Alice
I’m sitting inside Blessings Barn, a structure that’s both a picturesque wedding venue and a torturously uncomfortable town hall meeting spot.
The doors and windows are thrown wide open to gently swaying grass and wildflowers, and the subtle, mossy scent of the river.
Overhead, twinkling lights accentuate wooden beams, and lengths of burgundy silk drape from one end of the barn to the other, crossing beneath a chandelier of antlers.
As I wait for the other attendees to arrive, I think—as I do lately—of Colt.
These last three weeks have been a blur of swinging my legs over the side of the bed the moment I wake, my body electric from the knowledge that it’s happening. I’m chasing my dream, and I’m doing it beside someone I trust and care about.
During that same stretch of time—longer if I’m being honest—I’ve been consumed by thoughts of him.
The way he arrives with two coffees each morning, wearing a smile like he’s surprised to find me on the other side of the door.
Or how we swap shared memories from our childhood, laughing until we can’t breathe, and other memories too—ones from before we knew each other, or from the years we spent apart, as if desperate to fill in the missing pieces.
I hold the things I’ve learned about Colt in my mind like secret, intimate treasures.
Like how he loves chilled watermelon and (unsalted) scrambled eggs.
And the intensity with which he examines the world—ceaselessly looking, listening, touching.
Most of all, how he loves watching birds, studying them like they hold the key to happiness.
So much so that I’ve hung a bird feeder near the front window.
He smiled when he saw it, and now he’ll frequently pause mid-swing, mid-build, to look at a small winged-creature as it rifles through black oil sunflower seeds.
I’ve also learned that Colt is unbelievably, undeniably sexy.
I always thought he was handsome, but the boy I remember has been replaced by a man. All hard lines and broad shoulders and, my god, those dark eyes dusted by long lashes. Instantly, I’m there again. Two days ago. Me pinned against the bookshelf.
Those eyes had dropped to my mouth, heat radiating off his massive frame.
And the way his biceps had flexed as he gripped the bookshelf had nearly incinerated me.
I’ve replayed that moment in the dark, my hand slipping between my legs, fingers rubbing frantic circles as I imagine him hoisting me up against that same bookshelf.
Was he going to kiss me that day? If so, why did he stop himself?
A tiny, cruel voice in the back of mind whispers that I’m not enough for Colt.
He’s been a Marine. He’s seen the world, faced real danger, and possesses the ability to kill a person with his bare hands—hands that are now building my future.
Colt marched into that military recruitment office and, without a safety net to fall back on, took a chance on himself.
What have I done other than follow my family’s direction?
Even starting work on my bookshop required my parents’ sign-off.
I wonder if I will always be Grant’s little sister in Colt’s eyes.
“Thank god you’re here.” Maggie drops down in the seat next to me, plopping her purse into her lap. “I’ll need someone to hold me back if Roxanne says she doesn’t have shit planned.”
I throw my arms around Maggie, hugging her. “Thank you for being here.”
Maggie looks at me more closely. “You okay?”
Before I can respond, June slides into the seat on my opposite side. She reaches into a paper bag and produces two waxed sleeves. We’re already craning our necks to see what she brought when she hands them to us. “Strawberry danishes,” she announces proudly. “Still warm.”
“Be still my heart,” I sigh, the smell of buttery pastry slowing my spiraling mind.
“Marry me, June Bug.” Maggie bites into hers immediately.
A shadow falls over us, and I look up to see Frank standing directly in front of my chair. He’s wearing a stained apron and a frown.
“You ready to come back to the cafe?” he asks.
I lower my pastry and offer a sympathetic smile. “Oh. No. I’m sorry, Frank. I’m still working on getting my bookshop up and running.”
“Bookshop.” Frank huffs. “People don’t like reading. They just liketa’ say they do.” Here he mocks some unnamed person. “Oh. Oh, have you read…. Gone With the Wind? No? Oh, what an idiot. I have.”
I stare at him, slack-jawed. “Uh, well. I kinda—”
“Y’all hiring?”
“Sorry?”
“You looking for an em-ploy-ee?”
I can feel the confusion twisting my face. “Are you asking for a job, Frank?”
“You offerin’?”
“...no?”
Frank points a thick finger in my direction. “You should buy my cafe instead. People are too busy with their screens and their tik-taks to read books. But they’ll sure as hell eat.” He gestures to the pastries we’re holding to punctuate his point. Then he looks to June and holds her stare.
