Chapter Ten
The next couple of weeks passed in a blur.
A blur that was both exciting and fueled with a heavy dose of self-doubt.
The article was finished. I’d intended to keep my promise to Wilson, and I was pretty confident I’d done that, but I still couldn’t shake the fear of what everyone else would think or how my role at the Tribune would be received.
Donna had called one morning, saying her phone had been ringing off the hook all morning.
“You outdid yourself, Scarlett. Quincey Falls has fully welcomed you as the newest journalist of the Quincey Falls Tribune, and I couldn’t be prouder of you,” she boasted.
Her praise was a confidence booster, there was no doubt about that, but I was still missing the most important person’s seal of approval.
Wilson.
The plan had been to have Wilson read the final article before it went to print, but he decided he wanted to be “surprised,” which was equally exciting and terrifying.
He’d read little snippets here and there because he had been a part of the whole process, but he hadn’t seen all the pieces put together.
The big hoorah was tonight at The Wheel.
“Ding, dong!”
Who the hell was that? It was just past two, so there was no way Maggie was already here.
I pulled the door open and was hit with the cool air, forcing me to wrap my arms around my body.
“Delivery for Scarlett Carson. Can you please sign here?”
“Of course,” I said, taking the tiny pad from the delivery man’s hand. “Thank you!”
Kicking the door shut, I walked back into my kitchen, setting the bouquet of orange coneflowers—each one more vibrant than the last—and large square box on my counter.
I scoured the vase for any sign of who the sender was from but came up empty-handed. I popped the lid off the box, and lying on top of the white tissue paper was an orange envelope that had “Scarlett” scribbled on it.
Wilson.
My finger slid under the flap, popping it open. I pulled out a piece of stationary branded with two large Ws sitting boldly at the top.
I swiped a traveling tear from my eye, placing the letter on the counter.
This article wasn’t just an article for me; it signaled the start of something new.
The tissue paper hid whatever was in the box, and as I gently moved it out of the way, a smile consumed my face.
Perfectly placed was the most beautiful cowboy hat I’d ever seen.
The suede material was a light color, similar to the sand you’d find on the beach.
Branded on the back left was sc. But the part that I loved the most was the hat band and all the embellishments he’d chosen, no doubt, specifically for me.
The band was comprised of a single strand of thick white ribbon, simple and elegant.
Layered within the ribbon was a few smaller strands of leather in various shades of brown and thickness.
Tucked into the band, there was a matchbox with The Wheel’s familiar cowboy and his bucking bronco printed on the front along with a few sprigs of dried pampas grass.
I gently removed it from the box, careful not to mess it up but desperate to see it on. I moved toward the bathroom, eagerly plopping the hat on my head. I couldn’t see my reflection yet, but I already knew it was perfect.
“Damn,” I said, holding the brim and shifting my head to one side and then the other. “Wait…”
Something dark underneath the brim caught my eye.
I took the hat off and flipped it over. Discreetly branded right near the sweatband were the words Don’t ever let your fire go out.
My fingers automatically traced the indentation of each letter.
The warmth inside of me grew, finding its way into a smile that slowly crawled across my face.
I pulled the hat to my chest, hugging it ever so lightly.
The hours leading up to the party seemed nonexistent, whittling away to nothing. Probably because I’d already planned out my whole outfit, and after Wilson’s unexpected gift, everything had to change.
“Come in. I left it unlocked,” I yelled through my bathroom door, still fidgeting with my dark curls.
“Hello! I’m here for Scarlett Carson. The newest and now published journalist of the Quincey Falls Tribune.”
“You’re ridiculous, I’m in here!”
“Holy hell. What happened?” Maggie asked, stepping over a pile of clothes that had ended up in the doorway of my bathroom.
I turned away from the mirror. “Wait. You look so good. Damn.”
Maggie’s legs appeared to run on forever in the chocolate-brown leather shorts and opaque tights she was wearing with a pair of black cowboy boots.
The tight brown turtleneck accentuated her everywhere, outlining her petite figure.
Drenched over her shoulders was a brown leather jacket that perfectly matched the shorts.
“Thank you.” Her face lit up. “This is for you,” she said, handing over a fancy-looking bottle of champagne. “But actually, what happened? I found a pair of jeans by your refrigerator.”
“Thanks, Mags.” I took the bottle and placed it on my counter. “Let’s just say there was a last-minute outfit change and I was a little stressed, but that’s neither here nor there because I figured it out.” I giggled, returning to outlining my lips.
“You did?” she asked, peering at my half-naked body in the mirror.
“Ha. Yes. I just wanted to finish my hair and makeup before I got dressed because I was actually sweating from the number of outfits I tried on.”
