Chapter Five
Rainey
Pale morning light filtered through the wavy glass of Midnight Curiosities' front windows as I arranged a display of vintage compacts—art deco designs with mother-of-pearl inlays—trying to focus on the intricate craftsmanship instead of replaying Tuesday night in my head for the hundredth time.
The storm. Ransom's confession. His hands on my body. The way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the entire world.
Two days had passed. Wednesday, we'd had no rehearsal—Sheriff Turley and his deputies had spent the afternoon at the theater, taking statements, examining the mirror, dusting for prints.
Their conclusion? Probably just a Halloween prank gone too far.
No evidence of real malicious intent. They'd keep an eye on things, but unless something more serious happened, there wasn't much they could do.
I'd wanted to believe them. Wanted to think the dead roses and threatening messages were just someone's twisted idea of festival atmosphere.
But that locket with my photo and the grim reaper's face? That felt personal. Calculated. Wrong.
The bell above the purple door chimed, pulling me from my thoughts. Josiah Parker from the hardware store shuffled in, carrying two white paper bags from Midnight Eats, smiling. "Morning, Rainey." He set the bags on the counter. "Is your granny around?"
"In the back, checking inventory." I gestured toward the storage room. "But I can get her if—"
"No need." He was already moving past me, purpose in his steps despite the slight hitch in his gait from that old lumber mill injury. "I know the way."
I watched him disappear through the velvet curtain that separated the shop from the back room, heard Gran's delighted laugh, and couldn't help smiling.
Josiah had been bringing her lunch every Thursday for the past three months.
At first, she'd insisted it was just neighborly kindness.
But the way her whole face changed when he walked in? That was more than neighborly.
Their voices drifted out—low, intimate, punctuated by laughter. I turned back to my display, giving them privacy, but warmth bloomed under my ribs. If Gran could find love again at seventy-two, maybe second chances weren't as rare as I'd thought.
About fifteen minutes later, Josiah emerged, that same youthful grin still playing at his lips. He paused by my counter, resting one calloused hand on the polished wood.
"Heard about your play," he said. "Community theater's always been important to this town. Good of you to keep the tradition alive."
"Thanks, Mr. Parker. Opening night's Monday—you should come."
"Wouldn't miss it." He glanced back toward the storage room, then leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, that story you're telling—about the ghost and the girl who can't let him go? There's truth in that." His clear blue eyes twinkled. "You never get over your first love. Isn't that right, Rosie?"
Gran appeared in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest. A blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. Her hand fluttered to her collar—the nervous gesture I'd seen a thousand times but never quite like this, with her eyes gone soft.
Josiah tipped his worn ball cap to both of us and headed for the door. "See you ladies later."
The bell chimed his exit, leaving a silence that hummed between us.
"Rosie, huh?" I grinned.
"We're friends." She moved to the counter, began straightening receipts that didn't need straightening. "Just two old friends sharing a meal. That's all."
"Gran." I touched her hand, stilling her nervous movements. "I know you loved Pops. Everyone did. No one's doubting that."
Her eyes filled with tears—not sad ones, but the complicated kind that come from remembering a life fully lived.
"I did love your grandfather, honey. In my own way.
" She squeezed my fingers. "But marriage was about duty back then, partnership, building a life together.
We respected each other, cared for each other.
Raised your father well, God rest his soul. "
"But?" I prompted gently.
"But love—the kind that makes your heart race, that keeps you up at night thinking about someone, that makes you feel alive in a way you'd forgotten was possible?
" She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue from her cardigan pocket.
"That's different. Rare. And sometimes it comes when you least expect it. "
The October chill seeped through the old windows, making the shop's warmth feel like a refuge.
Outside, workers were adding more decorations to the square—giant inflatable ghosts, elaborate spider webs stretched between lamp posts.
Festival preparations were nearly complete, tourists already starting to trickle in early.
Gran turned the question on me with the timing of an expert. "So. How are things going with Ransom?"
Heat crawled up my neck. I grabbed the dust cloth and wiped down a section of already-clean counter. "They're... good. I think. Maybe?"
"That's remarkably unclear for someone who spent Tuesday night trapped in a theater during a tornado warning."
