HIDDEN PERIL
PROLOGUE
D ressed in a sleeveless lavender dress made of chiffon, Willow Marie Finch walked down the aisle a dozen steps behind her sister Aspen.
Piano and flute music accompanied their steps.
Her fingers tightened around the small bouquet of lavender sprigs and rosemary amongst roses and carnations.
The scent of the blooms calmed her as she pivoted and stepped into her assigned spot in front of the newly constructed wooden arbor before Briar House’s rose garden.
One of Rose’s friends, Becks, took her place beside Willow, also in lavender.
Family and friends filled the folding chairs in front of them, except for four in the front row. Small wreaths of carnations, roses, and rosemary lay upon those chairs in memory of Grandmother, Mom, Dad, and Finn’s mom, Clara Murphy.
As Ada, the maid of honor, took her spot, the two flower girls appeared.
Broome’s oldest, Aliya, in dark lavender, took precise steps towards the arbor, her floral filled basket perfectly centered on her delicate frame.
Pink and lavender rose petals fluttered through her fingers at regular intervals down the aisle.
Behind her, in a similar dress, three-year-old Mara wove side to side, tossing her own collection of petals from her basket.
Willow pressed her lips together when a handful landed atop the little floral crown Mara wore, then stifled a giggle when the little girl twirled and almost tumbled with another handful.
When Mara stopped and turned the basket upside down over her head, Aliya stepped back and took her sister’s hand, leading her over to stand in front of the bridesmaids.
All stood when Rose appeared with Broome’s arm tucked around hers.
The musicians began playing an Enya song about love.
Willow’s eyes misted at the sight of her sister walking down the aisle, looking devastatingly beautiful in a boho wedding dress with a chiffon skirt that looked like something from an ethereal forest. Flowers nestled amongst the curls atop her head, accenting the bouquet she carried.
The lace sleeves just past her elbows suggested she could still climb trees if she wished.
Broome kissed Rose on the forehead, then took a seat beside his wife Simi and their two younger children in the front row.
With a tender look, Finn wrapped his arm around her. Together, they stepped forward to speak their vows. The ceremony ended with their first kiss as husband and wife. Then they shared a second one, as if their first kiss hadn’t lasted long enough.
Night overtook the setting sun as guests moved in and out of Briar House’s ballroom.
Rose and Finn’s first dance as husband and wife had Willow’s eyes shiny, a damp handkerchief clutched in her palm.
Four songs later, Willow put a hand to her heart as she left the dance floor. The many toasts and two glasses of champagne made her feel floaty, lighter, and in need of fresh air.
First though, she stopped by the dessert table, picked up a second floral themed cupcake and napkin before stepping out onto the recently rebuilt large stone terrace. The cloying humidity swirled around her, bringing the scent of citronella with it from the torches around the edges.
To her surprise, only one person stood outside—a man, tall and lean with dark hair, facing away from the house. He didn’t seem to notice her.
The railing outlining the terrace beckoned and offered her something to hold on to. She steeled herself against needing it, but her feet had other ideas. She moved quietly away from the man, hoping the loud music inside masked the sound of her one-inch heels on the stone.
The cupcake in her hand disappeared, one bite at a time, the frosting light and decadent on her tongue while happiness spilled from the ballroom behind her.
For the past days, hours, Willow had reveled in it, ecstatic for the happy couple.
Rose and Finn deserved every stitch of love binding them together.
Too close they’d come to losing their chance at that, in the fire that threatened their lives and burned a good fraction of what stood behind her, rebuilt these past months.
She wished their sort of bond was contagious. She too, wanted a forever with someone and at thirty-two was thinking it might be out of reach.
With that thought, Willow perched her bare arms on the railing and sighed.
The reception line had been a small torture, full of intrusive questions dropped like unsecured thread on a runaway spool.
When do we get to see you walk down the aisle?
Have you met my son? He’s just divorced. He needs a new mom for his twin boys.
You should eat more. Who wants to marry a toothpick?
Her fingers closed around the cupcake wrapper. And the ever present reminder that her biological clock was ticking.
Sigh.
Thankfully, the wedding dinner and the many toasts provided a barrier between her and the local matchmakers, along with their offers, to set her up on blind dates. She shuddered at the thought of one more stranger who assumed date meant automatic naked time.
A glance sideways told her the tall guy realized he wasn’t alone. He’d moved toward her.
