Chapter 1
Six Months Later
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?” Heather asked, flipping through a magazine while spinning in her salon chair.
“I’m going with my mom and Stan to the community Thanksgiving dinner. Mel and Mason help there every year and have a ball. I decided I would offer free haircuts to the kids. Want to come and help?”
She shrugged indifferently. “Sure, why not. I have nothing else to do until I have to be at Mom’s house at five. I’ll bring my tools and we’ll have the kids spiffed up for Santa in no time.”
I clapped excitedly. The holidays were my favorite time of the year and they were finally here! I still sort of believed in Santa, to be honest, and I couldn’t wait to spend this holiday with my new family. “Yes, let’s do it! I’ll let Audrey know there will be two of us. She’s militant with her scheduling, you know.”
Heather snortled and gazed at the ceiling, well aware of how Audrey Violet ran her ship. Tight, orderly, and with authority. A retired teacher, Audrey had her hands in everything this community did. Whether she was helping out at the food shelf, organizing the Thanksgiving meal, or handing out coats and boots to the kids at the annual Christmas dinner, she was always the voice of reason and calm at the event. I suppose because she was organized and militant. Not everyone can do what Audrey does and do it successfully.
I, on the other hand, was definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to organization. My mom tried, oh how she tried, but I prefer to go with the flow in life. I knew where everything was, even if other people just saw a mess. I had to learn to stay organized in the salon, but my apartment and car, oaf, not so much. Maybe it was because my mind worked creatively rather than academically. Maybe my dad was messy. Of course, I wouldn’t know about that since he walked away three months before I was born.
Heather checked the clock on the wall. “It’s the night before Thanksgiving and it’s been crickets for the last four hours. I think we’re done here.” She stood and walked to the front door to lock it. “I’m tired. Let’s go home and rest before tomorrow. We’ll snip our fingers to the bone then.”
I chuckled and rolled my eyes at the girl. “Maybe we will, but we’ll also eat some amazing turkey and potatoes, not to mention Melissa’s pie.”
She did finger guns at me at the mention of pie. “I’m truly only going for the pie. But, while I’m there, I’ll be useful.”
I gave her the finger guns back. “Good. Maybe you’ll earn yourself a second piece of pie that way.”
She rubbed her generous belly and grinned. “You can count on it. I love Thanksgiving.”
She jammed her arms into her coat sleeves and grabbed her purse from the back. “I’ll see you there at eleven?” she asked with her hand on the doorknob at the back of the salon.
“Can’t wait!” I promised, waving happily.
“Don’t forget to lock the door!” she yelled from the parking lot. She knew I would without a daily reminder.
I threw a thumbs up in her direction, locked the door, shut off the lights, and headed up the stairs to my second-floor apartment. My apartment was two bedrooms with a small kitchen and living room. The bathroom, however, was down in the salon, which was a pain on a cold December night. At least I have my own private bathroom separate from the one the customers use, which makes it tolerable. I share laundry facilities with the salon as well, but somehow, it all works. The bathroom situation was the reason I got the entire building for such a good deal. The apartment is useless as a rental without a bathroom, so landlords avoided it like the plague. Their loss was my gain. It made my commute easy and cheap. You’d never hear me complain about going downstairs to use the bathroom at night.
I opened the fridge to stare at the mostly empty shelves. “Damn, forgot to buy groceries again.” I sighed and closed the door but left my hand on the door handle. Breakfast was the last time I’d put food in my mouth and it was now, I glanced at the clock, almost seven. I let go of the handle and grabbed my coat and purse off the rack by the door. I jogged back down the stairs and blew out a breath of frustration with myself. I always forgot about the important things, like buying groceries and doing laundry. I guess I was too focused on the business sometimes. I was also too tired and hungry to truck my butt to the Plaid Pantry for groceries. I’d probably spend a thousand dollars just in the chips and dip aisle. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, so the grocery store was closed, but at least I had lunch at the community center and dinner at Stan’s to look forward to. I decided I’d walk to the Nightingale Diner for dinner tonight. Maybe I’d even pick myself up a muffin for breakfast tomorrow morning. I promised myself I’d get to the store to stock up the moment they opened on Friday.
