Chapter Two
Two
T he next morning, Willow’s fingers danced over the keyboard as she sat in the dining room of the light blue house on Quiet Oak Road that she’d bought with Charly and Aubrey. Their home resembled a setting from an old Western film, complete with floral wallpaper, a grand foyer featuring a polished wooden staircase and generously sized windows that welcomed natural sunlight throughout the day.
The once-elegant dining space, with its vintage charm and hardwood floors, had transformed into an impromptu office for her and Aubrey now that Charly had moved into Jaxon’s ranch. The bar didn’t open until eleven o’clock, so morning work sessions were a routine now. Two monitors perched on the rectangular table before her glowed with graphics, as Aubrey sat across from Willow lost in her own work.
Over the last hour, she’d created and scheduled a few social media posts for not only the bar, but also the Empowerment Elves group, hoping to gain some interest.
The shrill ring of her phone sliced through the silence. She reached for the device, swiped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello,” she answered.
“Hi, Willow, it’s Janine from Red Deer Crafts,” came the cheerful reply, punctuated by the subtle background hum of a bustling store. “I’ve got fantastic news for you.”
A spark of excitement ignited within Willow, causing her to sit up straighter.
“We’ve managed to put together a weekly large donation box for Empowerment Elves,” Janine announced.
Willow’s heart swelled. “Janine, that’s incredible! Thank you so much.”
“Of course, we’re thrilled to help.” Janine’s voice was warm. “We believe in what you’re doing. You can pick up the first box this Thursday. Is that all right?”
“Thursday works perfectly. I’ll be there,” Willow confirmed. The way everything was falling into place left her in awe. She never imagined she would receive this much support, but it only deepened her affection for Timber Falls. “Thank you again, Janine. This means the world to us.”
A quick goodbye later, she ended the call, placing the phone down.
“Whoa, look at that smile,” Aubrey teased from across the table. “I haven’t seen you this lit up since...actually, I’ve never seen you this lit up.”
“I feel lit up.” Willow playfully tossed a crumpled-up Post-it note at Aubrey. “It’s just...it’s really happening, isn’t it? We’re making waves here in Timber Falls, Aub.” Taking the leap to move here and purchase the bar had been a huge gamble, but the confirmation that it was the right choice brought sweet satisfaction.
Aubrey’s smile stretched wider. “Oh, you are making waves. You’re going to change lives, one craft at a time.”
Willow’s chest warmed. “I hope so.” Even if it meant one woman would feel less alone, it would all be worth it.
“Now, get back to conquering the world,” Aubrey said with a laugh. “I’ll handle the bar inventory.”
Willow nodded and reached for her mug, the steam from the hot coffee curling up, and took a slow, grounding sip. The warmth was a balm to the morning chill that lingered in the corners of the room, when the ringing of her phone again cut through the silence of the dining room.
“Busy girl,” Aubrey said with a grin.
Willow winked, reaching for her phone again. “Hello?” she said.
“Hi, is this Willow? Willow Quinn?” The voice at the other end was tentative.
“Yes, this is her,” Willow confirmed, setting her mug down with a gentle clink against the vintage table.
“Hi. This is Amie—Amie Jenkins. I heard about Empowerment Elves through your social media post, and, well, I’d love to join if you’re still accepting new members?”
“Of course, Amie, We’d be thrilled to have you on board,” Willow replied. “We’ve got our first crafting group this afternoon at three o’clock if you’d like to come.”
“Really?” Amie said, her relief practically palpable through the phone. “That’s wonderful. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“We’ll see you this afternoon, then,” Willow affirmed, adding Amie’s name to the growing list on her screen.
“Thank you,” Amie said. “See you then.”
The call ended and Willow smiled, reaching for her coffee again, staring at her list of women who would join the crafting group later that afternoon.
“Look at you, Miss Community Hero,” Aubrey said.
“Hardly a hero,” Willow demurred, but Aubrey’s grin only widened.
“Stop it. I’ve seen the way people talk about Empowerment Elves. You’re not just creating Christmas crafts, Wills—you’re building something.”
“Maybe so,” Willow conceded. “Doing something—doing this—it’s like I’m finally moving forward,” Willow confessed. “And that is better than looking over my shoulder every second or expecting the worst. I’m looking ahead, making plans.”
“Exactly,” Aubrey said, nodding vigorously. “And that’s a wonderful thing.”
Willow nodded. She had secured donations from three stores, and that was a wonderful thing. She glanced out the window, to the ice covering the tree branches, spotting the small car she shared with Aubrey. “I’m going to have to make a few trips to get all the donation boxes.”
“Or,” Aubrey chimed in, with a grin that hinted at mischief, “you could just ask Eli to swing by with his truck.”
The mere mention of Eli sent a rush of warmth cascading through Willow’s veins. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the image of Eli’s piercing gaze that seemed to look right through her defenses. “Stop it,” Willow chided. “I’m not—I’m not ready for... that .”
“Girl, Eli’s truck,” Aubrey emphasized with an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes. “Just the truck. And maybe those muscles when he’s loading up boxes. But that’s it. Purely logistical.”
“Logistical.” Willow snorted, and promptly ignored Aubrey’s laughter and focused back on her work.