If she were ultra-athletic, she’d use the railing as a springboard and disappear before he could say whatever he planned to say.
She braced herself as he stopped beside her, not too close. She appreciated that.
A glance told her he looked a tad familiar, that he wore glasses, but she couldn’t place him.
“Willow, right?” A glass of beer, half-full, cradled in his palm.
“Yes, that’s me.” Her index finger ran over her thumb, along the edge of the rail.
He nodded. “Thought so. I’ve heard about you.”
She bristled. From who? Who’d been talking about her? After Rose’s experience with a stalker who loved setting fires, it was wise to be careful.
Hoping her words didn’t come across as rude, she said, “You have me at a disadvantage. Do I know you?”
If anything, his posture straightened. “Not really. Rose mentioned you. But I believe you’ve bought me coffee.”
He had a connection to Rose. Hmm. She nibbled her lower lip. “I buy many people coffee.” It was her way, without fail, every Tuesday.
He leaned closer, one hand wrapped around the railing, an inch from her own. His voice lowered, almost intimate. “I didn’t like it when you did it for me.”
The scent of cedar and something else, like a memory, reached her. She swallowed and managed a shrug. “You’re the only one to object.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We argued about it.”
As if that would help. She never argued. There were moments she felt she needed to start. “That doesn’t help. Do you have a name?”
“It’s not important.”
“But you know mine.”
“I should go.” He glanced around the space, seemed fixed on the double doors that led back into the ballroom. “Last thing I need is my gran seeing me talk to you.”
That stung. She turned to face him, her fingers tightening around the railing. He seemed too close now. “You approached me.”
He met her eyes with his own. His dark blue eyes. Sapphires. She had seen him before.
Firebrew.
They had argued. He looked different then. Unkempt.
Now he looked clean and crisp, attractive even, in a pair of slacks and a button down white shirt.
He said, “Gran’s a matchmaker.”
And he didn’t want to be matched. Not the first time she’d heard that excuse. Her brother, Thorne, seemed to consider it his personal motto.
Despite his words, she felt his gaze on her. Her breath caught.
He bristled when he spoke again. His voice held irritation. “You’re lovely. Rose never mentioned you were lovely.”
Stunned, no one had ever?—
The lightest warmth, a singular caress, touched the outside of her hand, like butterfly wings, so brief she wondered if she’d imagined it.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t d?—”
Laughter spilled from the ballroom as the nearby doors swung outward. He stepped back with a furtive glance toward the house.
Like a flash of lightning, blue eyes no longer stood beside her. He did exactly what she’d contemplated when she’d first spotted him.
He went over the railing and disappeared. Try as she might, she could no longer see him.
Had he really called her lovely? And meant it?
“Willow dear.” Said in a familiar voice.
She turned to see silvery-haired Emmie Kincaid walking towards her in a sparkly long sleeved dress. Her husband, Lou, accompanied her.
“You look beautiful, dear.”
Before she could thank her for the compliment, Emmie took both of Willow’s hands with a smile and looked up at her. “I have wonderful news.”
Threads of hope curled inside her.
The woman’s smile became a grin. “Belmont’s agreed to sell his storefront to you.”
Belmont agreed to sell.
Willow’s breath caught. “For real?”
She said, “I would never jest with you, dear.”
Her months long fixation with the empty storefront beside the local bookstore wasn’t a waste. Her pursuit of learning more about it, her conversations with this sweet, sparkling blue-eyed woman, led one step closer to fulfilling her dreams.
The older woman’s voice held amusement. “I assume that means you’re happy with the news?”
Willow couldn’t help herself as the news sank in. She hugged Emmie with a squeal. “Happy doesn’t come close. I’m—in the clouds.”
She released the woman and took her hands. “Thank you so much. This means the world.”
Emmie squeezed back. “I remember what it’s like to have dreams. The bookstore was ours. The moment I saw you, I saw that same spark.”
After another hug and tentative plans to connect tomorrow, the older couple stepped back into the ballroom.
Willow put her arms back on the railing and closed her eyes.
Her sketches, paint swatches, the storage unit with all the pieces she’d gathered and refinished since moving back to Evers Hollow—her efforts weren’t for nothing. Her imaginings of mannequins in that gorgeous bay window wearing her hand-sewn pieces could become reality.
This called for another cupcake.
COMING THIS WINTER 2026