6. Daryl
Chapter 6
Daryl
T he rest of the day, I focused on fixing Beth's friend’s car. My hands moved over the engine, the familiar feel of tools grounding me. It was easier to concentrate on mechanical problems than to think about the strange pull I felt toward her. She was trouble, that much was clear. Too bright and cheerful for my taste. But damn if she didn't make me curious.
Her voice lingered in my mind, that soft singing catching me off guard. I couldn’t remember the last time something like that got to me. Probably never.
I glanced at the trashcan, at where I'd put the cookies she'd brought earlier. I ignored the guilt. Had to. I couldn't stand the thought of her cookies in Connor's mouth?—
Beth had asked about the old guitar. I hadn't played it in years, but her interest made me think about picking it up again. Stupid idea.
I shook my head and tightened a bolt.
The tree lighting ceremony.
It was a waste of time, just like Christmas itself. A bunch of people pretending everything was perfect for one night.
But then there was Beth. Her determination to fix me or whatever she thought she was doing. She didn't know a damn thing about my life or why I didn't celebrate holidays.
Still, there was something about her… Maybe it was her smile or the way she never seemed to give up, no matter how cold I acted. She had a spark that drew people in.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly as I finished up with her car. I wiped my hands on a rag and stared at the engine, all fixed and ready to go. Beth would be pleased.
Would she expect me to show up tonight? Probably. Would it matter if I didn't? Maybe not to anyone else, but it might to her.
I hated this feeling of indecision, like being caught between two gears grinding against each other.
"To hell with it," I muttered under my breath and closed the hood with a satisfying thud.
The decision loomed over me as I cleaned up the garage. Did I want to be near Beth enough to endure a night of holiday cheer? It sounded like torture, but so did sitting alone in my quiet house while everyone else celebrated.
While she celebrated.
I could give a shit about everyone else.
When I'd come back to town, I hadn't expected any of this—certainly not someone like Beth Morrison barging into my life with cookies and smiles.
I decided I’d drive Beth’s car to the café. She’d need it for the night, and maybe she’d stop pestering me about the damn tree lighting.
I didn't know what I'd do after dropping it off, but I'd figure it out. Or not. That feeling of not knowing made me uneasy.
I got in her car and turned the key. The engine purred to life, and I couldn’t help but think that someone like Beth shouldn’t be driving this old junker. It had more rust than paint, and the seats were torn in places. The only decent thing about it was the stereo, which was currently blasting out some overly cheerful Christmas song.
I adjusted the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of myself, frowning as usual. Shaking my head, I pulled out of the garage and headed toward her café. The streets were busy with holiday shoppers, their arms full of bags and their faces bright with smiles.
Beth's café came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the cold evening. A Live Music Mondays sign hung in the window, promising a night of festivity I wasn’t sure I could stomach.
I parked her car out front and turned off the ignition, letting the sudden silence wash over me. My grip on the steering wheel tightened before I forced myself to let go.
This was a mistake. She didn’t need my help, and I sure as hell didn’t need her kindness or her cookies.
But then I saw her through the window of the café, laughing with a customer as she handed over a steaming cup of something festive. Her smile was infectious, reaching all the way to her eyes.
For a moment, I just watched her. Beth Morrison, with her bright smile and determination to see good in everyone—even someone like me.
The car door creaked as I opened it and stepped out into the crisp air. My breath formed small clouds that quickly dissipated. I walked toward the café entrance, feeling more out of place with each step.
When Beth looked up and saw me through the glass door, her face lit up even more—if that was possible. She waved enthusiastically.
“Daryl! You brought my car!” She pushed open the door and came bounding out like an excited puppy.
“Yeah,” I grunted, holding out the keys. “Thought you’d need it tonight.”
She took them from me with a grateful smile that made my chest feel weirdly tight.
“You're coming, right?” she asked, her blue eyes wide and hopeful.
I started to say no, but when I looked into her eyes, the word stuck in my throat. “I'm already here,” I muttered instead.
“Great!” She beamed. “Let me just close up.”
She turned and disappeared into the back of the café, leaving me standing awkwardly near the entrance. The café had a warmth to it that was hard to ignore. It smelled of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow, adorned with eclectic art and photos of past live music nights.
I took a few steps further inside, noticing the display case filled with an array of cookies, pastries, and cakes. Each one looked more delicious than the last. The counter held jars of brightly colored candy canes and gingerbread men decorated with meticulous detail.
On one side of the room, there was a bulletin board covered with flyers and announcements. My eyes landed on a poster for a cookie contest— “Think you’ve got the best cookies in town? Prove it!” —complete with a list of rules and prizes.
The whole place felt like Christmas had exploded inside it. Garlands hung from the ceiling, twinkling lights wrapped around every available surface, and a small tree stood in the corner, decorated with ornaments that looked handmade.