June rolls her eyes and reaches into her bag for another Danish. “Here ya go, Frank.”
Frank shoves half the Danish into his mouth and nods to himself. “This’s good shit, Jane.”
“June,” she corrects.
But Frank is already walking away, taking another enormous bite. A woman carrying a newborn tries to get past Frank, but he stands unmoving, blocking the aisle and blatantly staring down her shirt.
Roxanne claps her hands at the front of the room, and all heads turn in her direction. The exacting woman stands behind a podium, an exasperated look on her face. “Alright, let’s get through this so we can move on with our days.”
“Hasn’t even started and she’s already over it,” Maggie whispers. “Sounds about right.”
“The Fall Festival is our biggest draw of the season, and I know local commerce depends on it being well-attended.” Roxanne shuffles some papers.
“Unfortunately, reservations at the inn aren’t looking promising.
So here’s what we’ll do. Each shop will offer a festival-only special—be it a themed treat, a free experience, or a sample.
We’ll have fliers promoting the offerings available at the inn by next Friday, and I’ll also post it on our socials to drive reservations. "
Maggie leans in. “Speaking of socials. Have you checked yours? People are obsessed with you and Colt.” The moment Maggie finishes talking, her grin morphs into a scowl. “That’s it, Roxanne? That’s all you’ve got? That’s the same thing we’ve done all year. It doesn’t work!”
The room mumbles their agreement.
Roxanne purses her lips. “Then perhaps you’d like to take over the position? Do this on top of your day job?” Roxanne glances around the room, wearing an expression of annoyance and—beneath that—a shadow of hopefulness. “Anyone?” She holds the gavel out, inviting someone to take it.
Maggie nudges my ribs on one side and June bumps my shoulder on the other. They both give me Come on eyes. I think about my sketchbooks. The ones that hold not only plans for the bookshop, but for the town. But between the looming deadline and Colt’s confusing signals, I have enough on my plate.
But the bigger reason I don’t volunteer is that I worry I couldn’t pull it off. This build has shown me just how much work goes into fulfilling a vision, and that there’s zero guarantee of success at the end of it.
What if I spent the town’s budget on a plan that didn’t work? The festival would be deemed a failure, businesses would be hurt, and the people of Holly River would undoubtedly snub my shop, and for good reason.
Taking risks feels exciting, Alice, but most success lies in risk aversion.
Focus on what’s in front of you.
I shake my head at my friends.
“Didn’t think so,” Roxanne mutters when no one speaks up.
The meeting carries on for another twenty minutes with bickering breaking out about hayride routes and parking logistics.
Finally, Roxanne slams her gavel down. “Meeting’s adjourned.
” She checks her watch. “And in record time. Have your Fall Festival offerings to me by Monday morning, please.”
“I’ve got to get back to the bakery,” June says. “But I’ll see you two at the Hall? The band starts at eight.”
“I’ll be there,” Maggie confirms, checking her phone. “Alice?”
“With bells on,” I respond.
We give each other quick hugs and turn to leave. My stomach is already twisting into knots thinking about tonight, and who I want to invite.
Right before I exit the barn, I notice Harold, the man who approved my permit.
I start to wave hello, but stop when I realize he’s moving toward my neighbor and his secretary, Ms. Devonshire.
As I watch, he removes his hat with shaking hands and opens his mouth to say something to her.
But Ms. Devonshire walks away without noticing him.
I frown, imagining a missed opportunity for romance.
As I pull into the driveway, the sun is waving a final farewell, stretching long fingers of dying light over my porch and the few pumpkins scattered there.
I take a moment to appreciate the majestic white two-story home with its wraparound porch and swing.
In my mind’s eye, there are people trailing in and out of the front door, chatting merrily with one another, arms filled with paperbacks.
A customer sits on the swing, rocking back and forth, so absorbed in the book they’re reading they hardly notice the comings and goings.
When I go inside, the house is quiet—no hammering, no circular saw screaming. I walk toward the kitchen, and that’s when I see him.
Colt is standing by the sink, his back to me.
He’s finishing up for the day, and the universe must have a twisted sense of humor, because the man is shirtless.
Tanned, taut muscles shift as he splashes water on his face, and I watch on, hypnotized.
