4. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Eve
The turnoff to Miller's Lookout appears, almost hidden by a cluster of fir trees adorned with a thick coat of winter. I step out, leaving the warmth of the car behind, and the icy December breeze stings my cheeks. This place, with its breathtaking view of Strawberry Falls below, is unchanged, timeless.
"Feels like yesterday," I murmur.
My finger traces the engraved heart on the railing—the one Jimmy carved all those years ago. Our initials are weathered but still visible—J + E, a testament to young love and whispered promises.
"First kiss right here," I say to the empty air, closing my eyes as the memory engulfs me—the nervous anticipation, the soft pressure of Jimmy's lips, the fluttering in my chest. I sense the presence of that teenage girl—her dreams so vivid and untarnished.
I let the sight of Strawberry Falls envelop me. The twinkling lights offer silent reassurance. It's now time to face what I've left behind. Time to find out if the lore of forgiveness and reconciliation that blankets this town, like the snow, holds true for me, too.
I climb back into the car. The warmth slowly returns to my fingertips as I head down the road toward the heart of my past. With each mile closer to the center of town, my resolve strengthens. Whatever awaits me, I'm ready. Or at least, I hope I am.
The car slows to a crawl as I pass what's soon to be Monarch Bakery. The new sign gleams, even in the dimming light. Through the windows, I can see shadows moving—workers putting on the final touches. My hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter, heart aching for what used to stand there. My family's legacy was reduced to ashes and memories. But Ella... She has that spark, that drive to rebuild and honor them. It's her dream taking shape behind those glass panes, and a sliver of pride manages to pierce the haze of my grief.
Mom and Dad would have been delighted. I imagine their smiles and the laughter that used to echo off the walls. We were happy here once, before everything changed.
Shaking off the reverie, I guide my car toward Evergreen Inn. As I pull into the parking lot, Holly Evergreen steps out onto the porch, wrapped in a knitted shawl that looks like Christmas itself. Her fiery curls stand out in sharp contrast to the white landscape around us.
"Welcome back!" Holly’s voice rings clear across the distance.
"Thanks, Holly," I say, trying to match her enthusiasm as I step out of the car.
Her hug wraps around me like one of her famous patchwork quilts. "Eve, darling, it's been an eternity."
"Too long indeed." I step back, taking in the comforting sight of her bright green eyes.
"Let me help you with your bags." She's already reaching for the trunk before I can protest. I realize how much I've missed her boundless energy and the way she cares about people.
"Really, I can—"
She waves me off with a chuckle. "Nonsense! What kind of host would I be if I let you lug all this inside by yourself?"
We make our way up the steps together. The scent of pine and cinnamon envelopes us as we cross the threshold. A crackling fire welcomes me, casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with garlands and fairy lights. It's a picture straight out of a Christmas card, one that whispers of joyous pasts and hopeful futures.
"Holly, this is beautiful. You've really outdone yourself."
"Your room is all ready," she beams, leading me upstairs. Her curls bounce with each step.
"Thank you. For everything." My voice breaks, revealing the storm of emotions inside.
She pats my hand, guiding me into a room where the fire crackles cheerfully. "I know this holiday isn't easy, not after... Well, you know."
The unspoken words hang between us, heavy with shared history. Holly was more than just my mother's friend—she was an anchor in the storm that followed her passing. Now she is steadying me through the rocky waters of a troubled marriage.
"Hey, chin up, Eve. Strawberry Falls has a way of mending broken things, you know. You'll see."
"Sure," I murmur, doubtful yet wanting to believe.
"Get settled in. Later, we'll have some tea and scones. My treat." With a wink, she leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Holly's touch is everywhere—the hand-stitched quilts, the pine-scented candles flickering softly.
As I unpack my suitcase, the soft hum of Christmas carols floats in from somewhere. My fingertips lightly nuzzle a photo tucked inside a folded sweater.
Pausing, I draw it out and cradle it tenderly in my hands. Two Christmases ago, our smiles are bright—untouched by the charred shadows that would soon seep into our lives. Jimmy, Ella, and I huddled together in front of Cornerstone Bakery, snowflakes caught in our hair, like fragments of forgotten dreams. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders—a touch I can still sense. My thumb brushes over his face, and the longing surges, acute and unbidden.
I tuck the picture into the drawer of the bedside table alongside my socks and scarves. The moment has arrived to face Strawberry Falls again. Step by step. That's how I'll navigate this visit—letting the steady pace of my heartbeat guide me.
Main Street is dressed in its holiday best—garlands looped around lamp posts and wreaths on every door. Snowflakes dance lazily down from the gray sky, settling on my hair like delicate lace.
