in his heart that his mom never would have been with Harry if she’d known he was married.
“I’d better get to Spilled Milk,” Ryan said to Francesca, gesturing toward the grocery store. “Christina asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.”
“Tell your sister I’ve got that book she ordered,” she called after him as he continued down the sidewalk, Angus trotting happily beside him.
Your sister. The words filled him with warmth.
Christina wasn’t technically his sister—they shared a father, nothing more—but she’d taken him in when he’d showed up on her doorstep with nowhere to go after his mother died, defended him when their father rejected him, and brought him to Blueberry Hill when her life in Miami fell apart.
Sister felt right, even if their shared DNA came from a man who wanted nothing to do with either of them now.
Ryan hunched his shoulders against the cold as he headed for Spilled Milk, his breath fogging in the crisp morning air.
The sky was dull gray, and the bite in the wind made his cheeks sting.
Christmas music played from the speakers by the door, mixing with the clang of bells coming from the town square, where workers were busy stringing lights around the massive tree for this weekend’s festival.
Inside, the blast of warmth hit him like he was back in Miami.
The whole vibe of the market was totally small-town which wasn’t a bad thing, it was just different.
He sniffed as the smell of bread hit first, all yeasty and sweet, drifting from where Mrs. Jenkins was busy stacking cranberry-orange muffins on a tray.
Over by the lunch counter, a couple of old guys were drinking coffee and arguing over the weather, their voices low and familiar.
A coffee pot burbled on the counter, making everything smell about ten times better.
Ryan double-checked Christina’s text.
milk, eggs, pasta, tomato sauce, ground beef, onions, garlic.
Just the basics for her go-to meal of spaghetti and meatballs.
He went down the aisles, picking out each thing, comparing the prices, making sure to get the good onions and not the ones getting squishy.
Money was tight. Christina’s social media job paid pretty well, but between his college classes and their getting settled here, every bit counted.
Tara had offered to help, but they’d said no, wanting to make their own way.
It was enough that they were living practically rent-free.
At least he’d have one if not two summer jobs when school was out.
That would help him save money, maybe even enough for an old car so he could drive himself to classes when he turned sixteen next year, taking turns with Charlie.
He paused by the pasta, debating between the three brands, when he caught Milt Jenkins’s voice from over near the deli. Milt was talking to some old guy about jobs.
“Station needs a part-time file clerk,” Milt said, his voice carrying. “Sheriff mentioned it. Weekends. Wouldn’t interfere with school.”
Ryan’s ears perked up. A job at the station? That sounded perfect. Close, probably not too many hours, and actually kind of interesting. He made a mental note to swing by after class tomorrow.
When he stepped outside, the cold hit him like a slap, biting through his jacket and making his eyes water.
He hunched his shoulders and pulled Angus’s leash tighter, the grocery bags over his wrist. He’d forgotten his gloves again.
He could see his breath puffing out in front of him, disappearing into the gray air.
Angus didn’t seem to mind, trotting ahead, tail wagging, nose to the ground, like it was just any other day.
Ryan was halfway across the parking lot when something made him slow down.
Off behind the recycling bins, there was this old, beat-up Honda Civic, kind of hidden away.
The windows were all fogged up, but he caught movement inside.
Tehre was someone in the driver’s seat, and a dog on the passenger side.
A weird feeling filled his stomach. The whole thing, the way the car was tucked out of sight, the fogged-up windows, the way the person inside hardly moved, reminded him too much of times he wanted to forget.
Nights when he and his mom slept in their car, or when the apartment heat got shut off and they piled on every blanket they could find to keep from freezing.
He could almost feel the same kind of nervous, desperate energy coming off the car, like whoever was inside just wanted to disappear.
He stood there for a second, shifting the grocery bags and wondering if he should go over. It was cold, way too cold for anyone to be sleeping out here, especially in a car that looked like it might die any minute.
Ryan was still trying to decide what to do when the driver’s window cleared a little.
Someone inside wiped a circle in the fog, and he caught a quick glimpse of a girl’s face.
She looked about his age, with dark hair, and a kind of fierce look on her face.
For a second, their eyes met, and it was like he knew exactly what she was feeling.
Not because he recognized her, but because he recognized that look.
Scared, but acting tough, like she was ready to bolt if anyone got too close.
Before he could even raise a hand or say anything, the girl jerked away and started the engine. The Honda sputtered, coughed, and then finally came to life. She backed out and turned right out of the parking lot, the taillights disappearing into the gloom.
He just stood there, the plastic of the grocery bags cutting into his wrist, his chest tight. He couldn’t get her face out of his head. He knew what it felt like to want to be invisible, not because you wanted to hide, but because you didn’t want anyone to see how bad things were.
“Yo, Earth to Ryan! You planning to freeze out here?” Charlie’s voice snapped him back to the present.
His friend came jogging over from the hardware store, keys jingling in his gloved hand.
He hadn’t forgotten his gloves. At eighteen, Charlie was the tallest guy Ryan knew, all arms and legs, and even bundled up he was easy to spot.
He had his camera, as usual, hanging from his neck.
Charlie never went anywhere without it, always looking for something cool to shoot.
“Just spaced out, I guess.” He shook himself and grinned, falling in next to Charlie as they headed for the truck.
“Man, dangerous habit,” Charlie said, brushing off his camera. “Did you see the way the sky looked earlier? Got some awesome shots over by the track. Perfect for my portfolio.”