There’s a faint scar near his shoulder, the same one I traced in the river, and I want to touch it again.
I want to touch all of him.
Colt turns around, wiping his face with a paper towel, and stops when he sees me. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”
“Uh, huh,” is all I can manage. My gaze is trapped on a stray water droplet racing down his pecs, on its happy little way to a six-pack. I follow its progression before my eyes stray to the waistband of his work pants.
“Meeting go okay?” His voice is a low, rumbling baritone, and I have the sudden desire to put my mouth on his throat and feel the sound as it leaves him.
“Fine. Yeah.” I realize I’m staring and force my gaze back to his face. “Are you done for the day?”
“I think so. I wanted to finish the crown molding in the dining room, but it’s getting dark and I don’t want to mess it up. So…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll take off and see you back here first thing?”
“Wait.” The word jumps out of my mouth before I can stop it. “We’re headed to the Hall. Remember that band June was talking about a while back? They’re playing tonight.”
Colt looks at me, and for a second I see that same flash in his eyes I spotted two days ago.
His jaw clenches, and it almost seems like he’s working himself up to saying no.
I prepare myself to smile through the rejection, even though it’ll absurdly break my heart.
But instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Yeah, that sounds great.”
My heart leaps. I glance at the clock. “We’re supposed to be leaving soon. You could just…shower here if you want.”
Alice. What?!
Colt glances down at himself. “These clothes are pretty dirty. And I’d need a shirt.”
I shrug. “Borrow something of my brother’s. Or my dad’s. They both have a few things in the master closet that I was supposed to donate. We can throw everything else in the wash on quick cycle.”
He looks to the laundry room. “Quick cycle, huh?”
“The quickest.”
He smiles and looks back at me. “Alright, then.”
My heart leaps.
We head upstairs, and he moves toward Grant’s shower, the one he used when he’d stay over.
“Should I just…?” he begins.
“Yeah,” I chirp. “I can take them. Just drop everything on the floor.”
He nods, and a few moments later, after giving him privacy, I run the clothes down to the washer, trying not to focus on the fact that Colt’s boxers are somewhere in the bundle.
After starting the load, I jump into my own shower and run the water hot, watching as steam fills the small space.
My mind doesn’t just wander, it vaults to the fact that Colt Mitchell is just down the hall, undressed, water cascading over his powerful body.
My brother isn’t here. Nor are my parents.
And we are both undressed under the same roof. If he were to just walk down the hall…
My hand moves between my legs, and I press my cheek against the cool tile as water runs in rivulets down my back. My eyes slip closed as I think about Colt. His large hands. His shirtless torso. His mouth. The way he makes me feel both seen and protected.
I bite down on my lip as I move my fingers slowly over my clit and then inside of myself.
There’s a knock on the door, and I freeze, my heart in my throat.
“Alice.” It’s Colt—his voice deep, strained.
“I wanted to let you know I'm in your bedroom. Just checking what’s in the closet and then I’m going to move my clothes to the dryer.”
My hand is frozen between my legs. “Okay,” I squeak, my voice far too high.
I make out the sound of his footsteps retreating, and I fold over on myself, cringing, because that man just interrupted me masturbating to the thought of him and I am an absolute pervert.
After toweling off, and managing to make eye contact with myself, I focus on getting dressed, laughing because if Maggie knew this story, she would bring it up every five minutes for all of eternity.
I peek around the door to ensure Colt is gone from the bedroom, and then I pull on jeans, a long-sleeved sweater that shows a few inches of midriff, and red cowboy boots.
After dressing, I dry my hair and brush it into a ponytail, carefully curling the ends.
In a final touch, I apply two coats of mascara and a bright red lip, then dash toward the stairs.
I’m halfway down when I catch sight of Colt.
He’s leaning against the window frame, watching the last of the sunset. His cargo pants are back on, and he’s paired them with a white starched shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looks rugged and clean and devastatingly attractive.
I find myself yearning for a real date with him, one that ends with a kiss and him asking if we can do this again. But I worry Colt will never see me that way. I never expected to see him this way, even though he always meant a great deal to me.
When he turns, his pupils seem to dilate. But perhaps that’s wishful thinking.
“You look…” he begins, then stops, shaking his head. “You look great, Alice.”
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, he offers me his arm.
I take it at once, the feel of his skin against mine so soothing, so right, that for the first time in my life, it feels like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.