I could hear Beth in the back, humming softly to herself as she closed up shop. Her voice mingled with the soft holiday music playing from hidden speakers.
I shifted uncomfortably on my feet, feeling out of place among all this cheerfulness. But something about being here, in her world, made me feel…less alone.
Beth reappeared from the back room, still smiling. “Ready?”
Not really. But I nodded anyway.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her coat and turning off the lights one by one.
As we stepped out into the cold evening air, I realized I’d just agreed to something without even knowing what it would entail.
But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
I stepped around the car and opened the passenger door for her. She shot me a surprised look, but her smile widened as she climbed in.
"Thanks," she said, settling into the seat.
I didn't respond, just closed the door and walked to the driver's side. Once inside, I started the engine and glanced at her. She was fiddling with her coat, looking a little nervous. I could feel her eyes on me every now and then, probably wondering what had changed my mind.
We drove toward the main part of town in silence. As we got closer, the streets became more congested with people milling about, all excited for the tree lighting ceremony. Lights twinkled from shop windows, and I could hear faint strains of Christmas music floating through the air.
"Parking is terrible," she murmured, craning her neck to see past a line of cars.
"I know a place," I replied, turning down a side street.
She looked at me with a mix of curiosity and relief. I navigated through a couple of backroads, my familiarity with this town guiding me effortlessly. Finally, we reached a small parking lot that was practically empty but only a block away from where they’d set up the massive Christmas tree.
"Where did you find this place?" she asked in awe, her eyes wide as she took in our surroundings.
I shrugged but muttered something about knowing the town well enough to avoid the crowds. Her smile made me feel like maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
We got out of the car and started walking toward the main square. The cold air nipped at my face, but there was something almost invigorating about it. Maybe it was Beth’s presence or just being out among people for once.
As we rounded the corner, the towering Christmas tree came into view, its lights casting a warm glow over everything. People were gathered around it, their faces lit with excitement and joy.
Beth slipped her arm through mine without warning. “Thanks for coming,” she said softly.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded and kept walking.
The tree was enormous, easily reaching the rooftops of the nearby buildings. It glittered with thousands of tiny lights, each one casting a warm, golden glow. Ornaments of every shape and size adorned its branches—hand-painted baubles, candy canes, and delicate glass figures that caught the light just right. The smell of pine mingled with the crisp winter air, creating an almost nostalgic scent.
As we got closer to the square, people turned and greeted Beth with cheerful smiles and waves.
"Hey, Beth!"
"Nice to see you, Beth!"
Their faces lit up even more when they saw her. She responded to each one with a smile or a nod but never let go of my hand.
I felt out of place in this sea of festivity. People I didn't know were smiling at me because I was with her. I gave curt nods in return, feeling like an intruder in a world where I didn't belong.
Beth’s grip on my hand tightened as we moved through the crowd. I glanced at her and saw that she looked more relaxed than I felt. Her smile was genuine, and it made me wonder how someone could be so comfortable in a situation like this.
We finally reached a spot near the base of the tree where we had a good view of everything. Kids ran around, their laughter filling the air as they played tag among the adults. Couples stood close together, their breath forming small clouds as they talked and laughed.
Beth turned to me with that same infectious smile. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, her eyes reflecting the twinkling lights above us.
"Yeah," I replied gruffly, unsure of what else to say.
She seemed content with my answer and leaned against me slightly as if seeking warmth or comfort. It was strange but not entirely unpleasant.
More people greeted Beth as they passed by, some giving me curious looks but mostly leaving us alone after a quick hello. Everyone seemed to know her. Everyone seemed to love her.
For a moment, standing there with her with all these people and their holiday cheer, I almost felt like part of something bigger—something I'd long since forgotten about.
Beth squeezed my hand again, drawing my attention back to her. Her eyes sparkled with unspoken gratitude or maybe something else entirely. I didn't know what it was, but I couldn't deny that being here with her felt... right.
And that was something I hadn't felt in a long time.
"Beth!"
Beth turned, and her face broke out into a grin. "Ellie!"
Beth let go of my hand to hug her friend. I ignored how cold my hand felt without her holding it.
"And who's this?" she asked, her eyes darting to me.
"This is Daryl," Beth said, glancing back at me. "He fixed my car. And now he’s fixing yours.”
"Must be good with his hands?" Ellie arched a brow.
"Something like that," I retorted.
Ellie smirked, clearly amused by my response.
Just then, an announcement boomed over the speakers, signaling the start of the ceremony. People around us started to cheer and gather closer to the tree.
Beth gave me a quick smile before turning her attention to the stage where the mayor began his speech. The crowd quieted down, their anticipation palpable as they waited for the lights to be switched on.
I stood there, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and discomfort, but with Beth…
I refused to finish that thought.