The walk to the diner was short, so I tossed the Nightingale menu around in my head on the way. Meatloaf? No, not in the mood for meatloaf. Eggs and pancakes? Mmmmm, sounds good, but then again, so does the chicken strip basket. Oh, wait! Barbeque chicken with rice pilaf. Don’t curl your lip up. It sounds like an odd combination, but it’s excellent. I blew out a breath and it puffed white in the cold night air. “That’s the problem with the Nightingale,” I said to the empty street, “deciding what to order when you really want a little bit of everything.”
I rounded the corner and the sight of the diner made my insides all mushy. I grinned the same way I had since I was a little kid. The building stretched before me in the shape and design of an old train car. It was long and narrow, but inside there would be more than enough space for any Bells Passer who needed a hot meal or their spirits lifted. Tonight, it was more the former leading me here. I slipped through the door and headed to the counter where I slid my butt over a stool. I flipped a coffee cup up and waited for the waitress, Becca, to pour me a cup of joe. She was busy at table four with a group of kids who looked to be enjoying the beginning of their Thanksgiving break from school.
She hurried over and filled my cup with a dark, rich brew. “Hi, Addie, how’s it going?” she asked, sliding the cream and sugar toward me.
“Hey, Becca,” I greeted her, my spirits already lifted from the friendly welcome. “I’m great. I just got done with work and realized I had no food in the fridge.”
“Well, the Nightingale Diner is always here for you,” she teased, her pen poised on her pad. “What can I get for you? Our special tonight is tater tot hotdish with a fresh baked dinner roll and a slice of pie.”
I put my hand to my chest. “Be still my heart. Tater tot hotdish? I haven’t had that since I lived with Mom. Definitely hit me up with that,” I nodded, rubbing my hands together.
She tore the paper off the pad and hung it on the wheel for the cook before she turned back. “It’s wonderful, and you know Mason, he can’t make just regular old tater tot hotdish. He has to create his own cheesy goodness.”
“Is Mason here tonight?” I asked, noticing Lance was the one working in the back.
“No, he worked the early shift, made about four pans of the special and left us to serve it up,” she answered, sticking her pad back in her pocket.
I closed my eyes and wiggled back and forth in my seat. “Seriously, I’m dying here. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m starving.” I took a sip of my coffee and sighed. I needed that. “Will you be at the community center tomorrow?”
“I will be,” she said excitedly. “It’s my first year and I’m going to serve, which I guess isn’t a big surprise,” she teased, doing a curtsey. “I’m replacing Melissa since she’s making pies.”
I nodded and gave her a thumbs up. “I’ll be there, too. I’m going to offer haircuts to the kids so they’re ready for Santa.”
She tipped her head to the left. “Aww, that’s so nice of you! I’m sure the parents will be thrilled.”
Someone else came through the door and she grabbed the coffee pot, waved at me, and headed to the booth where they’d settled. I grabbed my phone and checked for texts but resisted the urge to sign onto social media or the internet. Ivy refused to install wi-fi in the diner, and while I had plenty of data, I understood her reasoning behind it. When your focus is on your phone, it’s not on your environment or the people around you. Not that I’m a huge social media person, because who has time, but eating alone is well, lonely.
The bell tinkled over the door again and my head turned automatically, a shy smile lifting my lips when the new diner waved at me. I waved back and he walked toward me, his usual Namaste ballcap replaced by a soft stocking cap with the lotus flower symbol on the brim.
He stopped next to me and smiled, taking his gloves off. “Hi, Addie. How are you?” He kissed my cheek and stuck his gloves in his pockets.
“Hey, Ellis.” I lowered my coffee cup to the counter. “I’m good. How are you? I haven’t seen you around much the last couple of weeks.”
He nodded, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “The studio has been crazy, but I can’t complain. I didn’t realize how far parents would travel to bring their kids to yoga. Anyway, I just closed up for the night and wasn’t in the mood for food from a can.”
I turned my lips up in distaste. “Food from a can?”
He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “You know, Dinty Moore Beef Stew, Chef Boyardee. Should I continue?”
I held my hand up. “Please stop. I take it cooking isn’t your forte?”
He rolled his eyes again. “Not unless it involves a can opener and a microwave.”
My nose turned up at the idea. “Sounds unappealing, but at least you have The Nightingale Diner where nothing is from a can. I just ordered the daily special. Tater Tot Hotdish with rolls and pie.”
He whimpered a little and then sighed. “I’m so hungry I could eat two servings.”
I held up a finger and scooted around the counter. “Hey, Lance,” I called to the cook at the stove.
