Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
T he next morning, Willow pressed a stamp onto a freshly inked Christmas card. They were fitting in crafts every minute they could now, hoping to restore some of what they’d lost. Empowerment Elves had returned to the bar—minus Amie—their hands just as busy, weaving ribbons and cutting paper to create new Christmas cards. The scrape of scissors against construction paper, the soft thump of rubber stamps and the murmurs of concentration soothed that worry in Willow’s chest that they wouldn’t bring enough to the shelter.
On top of that, her heart felt raw, something she was trying to avoid. She missed Eli. There was no ignoring that. She missed talking to him, laughing with him, experiencing life with him. And she missed his touch.
First, she needed to make the Christmas market successful for what it meant to the Empowerment Elves and Haley’s Place. After that, she could let all the emotions that were slowly gnawing at her rise to the surface as the fog in her head began to clear.
“Two days,” Willow said, glancing up at the group. “We’ve got two days to do as many crafts as we possibly can.”
“We totally got this,” Jenna, the owner of the diner, responded without missing a beat, her fingers deftly tying a bow.
She’d shown up today—apparently Charly and Aubrey had told her what happened with Buck, so she wanted to help where she could.
“I’m just so grateful to the stores who were willing to give more donations,” Willow said. “Seriously, there’s some really good people in this area.”
“That’s why I love it here,” Lisa chimed in. “People are made of good stuff.”
Willow allowed herself a small smile, feeling the pride too. They weren’t just rebuilding the inventory for the Christmas market; they were showing Buck he didn’t win. And damn, did that feel good.
Charly breezed through the door of The Naked Moose, arms embracing a cardboard box. As she set it down with an audible thud on the wooden table the contents inside clinked together.
“Got some more donations from the folks over at Timber Falls Goods,” Charly announced. “Seems everyone’s happy to pitch in.”
Willow wiped her hands on her apron, flecks of glitter falling away, and moved to help Charly unpack. “You’re amazing, you know that? Thank you so much for driving around for me.”
“We’re in this together,” Charly replied. “Besides, it’s better me driving around than actually making the crafts.”
Willow shook her head at Charly. She almost couldn’t believe how many good things had happened today. They needed this win.
“Speaking of being in this together,” Betty interjected, her voice tender yet tinged with concern as she added a little bell to her cardstock, “how’s Amie doing?”
Willow paused, a card half-finished in her hand, and met Betty’s gaze. “She’s staying with family for a bit,” she explained, keeping the whole truth to herself.
“Smart girl,” Betty nodded, her eyes softening with empathy. “Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is allow yourself to be cared for by the people who love you.”
“Gosh, do I ever know that,” Willow agreed, taking more crafting items from the box. “She needs a safe space—to heal, to breathe.”
“Strength comes in many forms,” Betty stated. “And sometimes, it’s found in the quietest of places.”
“Like here,” Willow murmured, motioning to the room filled with friends and laughter, with hands busy at work.
“Like here,” Betty affirmed, a smile touching the corners of her lips.
Willow finished emptying the box and then returned to her seat and her card. She slid ribbon through the punched hole of the Christmas card, her fingers dancing nimbly over the sparkling paper.
“Willow, dear, I’ve been meaning to say,” Betty began, “how much I admire Eli’s protective nature. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if he had not arrived just in time.”
Willow paused, the ribbon slipping from her grasp as she raised her gaze to meet Betty’s. Right, they hadn’t told anyone they were fake dating. She couldn’t mentally handle that load right now. “Yes, he’s very protective.”
“Reminds me of my Henry,” Betty said with a nostalgic sigh. She plucked up a crimson card and ran her thumb over its edge before setting it aside. “He wasn’t a man given to violence, mind you. But there was this one time...”
Willow’s curiosity piqued at the mischievous glint sparking in Betty’s eyes. “Don’t stop now. What happened,” she urged gently.
“We were at a barn dance, many moons ago,” Betty recounted, her hands pausing over her craft. “I was fetching us a couple of sodas when this slick-haired man thought it wise to pinch my bottom.”