Late in the morning, the roar of the engine reverberated through the cab as Eli maneuvered his truck along the country roads of Timber Falls. His grip on the steering wheel was firm, knuckles white with a tension that mirrored the turmoil brewing deep in his gut.
As the truck slowed to a stop near the entrance of the cemetery, the gravel crunching beneath its weight, Eli killed the engine and sat for a moment. He drew in a deep breath, and with a heavy sigh, he grabbed the flowers off the seat, pushed open the door and stepped out into the chill.
He felt the cold seep through his jeans and flannel shirt, prompting him to pull his winter jean jacket tighter around him. His boots crunched on the snow-kissed grass as he approached the wrought iron gates, each step measured. He moved between the rows of gravestones, each marker a silent testament to lives that had rippled through the small town that had raised him.
He stopped before a simple headstone with the inscription “Marianne Cole.” His mother’s resting place. “Hey, Ma,” he murmured. He placed the flowers in the holder. His fingers lingered on the cool granite, tracing the letters of her name, each curve and line etching a memory into his heart. “Miss you,” he breathed out, the words carried away by the cold wind that rustled through the bare branches overhead.
He rose, moving to the gravestone next to his mother’s. The grave marker before him bore a name that echoed in his soul. He knelt. The bouquet in his hands—a vibrant splash against the muted tones of the cemetery—trembled slightly as he placed it beside the headstone.
“Hey, sis,” he whispered. He missed his mother deeply, but his sister had died young. Too young. Only twenty-three years old.
Her absence left an ache in his chest that never left him, even if he’d learned to live with it.
A warm touch on his shoulder startled Eli, and he looked up into the kind light blue eyes of Betty, an eighty-year-old widow with tight purplish-gray curls. Her presence was as comforting and familiar as the town itself. She was a longtime resident and a nosy one.
“Betty,” he acknowledged. “Didn’t see you there.”
She chuckled softly, her hand still resting lightly on him. “You were a million miles away, Eli. It’s good to see you here though.”
Betty had been a constant in Timber Falls, involved in everything from bake sales to school fundraisers while he was growing up. Her heart seemed to have enough room for the whole town, and Eli had always admired her for it, even when his own world had been falling apart.
“Your mother and sister, they’d be proud of you, you know,” she said, not needing to look at the graves to know whom he mourned. “You’ve kept on going, kept on living. That’s all any of us can do.”
Eli nodded, the weight of her words settling deep in his chest. It was a simple truth, one he wrestled with every day. “Are you visiting your husband...” Eli began, then hesitated. He knew grief was a private thing, yet Betty wore hers like a locket, open for those who needed to see they weren’t alone.
“Ah, Henry,” she sighed, her gaze turning toward a well-tended plot adorned with a simple headstone. “Yes, it’s my day to see him.” She reached into her coat with a mischievous glint. “You know, I keep a little secret close to my heart on these chilly visits.”
Eli raised an eyebrow.
“Here,” she said, producing a gleaming flask from the depths of her pocket, winking as she did so. “A bit of warmth for the soul—Henry’s favorite way to fend off the cold.”
The corners of Eli’s lips twitched upward. He took the flask, feeling its cool metal against his calloused hands.
“Betty, you’re full of surprises.” He chuckled.
“Life’s too short for predictability,” she quipped back, her smile as infectious.
With a nod of gratitude, Eli unscrewed the cap. The rich aroma of aged whiskey flirted with his senses before he brought the flask to his lips, taking just enough to feel the liquid fire trace a path down his throat.
“Henry had good taste,” he admitted, voice softened by the burn.
“Only the best for the best,” Betty replied, accepting the flask back and taking a long sip.
Eli took a slow breath, the air icy as it filled his lungs, and watched Betty replace the cap on her flask with a practiced twist. Her hands, though aged, were steady and sure—a stark contrast to the tremble that had claimed his own only moments ago.
“Henry would’ve liked you,” she said. “He always appreciated someone who could respect a fine whiskey.”
“Sounds like a man of good character,” Eli replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half smile.
“Best I ever knew,” Betty affirmed, tucking the flask back into her coat. “He’d sit out on our porch, glass in hand, and tell stories until the stars came out. It was...comforting.”
The word resonated within Eli, stirring memories. He glanced at the twin graves of his mother and sister. The warmth from the whiskey was a temporary shield against the cold truth of loss, but now, as the alcohol’s embrace faded, the past crept back in.
“My mom loved telling stories, too,” he found himself saying.
Betty nodded, her eyes reflecting an understanding that only those who have loved and lost could offer. “They stay with us, in the stories we share, the memories we cherish. Grief has a way of isolating us, but it’s through these moments we remember that we’re not alone.”
Eli felt something within him shift—the protective walls he’d meticulously built around his pain began to crumble under the gentle assault of Betty’s words. “Thank you,” he said, his gaze lingering on his sister’s headstone. “I think I needed to hear that.”
“Anytime, sweet dear.” Betty’s smile was kind, wrapping around him like a blanket. “And when the pain gets a little too much, a sip of whiskey always warms up the soul.”
He chuckled with her. “I’ll remember that.”