“Something wrong, Addie?” He spun toward me and his usual boyish charm oozed from every pore. He brandished his spatula like a knife and jammed to the tunes on his headphones.
“No, but would you add a double order of the special along with mine and have Becca bring it all to booth four?” I asked. “My friend Ellis here is starving.”
He waved his spatula in acknowledgment and I grabbed my coffee cup then motioned for Ellis to follow me. We sat opposite each other and Becca waltzed over with the coffee pot.
“Since Addie did my job for me, can I get you some coffee?” she asked, her smile teasing and her tone jovial.
He waved his hand at the coffee pot. “No coffee, but thank you. Do you have hot chocolate?”
She lifted a brow at me before answering. “Do we have hot chocolate? What does this look like? Amateur hour?”
He managed to keep a straight face but I could see the twinkle in his eye. “A hot chocolate would be fantastic.”
Becca headed toward the counter and I patted his hand. “Sorry about my forwardness, but I would love the company for dinner and I know you’ll love the special.”
He waved away my words and leaned back when Becca brought his cocoa. “Thanks.” He offered her one of his boyish smiles. “It’s been a long day.”
Becca squeezed his shoulder. “I hear ya, buddy. I’ll have your food out shortly.”
“Long day, huh?” I asked after she disappeared again. “I have to say, you wear Santa well.”
He glanced down at his shirt and then snickered. “Thanks, the kids love it, what with my hair and all.”
I took in the whole package as he sat before me. He wore black yoga pants and a tacky as hell long sleeve shirt that looked like Santa’s coat. His white hair and gentle beard did fill out the rest of the look, even if his hair wasn’t as long as Santa’s.
“Your hair needs a trim again.” I motioned at the long shock of white hair hanging over his eyes.
He looked up and blew at it until it ruffled in the breeze. “I know, but your salon is never open when I’m done with work.”
I leaned over the table. “My dude, for Santa, I’m always open. Seriously, when we finish eating, my salon is waiting.”
A smile filled his face and he nodded once. “I do need it cut since the holidays are coming, but I’ll make an appointment for a time earlier than seven o’clock at night. That’s above and beyond, Addie.”
I waved my hand at him. “No worries. I’m not open tomorrow and don’t have to be anywhere until eleven anyway. I can sneak in a haircut for you and still be in bed by ten.”
He gripped his mug and nodded once. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. So, tell me, how long have you worked as a yoga instructor?” I asked conversationally. “You’re my age, right?”
He chuckled and sipped his cocoa. “You’re twenty-five?”
I pointed at him. “Yep. I’ll be twenty-six on January first.”
His eyes lit and his eyebrows went up. “A New Year baby. Nice!” he said, giving me a high five. “I’m twenty-five too, but my birthday isn’t nearly as exciting. It’s the middle of December.”
“That’s coming up then,” I said, one brow raised.
“Yup, I’ll be an old man on December thirteenth.”
“I’ll meet you at your rocking chair on the front porch on the first then.”
He smiled and winked, his eyes dancing. “To answer your question, I worked as a yoga instructor for two years in California before I moved here. I worked on my dad’s farm for two years after high school, but honestly, farming was not my thing. How are things going at the salon?”
I thought it was odd how he always changed the subject whenever we talked about him. “Excellent. We’re always busy. Of course, not today since it’s the day before Thanksgiving, but we spent our time cleaning tools and checking stock. Real exciting stuff.”
He chuckled as Becca carried over a tray filled to the brim with food. She set our plates in front of us and I moaned a little when the crisp, cheesy tater tots aimed tendrils of steamy goodness toward my nose.
“Oh, this smells even better than I expected,” I moaned.
“Whenever you’re ready, let me know what kind of pie you want.” She waved, tucked the tray under her arm, and headed back to the kitchen.
I grabbed my fork and dug in, the hamburger and vegetables melting in my mouth at first bite. The cheese blend Mason used was perfectly balanced between mild and sharp. I moaned again and he chuckled while he chewed, finally swallowing and taking a drink of his cocoa.
“I love a woman who appreciates good food,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “You definitely strike me as the type.”
I nodded, taking another bite and wiggling in my seat. When I swallowed, I washed it down with a sip of coffee before I answered. “What’s life without good food and good friends?”
That was the end of the conversation. We both got down to the business of eating and there was no time for talking. It was the comfort food you’d expect to be waiting for you at home after a hard day at school. The rolls were yeasty and the perfect level of doughy versus crusty. Melissa had taken over the baking from Ivy last year and as much as I love Ivy, I had to say, Melissa was a much better baker. That’s saying something because Ivy was no slouch.