Willow snorted a laugh. “You are kidding?”
“Oh, it’s hard to believe now, but the men did love me back then,” Betty said with an easy grin.
“Of course they loved you,” Willow countered. “You’re a beauty and have got spunk.”
Betty laughed softly. “Well, maybe, but didn’t Henry see red?” Her gaze grew distant, lost in the memory. “He was like a bull with a matador. He strode right over, calm as you please, tapped the man on the shoulder, and when he turned...” She mimed a swift punch with her fist. “Broke his nose clean.”
“Betty!” Willow exclaimed, laughter spilling out around the table. “From what you’ve said of him, I’m surprised he’d do such a thing.”
“Only when it came to protecting his family, dear. That man loved us fiercely,” Betty said, her tone turning tender. “And never raised a hand otherwise. Or his voice for that matter.”
Willow watched the love wash across Betty’s face. “You must miss him so much,” she said.
“I do miss him, dearly,” Belly replied. “But I also feel very lucky that I was loved by someone so intently that they’d break another man’s nose for not treating me right.”
“That’s very sweet, Betty,” Willow said softly, her heart feeling lighter.
“Oh, yes, our love story was very sweet,” Betty replied, reaching across the table to give Willow’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just remember, my dear, that some men, they deserve a good knock to the teeth to teach them a lesson they need to learn.”
“Don’t I know that,” Willow agreed.
Betty held Willow’s stare in that knowing way she always did. “You deserve a love story like I had with Henry,” Betty said, drawing Willow’s gaze again. “One that fills you up and leaves lasting wonderful memories.”
Willow remembered a time where she dreamed of a love like Betty and Henry had. One that included marriage, kids and a happy life like her parents shared. Niko stole that from her. But staring at Betty and her wisdom, she began to realize that Niko was still winning because she wasn’t allowing love to grow where it should.
And there was someone she could have that kind of magical love with...
“Dear Lord, I am terrible at this,” Charly said, holding up a card adorned with a clumsy, endearing attempt at a reindeer. “I think I should stick to serving drinks rather than crafting.”
“It’s perfect,” Willow said.
Charly stared at her dead serious. “No one will buy this, Willow.”
Aubrey called from behind the bar, “One person will.”
Charly spun in her seat, glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah, who?”
“Jaxon, because he loves you.” Aubrey grinned.
Laughter rippled through the bar, and around the table, and the sound of laughter once again filling the bar brought warmth to Willow, erasing the remaining chill that Buck had caused.
At precisely ten o’clock in the morning, Eli spotted Betty standing next to a snow-covered wrought iron bench outside the coffee shop. He slowed his truck and pulled over next to her, and was out a moment later, joining her on the sidewalk.
“Morning, Eli,” she greeted him with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
“Betty,” he nodded, pushing open the door for her. He noticed the subtle determination etched in her movements as she got into his truck. “Where are we off too?” he asked.
“To the old church, across town.” Her voice was firm, leaving little room for discussion.
“Sure thing,” Eli replied, still not quite sure why he was even there before joining her in the truck. He’d have expected Betty to ask Willow to take her. They often did things like this together but hadn’t been because of the upcoming Christmas market.
The drive was silent, filled only with the hum of the engine and the quiet country music coming through his speakers, only making him more curious. As he neared the corner of the road, the old church emerged, standing tall and majestic against the clear blue sky. Its stone walls bore the marks of time, but the stained glass windows were stunningly flawless.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Betty’s voice broke the silence.
“Gorgeous,” Eli agreed, pulling into the gravel lot beside the church.
He killed the engine, as Betty said, “Let’s head inside.”
Eli glanced sideways at her. “You need help going in there?”
“Gosh, these old bones ain’t what they used to be,” she declared.
Eli lifted his eyebrows at her. “Betty, you don’t have a fragile bone in your body.” He knew better than to buy into her charade; Betty was sprightlier than most women half her age.
“Ah, but I do love the gallantry,” she quipped.
