Chapter 3 #2
Inside, the main dining room felt peaceful—all dark wood and warm light and heavenly smells.
Windows lined two sides of the room, offering spectacular views of Twin Peaks and the lake.
A third side was dominated by a massive stone fireplace tall and wide enough for a person to step inside, with flames roaring behind the grate.
Overhead, massive wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, hung with delicate crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the diners.
The tables were dressed with white tablecloths and polished silverware that gleamed in the candlelight, each adorned with fresh flowers.
The air was rich with the scent of roasting meats, fresh-baked bread, and herbs—a perfect blend of comfort and luxury that had put The Lampstand on the map for fine dining.
“Well, look who the cat drug in,” Mac called out from the hostess stand. Her dark hair was piled artfully on top of her head, and she wore a white button-down shirt and a black pleated skirt that came a few inches above the knee—the restaurant’s uniform for front-of-house staff.
“Is that any way to talk to paying customers?” Levi asked his niece.
Her eyes widened in shock and she started coughing. “Did you say you’re paying? Grandma, get out here!”
“Brat,” Levi said, grinning. “Mom and Dad are in Boise for the day. She found a piece of furniture she had to have and they went to pick it up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “You ruin all my fun. Come on back. I’ve got a table for you troublemakers.”
Mac got them settled at a corner booth with a view of downtown. “Johan is cooking today—his bison meat loaf will change your life. Just saying.”
“Can’t wait,” Hank said. “I’m always hungry after watching a little drama.”
Beckett looked out the window at the darkening sky, thinking about Hazel and her ridiculous confrontation. His phone had been buzzing constantly since his little showdown with Hazel. He winced at the thought. He hated being the center of anyone’s attention.
“So,” Hank said, leaning back in the booth with that easy confidence that came from being a man comfortable in his own skin, “I’m more interested to hear what your thoughts are on the newest business moving into town. Have you seen her yet?”
“What business? Seen who?” Beckett asked, his attention still half on his buzzing phone.
Hank’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline and he slapped Levi on the shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard. Judy is losing her touch.”
Beckett set his phone down and gave them both his full attention. “I haven’t seen my mother in almost a week. I’ve been neck deep in pregnant cows, vaccines, and broken balers. What are you talking about?”
“The little photography studio moving in next door to Raven’s boutique,” Hank said, gesturing with his chin toward the window.
“Where that fancy cake decorating place was—the one that tried to undercut Rose over at Heavenly Delight. Didn’t last two months with their Paris prices and pretentious fondant. ”
“Serves them right,” Levi said quietly, his dark eyes fixed on some point beyond the window.
“Rose has been making wedding cakes in this town since before we were born. Some out-of-towner thinking they could swoop in and steal her business?” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not how Laurel Valley works.”
Beckett studied his friend. Levi O’Hara had always been the quietest of the cousins—watchful in a way that made people nervous if they didn’t know him.
He’d taken over the day-to-day operations of the O’Hara Ranch a few years back, working alongside his uncle Mick to keep the horse breeding program thriving.
There were rumors he’d turned down something big to come back—some kind of government job that nobody talked about.
Levi certainly never mentioned it, and the shadows that occasionally passed behind his eyes suggested he’d seen things that kept him up at night.
“You’re one to talk about loyalty,” Hank said, elbowing his cousin. “When’s the last time you came into town for something other than feed and supplies? Mom’s starting to think you’ve gone feral out there on the ranch.”
“I like the quiet,” Levi said simply. “Horses don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Neither do cows,” Beckett offered. “But eventually you have to talk to humans.”
“Debatable.” But the corner of Levi’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile Beckett had seen from him in months.
“So this photography studio,” Beckett said, looking between his two friends. “Why do I get the feeling you’re both enjoying dragging this out?”
“Because we are,” Hank said with a grin. “It’s not every day we get to see Beckett Hamilton caught completely off guard.”
“Well, if you’re not going to share it must not be too important,” Beckett said, shrugging. “How’s Sophie? I heard the bookstore’s busier than ever since the rebuild.”
Hank’s expression softened the way it always did when someone mentioned his wife.
“She’s amazing. The baby’s not sleeping through the night yet and we’re both exhausted.
” He shook his head, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.
“She’s already got him a library card. Kid’s three months old and she’s reading him Goodnight Moon like it’s Shakespeare. ”
“Your kid’s going to be spoiled rotten,” Levi observed.
“Absolutely. And I don’t even care.” Hank took a drink of his water. “But stop trying to change the subject, Beck. We’re talking about the photography studio.”