I washed down the last bite with a sip of water and leaned back, rubbing my tummy. “Man, that was amazing.”
He pushed the last few bites aside and laid his fork down. “I better save room for the pie. That was downright heavenly, though. It’s rare to get the tots so crispy.”
I pointed at him. “That’s the secret, really. But Mason, he’s a pro like that. I wonder what kind of pie they have left,” I mused, eyeing the new bakery case.
“Apple, blackberry, and peach,” Becca said from around the booth as she cleaned off table five.
“Hmm, all excellent,” I said, tapping my chin. “Apple will be at the dinner tomorrow, so I’ll pass on that for tonight. How about Melissa’s famous peach?”
“You got it,” Becca said, grabbing her tray of dirty dishes and transferring it to the counter. “How about you, Santa?”
I jiggled with laughter at the look on his face, until he remembered his shirt and burst out laughing, too. “I’ll have the blackberry,” he said between giggles.
Becca scurried to the pie case and I leaned forward, digging around in the container of jams on the table. “Maybe we can share our pie,” I suggested, lifting out individual containers of jam.
“I’ll give you some of mine if you give me some of yours.” He was smiling when he said it, but there was a double entendre there that was hard to miss.
“I like that idea. It’s always a tough decision when it comes to Melissa’s pie.”
“What’s with the jam?” he asked as Becca dropped the pie off. God love her, she had already split the pieces in half, giving both of us a sliver of each.
I grabbed a knife and started spreading jam on my peach pie.
“What on God’s green earth?” he asked, his fork in midair.
“What?” I rested my knife on my plate. “Orange marmalade on peach pie is heaven on earth,” I assured him. I took a bite and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Seriously?” He grabbed the little bit that was left in the plastic cup and spread it on the tip of his peach pie before forking it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments and swallowed. “You’re not wrong, surprisingly.” He grabbed a second container and spread it over the rest of the pie. “What do you put on the blackberry?”
I held up another container and he read it, “Raspberry. Makes sense,” he agreed, grabbing it from me and opening it.
“Strawberry and grape are also good.”
Spending time with people from other parts of the country taught me that growing up and remaining in the same town all your life was both good and bad. You learned the traditions and the ways of your people and town, but you lost out on the traditions of other places at the same time. I taught him something tonight and I wondered what he could teach me in return. I wasn’t talking about yoga, either. I wanted to know everything about him if I was honest with myself. We’d hung out a lot over the summer and fall but he was pretty much a closed book. Tonight was the first time he answered my questions about the simplest things. Maybe he took a long time to trust people. I didn’t think that was it, though. Whenever you asked about his life before Bells Pass, a door slammed shut. I was determined to get him to open up to me and maybe I was finally making headway.
I noticed movement to my left and glanced out the window. Audrey Violet was standing on the sidewalk eyeing Ellis and me in the booth. “Hey, I’ll be right back.” I ran out the door of the diner and spun around the corner. “Mrs. Violet,” I called, and she turned, her coat tucked up tightly around her neck. The look on her face was sheepish when I stopped in front of her.
“Oh, hi, dear,” she said sweetly, as though she wasn’t spying on us and wasn’t fully aware I was on my way out.
“Hi, Mrs. Violet. I meant to call you earlier and let you know that Heather and I will both be offering haircuts tomorrow at the community dinner. I figured you might need notice to make room for an extra stylist.”
She patted my shoulder. “Good thinking. I’ll make sure we have room for both of you. Thanks for letting me know. Have a good night, Addie,” she said, brushing past me and shuffling down the sidewalk toward wherever she had been heading when we had caught her attention.
I jogged back inside the diner and slid into the booth. “Sorry, I forgot to let Mrs. Violet know about a change in plans for tomorrow’s dinner. Are you coming by?” We had finished our pie and Becca cleared our plates and brought the checks.
He took both checks and handed them back to her along with some cash. “Keep the change,” he said, smiling.
Becca disappeared and I dug in my purse for my wallet. “You didn’t have to buy my dinner!” I exclaimed uncomfortably. “I’ll pay you back.”
He held up his hand. “It wasn’t a big deal and it was nice to eat dinner with a friend. Happy Thanksgiving.”
I dropped my wallet back into my purse and nodded once. “It was nice,” I agreed, “thank you. I’ll get it the next time,” I promised, praying there would be a next time.