Obviously not taking no for an answer, he shook his head, but jumped out and then opened her door, offering his arm to her.
She gave him a pat, with a sly smile.
They approached the arched entrance of the church, the heavy wooden door groaning open at Eli’s touch. A myriad of colored light spilled through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope across time-worn pews.
“Follow me,” Betty said, pulling her arm from his.
He trailed behind her, as they headed down the stairs to the basement. A murmur of voices grew clearer. He hesitated on the final step, his gaze landing on the circle of chairs occupied by men and women of all ages.
Eli stayed at the doorway, but Betty took his hand, tugging him into chairs near the door, but not in the circle.
“John used to say cancer wouldn’t beat him,” a middle-aged woman recounted, her pain on her expression was raw, unfiltered. “But in the end, it took him away, and all I have left are memories.”
Eli frowned, turning to Betty, saying quietly, “Why am I here, Betty?”
“Oh, my dear, this room...” Betty began, just as quiet, her gaze sweeping over the assembly of somber faces, “holds a key to happiness.” She paused, glancing back to him, and leaning in to keep the conversation private. “Time,” she continued, “is our most precious gift. We’re given moments, mere moments to hold, to cherish. Every second is a treasure. And it’s up to us, the living, to honor those seconds, to weave them into a beautiful life.”
Eli couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but listen to her.
“See,” she began, “people handle grief in so many ways.” She motioned toward a man who sat hunched over, his hands clenched tightly around a photograph. “Some folks, they cling to their pain, afraid that letting go means forgetting.”
He looked in the same direction she was looking, noticing the rigidity in the man’s stance and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the picture frame. Eli could feel a similar tension within himself, holding on tightly to memories he never wanted to lose.
“Then there are others,” Betty continued softly, “like me, who choose gratitude.” Her eyes danced with an inner light. “I’m grateful for every laugh, every moment of love I had with my Henry. It doesn’t make the loss any smaller, but it makes the life we shared so much bigger.” She looked around the room. “I come here, not to grieve, but to remember this important lesson. That I was lucky to have had true love at all. That I won’t tarnish its memory allowing my pain to consume me.”
Eli felt the room shrink down to just the two of them.
“Living in the now—that’s what’s important.” She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. “You can hold on to the anger, the loss, or keep moving forward.”
Her conviction, so fierce and yet so tender, stirred something within him. A longing for the kind of peace she described, for the ability to see beyond the pain, the anger, the loss. To only remember the happy times.
“Gratitude,” she said, the word hanging between them, “for the time given, for the love shared... That’s what keeps us whole.”
“Betty,” he began, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I’ve been...” He paused, struggling to find the right words.
“I know,” she replied softly. “Sometimes there aren’t words to explain how we feel.” Her hand squeezed his arm tighter. “But I saw the way you looked at Willow in the coffee shop day before yesterday. I know that love because Henry looked at me like that.” She patted his arm. “Don’t waste that love.”
As the session wound down, the group members rose from their seats, exchanging hugs and quiet words of encouragement.
“Time to go,” Betty said, standing up and smoothing the fabric of her pants. She turned to him. “Before you drive me to the bar to do more crafts, there’s one more thing.” Her eyes twinkled. “My husband was the sweetest, kindest man alive—so long as no one touched his family. You touched someone he loved, and you paid for it. Not from anger. Not from trauma. But because sometimes people need to learn not to touch something that doesn’t belong to them.” Her gaze scanned over his face, and she smiled sweetly. “You remind me of my Henry, you know. That same fierce loyalty, that protective streak. That’s not a fault, Eli. That’s simply a man that loves his family.”
Eli felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. “Thank you, Betty, for the reminder,” he said, meaning it more than he could express. Somehow, within her words, he felt like he’d just received some good hard motherly advice that he should listen too.
“You’re welcome,” she said, patting his arm. “And now, you need to figure out how to make everything all right again and clean this whole mess with Willow up.”
Eli couldn’t help himself. He chuckled, now realizing he should have expected Betty to firmly plant herself in his business. “Yes, ma’am.”