"Hey, Eve." Sam calls out from the hardware store. His smile easy but his eyes hold a shadow of pity. He knows, they all know —about the bakery, about Jimmy, about the ashes from which I'm trying to rise.
"Happy holidays, Sam," I reply.
"Same to you. If there's anything you need... His offer dangles between us, unfinished, but understood.
"Thank you."
As I pass by other familiar storefronts, some faces turn towards me, their smiles sympathetic yet hesitant. Others quickly look away, as if my presence reminds them of the tragedy that tore through our lives.
Laughter spills out from Betty's Cafe, next to the skeleton of Monarch Bakery arising out of the wreckage of Cornerstone.
The new glass sparkles under the overhead lights, and through it, I see the future taking shape—marble counters, shiny display cases, and a chalkboard waiting for menu scrawls. My fingers trace the outline of the door, chilled from the winter air. A memory floods my mind, as vivid as if it were yesterday.
It's a sweltering summer morning, the kind where the air shimmers above the pavement. I'm kneading dough, my arms coated in flour up to my elbows. The rhythmic thump-thump of the dough hitting the wooden board blends with Dad's cheerful whistling as he tinkers with the temperamental old mixer behind me. Mom bursts through the kitchen doors, her face flushed with excitement.
"We got the contract!" she exclaims, waving a piece of paper. "The Millbrook wedding order is ours!"
Dad whoops, abandoning his wrench to swing Mom into a dance. I laugh, clapping my floury hands, sending a cloud of white into the air. The kitchen is alive with joy, possibility, and the promise of our shared dream growing even bigger.
The memory fades—a bittersweet reminder of what's missing and what Ella hopes to reclaim. I put my hand on the glass. It's cool and smooth. Behind this window is a world of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'.
"We'll make you proud," I whisper to the ghosts of my parents. "Somehow, we'll make this work."
"Mom?"
I whirl around, my heart leaping into my throat. Ella stands behind me, her face illuminated by the soft glow of streetlamps. Her eyes, so much like mine, shine with unshed tears that mirror my own. She's here within arm's reach.
"Sweetheart," I breathe out, our time apart shrinking into the space between us.
She steps forward, closing that gap, and wraps her arms around me. We cling to each other as if we could merge our fragmented past into a single solid present. I press my face into her hair, breathing in the scent of vanilla and home. A tear escapes, tracing a warm line down my cheek.
"I've missed you," she whispers, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
"Every day," I confess, my voice quivering with emotion. "Every single day, Ella."
"Let's go inside," she suggests, easing back a little to meet my gaze.
"Really?"
"Come on." She grabs my hand, her excitement infectious. Her eyes are alight with the same spark that used to ignite when she spoke of future dreams. As she shows me around, I'm transported back to the days when the world spun on the axis of flour, sugar, and family.
"An open-concept kitchen, so customers can watch the magic happen," Ella explains. "And there, a cozy nook for kids to read and play while parents unwind."
"Sounds perfect. What about hosting baking classes? You know, bring the community together?"
"Mom, that's brilliant! You always knew how to make Cornerstone more than just a bakery."
"Cornerstone," I repeat the name, a tender ache in my chest. "I know you'll do the same for Monarch Bakery—where memories will be kneaded into every loaf and every cupcake is frosted with love."
"Exactly." She nods emphatically, then hesitates. "Mom... this isn't just about saving the bakery. It's about healing our family," she adds cautiously.
I freeze at the mention of our fractured family—the pain of Jimmy's unexplained departure, the bewilderment, the fury.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
I take a second to find my balance. "I'm fine, sweetheart. It's just... it's been a long time."
"I know," she whispers gently, gripping my hand. "But this could be our chance—to understand, to be whole again."
Her hope is palpable. "Possibly," I concede, not wanting to dampen her spirits. "For now, let's focus on bringing Monarch Bakery to life. Piece-by-piece."
"Right. Piece-by-piece. It means everything having you here, Mom."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
The floorboards of the inn groan softly as I prepare for bed. Slipping beneath the quilt, I listen to the old building's whispers and sighs. Sleep hovers just out of reach.
Thoughts of Jimmy flit through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine - a cocktail of yearning and unease. Does he know I'm back in Strawberry Falls?
I roll onto my side, cocooning myself tighter in the quilt. Part of me aches to see him, to mend the rift that yawns between us. Yet another part recoils at the prospect, dreading the dormant pain that might awaken.
As I close my eyes, I whisper a prayer to the darkness. "Give me strength for whatever tomorrow brings."