He checked his watch and sighed. “I guess we should be getting on with it then, eh?” he asked. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck and slipped into his coat then helped me on with mine.
“Your studio isn’t open tomorrow, is it?”
He held the door open for me and shook his head. “No, I figured there wouldn’t be much call for yoga when people are forking down turkey and gravy. I’ll be at the community dinner helping wherever they need me.”
I scrunched my shoulders up to my ears to ward off the chill and pointed left around the corner. “We can get to the salon this way. It’s only two blocks.”
He motioned for me to go first and then followed along beside me as we walked up the sidewalk. “I suppose snow will be next on the docket,” he sighed, his bright eyes darting around the street. I couldn’t tell what he was looking for — snow or an attacker.
“Relax, Ellis, this is Bells Pass, not California,” I soothed, rubbing his back gently for a moment before I thought about how intimate that would look to a passerby.
He laughed at himself and shrugged, his hands buried in his jacket pockets. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“I bet California was exciting,” I said wistfully.
“It was,” he agreed, turning his head to eye me for a moment. “For exactly two weeks. After that, it lost its luster, at least for this Midwestern boy. I missed the wide-open spaces, the friendly people, and the fresh air. I didn’t last long there.”
We turned left again and my salon came into sight. “I suppose there are a lot of places that way. They might be a great place to visit, but they aren’t home.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Bells Pass feels more like home, that’s for sure.”
“Why didn’t you move back to Wyoming? Bells Pass is a bit of an odd choice. Did you know someone here and that’s why you chose us? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here,” I added quickly.
He grinned and shook his head. “No, I just picked a spot on the map that didn’t have a yoga studio, had plenty of other towns around it to draw from, and reasonable real estate. Maybe not the best business plan in the world, but …” He shrugged to finish his sentence.
“But it seems to have worked out, so it wasn’t a bad plan after all.”
He tossed his head back and laughed while I unlocked the door to the salon, choosing to take him to the front entrance rather than my private entrance. “I guess you could say that. I definitely have my hands full. I’m thinking about hiring a second instructor. I don’t have enough hours in the day to teach the classes that have been requested.”
“What other classes are there?” I asked, stripping my coat off and hanging it on the rack. His joined mine and I motioned him over to my chair.
“I focus on classes for kids, kids and parents together, and special classes for teens. I’m looking for someone to teach prenatal and senior classes. I was surprised by the number of seniors who stopped me on the street asking about options.”
He sat in the chair and I flipped a cape over him, fastening it at his neck. “Too tight?” I asked and he shook his head. I started spraying his hair down, the locks already in better condition than the last time I cut it. “I could see the seniors wanting in on the action since the senior center doesn’t offer yoga. Do you have space for that?”
He remembered not to nod as I had started with the scissors at the back of his head. “I have two private rooms that would be big enough for small classes. I purposely left them enclosed when I remodeled the main part of the studio. I had visions of expanding if the opportunity arose. I just didn’t see it happening this quickly.”
I spun the chair and combed out his bangs. “It goes to show how starved small towns can be for new trends. We don’t get a lot of variety here and usually have to travel if we want to do something unique or different. That’s why your business has exploded so quickly.”
“That has become evident. I got a phone call from the school district, too. They asked me to train their kindergarten teachers in basic yoga poses. They want to use them in the classroom with the kids.”
My scissors stopped snipping for a moment. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, they heard it was being used in different schools around the country as a way to help kids learn to focus before their studies and relax afterward. I actually did a program in California with one of the districts and it was extremely successful.”
“Are you going to do it?”
He sighed and I made eye contact with him in the mirror again. His eyes were always so warm and inviting. Like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. “I probably will, but not until summer when I can devote more time to it and the teachers can come into the studio. I learned that teaching them the basic poses isn’t the hard part. The hard part is teaching them how to teach the kids.”
“But if you bring them into the studio, they can watch you teach while learning the basic poses at the same time.” I cut away the large swoop of hair over his eyes with a snip.
His finger touched my nose and he winked. “Bingo.”
When he touched me there was an intensity to it I wasn’t expecting. Like at all. He was sweet, sexy, handsome, and so not in my league. I was dark and he was light, quite literally. I was a hot mess and he was everything namaste. I was more like na-messy. I shook my head and went back to snipping.
Friends, Addie, that’s all you can be with a guy like Ellis. Even if you want so much more.