6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Eve
The phone trembles in my hand as I dial Audrey's number.
"Eve! How’s everything going?" She chirps.
I draw in a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. "You're not going to believe what just happened."
"What is it? Are you alright?"
"I'm... I don't know. Jimmy's here, Audrey. At Evergreen Inn."
There's a sharp intake of breath. "Jimmy?"
"It seems Ella and Holly decided to play matchmaker. They've set up some kind of 'parent trap' situation—trying to force Jimmy and me into a reconciliation."
"Oh, Sis," she sighs. "What a shock. How are you holding up?"
I sink onto the bed, my free hand clutching at the quilt. "One minute, I was enjoying a quiet evening, and the next, Jimmy was standing there.
"And how did he react to seeing you?"
"He seemed just as surprised as I was. We barely exchanged a few awkward words before he bolted out the door."
I shut my eyes, remembering the look on Jimmy's face. "I don't know, Audrey. Seeing him again... it stirred up all those questions I've been carrying around. Why wasn't I enough to make him stay?"
"I wish I had answers for you."
"You and me both." I release a wry chuckle.
"I know this is unexpected and confusing, but it's an opportunity to get some answers, to clear the air, one way or another."
As I ponder Audrey's words, I hear a commotion downstairs—the sound of the front door opening, stomping feet, and Holly's concerned voice.
"I think he's back," I whisper into the phone. "What do I do now?"
"Take a breath. You don't have to figure everything out tonight. Just... be open to whatever comes next. And remember, I'm here if you need me."
"Thanks, Audrey. I'll keep you posted."
The call ends, and I drift toward the window. Snowflakes dance lazily in the amber glow of streetlamps. I press my palm against the glass, the coolness grounding me. Closing my eyes, I gather my resolve, preparing for the unpredictable path this unexpected Christmas reunion might take. A glimmer of hope stirs within me—perhaps I'll uncover the truths that have eluded me for so long.
The last remnants of lunch linger in the air, mixing with the scent of pine. Holly’s love for Christmas decorations clearly represented in the inn's cozy dining room. My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater—a nervous habit I've never been able to shake.
The warning of an impending blizzard follows "Let it Snow" on the radio.
Holly bustles into the living room, her arms laden with extra blankets and candles. "Looks like we're in for a big one, folks," she announces cheerfully. "We might lose power, but don't worry, we're well-prepared for situations like this."
"Do you need help with anything?" I ask.
"Actually, Eve, could you help me in the kitchen? I thought we might prepare a hearty stew for dinner."
I nod, relieved to have something to do. As I follow Holly to the kitchen, I catch Jimmy's eye across the room. He stands near the fireplace, poking at the embers.
I wish I could read his mind, understand what he's thinking behind those mesmerizing deep blue eyes. But that bridge is in ashes, and I'm not sure if we'll ever find a way to rebuild it.
"Better make sure we’ve got enough wood inside before the storm hits full force," Jimmy says, breaking eye contact as he turns to address Hank.
"Already on it," Hank replies, heading towards the door with a determined set to his shoulders.
"I’ll join you," Jimmy offers.
"Stay warm," Holly calls after them.
As the wind howls outside, Holly and I busy ourselves preparing the stew. The tension in my shoulders begins to release with the comforting rhythm of chopping vegetables. Holly hums softly as she gathers the seasonings.
The savory aroma of beef browning in the pot mingles with that of pungent onions, filling the kitchen with the promise of upcoming nourishment.
Jimmy enters the kitchen, his voice hesitant. "Need an extra pair of hands?"
"Sure," Holly replies before I can respond. "Eve, why don't you show Jimmy where the potatoes are?"
Our hands brush as he reaches for a knife, sending an unexpected jolt through me. I step back, flustered, knocking over a canister of flour.
"Sorry, I—" Words fail me as our eyes meet.
"Let me help with that," Jimmy offers, kneeling to clean up the spilled flour.
As we work together, I'm hit with a vivid memory of a similar incident at Cornerstone Bakery years ago. Jimmy had kissed the flour off my nose.
His eyes soften as he glances at me, a trace of nostalgia in his voice. "Remember our flour fights at the bakery?"
A bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of my lips, fighting against the dull ache in my chest.
"Yeah," I breathe, lost in the memory. "You always started it, scattering flour like snow. And I always had to take care of the mess.
He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. "Some things never change, do they?" His fingers twitch, as if longing to reach out.
I connect with his gaze, years of shared history reflected in his eyes. "No," I murmur, "I suppose they don't."
Suddenly, the power flickers and dies, plunging the inn into darkness. I hear the scratch of a match as Holly lights candles.
"Everyone okay?" She calls out.
"We're fine," I respond, my voice sounding more collected than I feel.
My phone rings. "Hi, honey. Are you and Drew okay?"
"Our power is out, but we have everything we need to weather this storm," Ella replies.
"Glad to hear it, sweetheart."
"It looks like we won’t be getting together to go over plans for the grand opening tomorrow."
"Looks like it."
"How's everything over there? You and Dad?"
"Everything is fine here."
"Good. Well, I’d better let you go. We should save the charge on our phones. No telling how long the power will be out. Say ‘Hi’ to Dad for me."
"I will, honey. You be sure to call if you need anything."
"Will do. Love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Ella."
We gather in the living room, huddle around the fireplace, and savor the hot, beefy stew. Hank regales us with local legends about past blizzards.
"Back in '59, there was a blizzard much like this one," he begins, his voice rich and low. "They say Old Man Peterson got caught out in it. Swore a ghostly figure led him home safe."
"A ghostly figure?" I ask.
Hank nods. "Some say it was the spirit of his late wife, coming back to guide him home."
Holly leans forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looks at Hank.
"My, my, Hank. First, it was the eight-foot trout in Miller's Pond, and now ghostly guides?" She winks playfully. "Makes a girl wonder what other tall tales you might be spinning."
Laughter erupts around the room and a hint of color rises to Hank's cheeks.
As the evening wears on, we play board games by candlelight.
Despite my best efforts to maintain distance, I catch myself laughing at Jimmy's terrible puns.
"Why don't we ever tell secrets on the farm?" Jimmy whispers conspiratorially. "Because the potatoes have eyes, and the corn has ears."
"Jimmy Callahan," I sigh and shake my head, still chuckling, "you haven't changed a bit."
"I've got another one," Jimmy continues, encouraged by the laughter. "What do you call a fake noodle?"
We all look at him expectantly.
"An impasta!" Jimmy declares triumphantly.
A collective groan ripples through the room, followed by a few reluctant chuckles.
Not to be outdone, Hank clears his throat. "Well, if we're doing food jokes, how about this one? Why did the tomato blush?"
Before anyone can respond, he answers with a straight face, "Because it saw the salad dressing!"
Another wave of groans fills the room, this time punctuated by a few playful eye-rolls.
Holly shakes her head, trying to hide her smile. "Alright, you two jokesters," she says, pointing at Jimmy and Hank, "I think that's quite enough comedy for one night. Any more of these puns, and we'll all be begging to go out into the blizzard!"
She stands up, stretching. "How about we call it a night before these two come up with any more 'hilarious' material?"
The group murmurs in agreement, a mix of amusement and relief evident on their faces as they begin to tidy up the game boards.
We’re all bunking in the living room for warmth.
Bundled in my sleeping bag, I listen to the storm rage outside and the soft breathing of the others around me. Jimmy's silhouette is visible in the dying firelight. I allow myself to remember the comfort I once found in his arms during storms like this. Then I turn away, reminding myself of the discord between us now.
I wonder if the Cherokee legend holds any truth. Can love really thaw a frozen heart?