My hands stilled. "How did you—"
"Small town, honey. And you have that look." Her smile held knowing and affection in equal measure. "The same look I probably had this morning when Josiah asked if he could take me to dinner Saturday night."
"He asked you out? Gran, that's wonderful!"
"We're just two people enjoying each other's company." But her eyes went bright again. "Now stop deflecting. Tell me about Ransom."
I set down the dust rag, leaned against the counter, and let out a long breath. "He told me everything. About Aiden, the cartel, why he left."
Gran's eyes widened. "The cartel?"
"Aiden got mixed up with drug dealers. Death threats. Ransom had to get him into witness protection—couldn't contact anyone for months. By the time he could..." I traced the grain of the wooden counter with one finger. "I think he was too scared I'd already moved on. Thought it was too late."
"Oh, sweetheart." Gran's expression softened with understanding.
"I get why he did it. How could I not? Aiden's his brother. He was saving his life." My voice dropped. "But understanding doesn't make the last five years disappear. It doesn't erase all those nights I wondered what I'd done wrong, or all the times I checked my phone hoping for just one message."
"No," Gran agreed. "It doesn't. But forgiveness isn't about erasing the past. It's about choosing what kind of future you want."
"What if he leaves again? What if something happens with his family, or the ranch, or—"
What if he doesn't?" She took my face in both hands, the way she used to when I was small.
"What if this is your second chance? Your real chance?
Josiah's right—you never get over your first love.
But honey, if you're lucky enough to get them back?
" Tears welled in her eyes. "You grab on with both hands and you don't let go. "
I thought about Tuesday night. About Ransom's confession, the rawness in his voice when he'd told me he'd never stopped loving me.
About the way he'd held me after, like he was afraid I might disappear.
About waking up Wednesday morning to find him still there, watching me sleep with such tenderness my breath had caught.
"I'm terrified," I whispered. "I don't think I could survive losing him again."
"Then don't lose him." Gran pulled me into a hug. "Love always requires courage, Rainey. Always. But you're braver than you think."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of customers—tourists buying vintage holiday decor, locals picking up consignment pieces, everyone buzzing with festival excitement.
Ellie stopped by with a box of ghost-shaped cookies, stayed for coffee, and grilled me mercilessly about "that delicious cowboy" until I kicked her out, laughing.
By the time I left for my afternoon rehearsal break, my phone showed two texts from Ransom:
Miss you
Can't wait to see you later
Those simple words made heat pool low in my belly. I sent back a string of flame emojis and a winky face, then headed toward the theater.
Outside, the October afternoon was cold—that sharp, clear chill that finally felt like real autumn. The cold front had settled in, bringing temperatures down to the fifties, making me thankful I'd grabbed a sweater before leaving.
The theater was already bustling when I arrived. I slipped inside, letting the doors close behind me.
Vivian stood center stage with Clay, blocking out a scene for the finale. Mason worked on something in the wings—I could hear his hammer, steady and rhythmic. A few other cast members milled about, running lines, adjusting costumes.
"Rainey!" Vivian waved me over. "Perfect timing. We're working on your entrance for the séance scene. I want to adjust the lighting—make it more dramatic when Ransom's ghost appears behind you."
I climbed the stage steps, taking my mark while Clay made notes on his worn clipboard. Darcy was in the lighting booth, phone out as always, probably filming for her "behind the scenes" content.
"Positions!" Vivian called.
I moved to center stage, right beneath the main chandelier. Above me, the ancient lighting rig creaked—a sound I'd heard a thousand times before, old theater settling, nothing unusual.
Except this time, the creak became a groan.
Then a snap.
I looked up just as the heavy Victorian curtain rod broke free from its moorings, its ornate iron end plummeting straight toward my head.
Time stretched. I saw every detail with terrible clarity—the rust on the metal, the sharp decorative finial, the way shadows played across its surface as it fell.
Then I was flying.
Not falling—being thrown. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, yanking me sideways just as the rod crashed into the stage exactly where I'd been standing. The sound was deafening. The sharp end buried itself in the old wooden boards, quivering with the impact.