Maggie stepped to my right, grabbing my curling iron and taking it to her blonde hair as if every piece weren’t already lying exactly where it should be.
“I thought we decided you were going with the denim jumpsuit? That jumpsuit is a statement, and you need to make a statement… Why the change?”
“The jumpsuit is a statement and that’s the problem…” I said, dropping my makeup on the counter and shimmying to my closet. “Because this hat needed to be the statement.”
Her eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s literally perfect, isn’t it? It was a gift from Wilson; it got delivered this afternoon. There was no way I was showing up tonight not wearing this hat.”
“I mean, absolutely not. That hat is incredible. Let me see.”
I handed it over and watched as she inspected the entire thing.
“This is so thoughtful. What a sweet man,” she said, placing the hat on her head. “Kinda jealous Wilson’s never got me a custom hat.”
“Maybe you should write an article about him.”
“Definitely not. Have you read my writing?”
“Ha. You’re not wrong,” I said.
“Okay, so what did you decide to wear instead? You have to look perfect. It’s your big night, and you just never know who might show up.” The corner of her mouth tugged up.
We both knew exactly who might show up. We sort of hoped he would, but we would absolutely never say that out loud.
And by we, I meant me.
I hadn’t seen Stetson since that day at Rolling Meadows a couple of weeks ago.
While I’d stayed busy with the article and everything else that came with a new job, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him and the conversations we’d shared.
Or thought about what he was doing and how it was possible with how much I’d been out and about that I hadn’t run into him at least once.
“I think I’m gonna wear this,” I said, coming back into the bathroom in a cream-colored strapless chiffon dress. The dress was decorated with muted pale pink flowers and greenery. “With this.” I snagged my hazel suede jacket from the doorknob.
“Okay, love. With that hat. It’s perfect.”
Her affirmation was exactly what I was looking for and brought a blanket of confidence that I desperately needed on a night like tonight.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Six forty-five. Think we’ve got time for a glass of celebratory champagne?”
“We’ve always got time for champagne.”
“I don’t know why, but my heart is beating out of my chest right now,” I said, putting my hand against the rhythm.
“Are you serious?” Maggie tilted her head in disbelief.
“You wrote an incredible article about an incredible place and now the whole town gets to celebrate it. And while I hate to bring up the past, the last time everyone was talking about you was because you were the headline, not because you wrote it.”
“Hey!” I playfully whacked her arm. “Although, I guess you’re right.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to.” She laughed.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
We linked arms, both for moral support and for warmth.
The Tennessee December weather was proving to be a little more winterlike than we were used to. Even the air smelled of Christmas; a little smokey and a whole helluva lot like a pine tree farm.
“Brr.” Maggie gripped my arm tighter.
“I know, damn.”
We strutted through the brightly lit gravel parking lot.
Wilson had gone all out with the decor this year; red and green lights had been strung up everywhere, basically illuminating all of Main Street.
At least twenty Christmas trees lit with a rainbow of lights were perched along the porch.
The wooden railing that wrapped around the entire building sparkled with silver and gold tinsel.
Dainty snowflakes dangled from the ceiling of the porch, and all four rocking chairs were occupied by a life-size elf, each equipped with a can of beer.
And to top it off, an inflatable cowboy Santa stood at least six feet tall, holding a sign that read, Whiskey Bent and Sleigh Bound.
This place reeked of ’90s nostalgia and I couldn’t love it more.
“How does Wilson expect me to tell Santa what I want this year if I can’t sit on his lap?” Maggie asked with a giggle.
“You’re absurd.”
“At least I’m not boring,” she said.
The live band inside had to be good because through the windows that lined the front of the bar you could see everyone congregating by the stage, swaying back and forth.
Maggie reached for the door, but my boots stayed planted, forcing her to look back.
“You’ve got this. This isn’t just a night for The Wheel; it’s a night for you too. And I know you’re going to say you don’t want it to be about you because it doesn’t feel right—even though it is—but if you need to, just remind yourself that you’re here to support Wilson.”
“Whew,” I said, blowing out a deep breath. “You’re right, this is for Wilson.”
I didn’t know why I was so nervous, but I was sure it had something to do with the guilt that clung to me like static.
Or maybe it was how I’d been too stubborn to admit that the thought of Stetson being inside, of seeing him again, excited me.
Hell, it was probably a little of both, but either way, my stomach was churning, and that glass of celebratory champagne was working overtime.
“You ready?” she asked.
“And if I say no?” I questioned.
“Then I’ll pull inside anyway and you’ll look miserable in front of everyone…”
My face scrunched together before relaxing. “Let’s go. Before I change my mind.”
“That’s my girl,” she said.
I forced a smile, grabbed Maggie’s hand, and walked into the bar like I owned the damn place.