Levi leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Unlike Hank, who smiled easily and often, Levi’s expression was unreadable—the kind of face that gave nothing away. “It’s not just any photography studio,” he said quietly. “And it’s not just anyone opening it.”
“Marnie Whitlock,” Hank said, watching Beckett’s face carefully. “She’s back.”
The name hit Beckett like a physical blow. For a moment—just a moment—everything stopped. The noise of the restaurant faded to white static. The clatter of plates and the murmur of conversation all went silent. His body felt like lead, every muscle locked in place.
Marnie.
Marnie Whitlock.
Here.
“Beck?” Hank’s voice came from somewhere far away, the amusement gone now. “You still with us?”
Beckett blinked, and sound rushed back in like a wave. “What did you just say?”
“Marnie Whitlock came back to Laurel Valley last week,” Levi said, his tone gentler now, like he understood exactly what those words meant.
What they’d always meant. “She’s renting her old place from my mom and dad—paid six months up front with an option to buy.
They’d torn down the old house she grew up in years ago after it became uninhabitable.
But they built a little two-bedroom house as a rental property some years back. ”
“She’s opening the photography studio,” Hank added. “High-end stuff, from what Sophie tells me. Art gallery work. She’s made quite a name for herself over the years.”
Beckett’s heart was doing something complicated in his chest. Racing and stuttering and forgetting how to beat properly.
His mind had gone back fifteen years in the space of a heartbeat.
To a girl with dark hair braided over one shoulder and eyes that held too many secrets.
To the taste of cotton candy and the lights of the carnival reflecting in her eyes.
To the way she’d felt in his arms on the Ferris wheel, small and breakable and so much stronger than anyone knew.
To the way she’d looked at him before her father dragged her away—like she was memorizing his face. Like she knew she’d never see him again.
“I thought she was in Savannah,” Beckett managed.
“She was.” Levi’s expression was unreadable in that way he had when he was thinking about things he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—talk about. “Made quite a life for herself there. But something brought her back. She’s been pretty quiet about why.”
“Smart woman,” Hank said. “This town would have her life story figured out and embellished before she unpacked her first box if she gave them half a chance.”
“Does she—” Beckett stopped, not sure what he was asking. Does she ask about me? Does she remember? Does she hate me for not being strong enough to protect her?
“She hasn’t been around much,” Levi said, answering the unspoken question. “Has a crew working on the studio but she’s not there during the day. Keeps to herself.”
Of course she did. Marnie had always been good at keeping to herself. At making herself small and invisible. It’s how she’d survived.
“You going to be okay?” Hank asked, studying him with those sharp green eyes that missed nothing.
“Fine,” Beckett said automatically. Then, more honestly: “I don’t know.”
Levi nodded slowly, like that was the answer he’d expected.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “people can change a lot in fifteen years. Sometimes they come back different. Sometimes they come back the same but stronger.” He paused, something flickering in those dark eyes—something that looked almost like recognition.
Like he was speaking from experience. “Sometimes coming home is the bravest thing a person can do.”
Hank and Beckett both looked at him, surprised by the uncharacteristic insight. Levi just shrugged and went back to studying the menu like he hadn’t said anything unusual at all.
Beckett slid out of the booth, his movements automatic. “I’ve got to go.”
“We haven’t even ordered yet,” Hank pointed out.
“Then thanks for buying my lunch that I’m not going to eat.” Beckett grabbed his jacket from the hook. His mind was already across the street, at that locked door with the papered windows.
Beckett headed for the door. The sound of his friends’ voices faded behind him as he pushed out into the cool afternoon air.
His boots hit the wooden sidewalk with purpose as he crossed the street.
The photography studio sat between the sheriff’s office and the old bank building, its windows still covered with brown craft paper.
He could hear the whine of a saw from inside, the rhythmic bang of a hammer.
The smell of fresh lumber and paint hung in the air.
He tried the door handle.
Locked.
Disappointment crashed through him, sharp and immediate.
He stood there on the sidewalk, hand still on the door handle, and let himself feel it.
All of it. The guilt he’d carried for fifteen years for not being strong enough to stop her father that night.
The helplessness he’d felt watching the social services van drive away with her inside.
The years of wondering and hoping and trying not to hope.
She’d been his first love. His first kiss. His first everything that mattered.
And he’d let her down when she’d needed him most.
Beckett stepped back from the door and looked up at the windows of the second floor, where light glowed behind pulled shades. Was she up there right now? Could she see him standing here like a fool, unable to walk away?
He turned and walked back to his truck, his boots heavy on the wooden planks.
Marnie Whitlock was back in Laurel Valley.
And whether she wanted to see him or not, Beckett knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t going to be able to stay away.