Chapter 11
Tessa had almost forgotten what it felt like to anticipate something. For months in Denver, her days had blurred into an endless cycle of hospital shifts and restless sleep. But this morning, she found herself looking forward to helping Annie with the children’s reading night at Bookish Cafe.
She pulled on her boots and went into the kitchen, surprised to find the house quiet. Her father was at his weekly doctor’s appointment, with Beckett driving him. The silence felt strange after nearly two weeks of their constant presence.
In the kitchen, she found a note from Beckett in his neat handwriting: “Taking your dad to Dr. Miller. Back around noon. Coffee’s fresh.”
The thoughtfulness of the gesture made her smile. When had Beckett Cole started to matter so much? She poured herself a cup and wrapped her hands around the warm mug, savoring the moment of peace.
The walk to Bookish Cafe took her past snow-covered storefronts decorated for Christmas.
Sweet River Falls looked like a postcard, pristine and perfect.
But she knew better now. Beneath the twinkling lights and wreaths, people carried their own struggles.
The wish notes at Annie’s had shown her that.
Annie was arranging books on a display table when Tessa pushed open the door.
“Perfect timing,” Annie called. “I just finished setting up the reading corner. We need to hang the paper snowflakes the kids made last week.”
She hung her coat and scarf on the rack by the door. “Put me to work.”
For the next hour, they transformed the children’s corner into a winter wonderland, hanging delicate paper snowflakes from fishing line and arranging cushions in a semicircle around a rocking chair.
She stepped back to admire their work. “This looks magical. The kids will love it.”
“Speaking of magical,” Annie said, “I saw you and Beckett walking on the River Walk the other day.”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “We were just getting some fresh air.”
“Mmhmm.” Annie’s knowing smile made her blush harder.
“It’s not like that,” she insisted, though she wasn’t entirely convinced herself. Something had shifted between them during that snowy walk. The way he’d listened when she told him about her panic attacks and offered understanding instead of solutions. The way he’d trusted her with his own fears.
“He’s good people, you know. What he did all those years ago... it doesn’t define who he is now.”
“I know,” she said, and realized she meant it.
“Well, I need more coffee before I tackle the next task. Want some?”
“Sure.”
While Annie prepared fresh cups, Tessa wandered over to the community bulletin board. The colorful wish notes were still there, alongside flyers for the Christmas festivals and local business advertisements. She scanned the board, smiling at a child’s handwritten wish for a puppy.
Then her eyes caught on a note she hadn’t seen before. Unlike the cheerful colored papers of the wish notes, this one was stark white, and the message was typed rather than handwritten.
“You can put up lights and bake cookies, but you can’t wash away a prison record.”
Her stomach clenched. She read it again, hoping she’d misunderstood, but the words remained unchanged. Cold. Deliberate.
“Annie, did you see this?”
Annie appeared at her side, coffee mugs in hand. Her eyes widened as she read the note. “No. Oh no.” She quickly snatched it off the board. “I wonder how long it’s been up there. I didn’t notice it.”
Her hands curled into fists. “It’s about Beckett, isn’t it?”
Annie nodded, her expression grim. “There are still a few people in town who aren’t happy about the reentry program. Walter Dobbs has been particularly vocal.”
“Walter Dobbs?”
“He’s a grumpy old man who thinks people can’t change. He also likes to stir up trouble.” Annie crumpled the note. “I thought this kind of thing had stopped months ago.”
She took the crumpled paper from Annie’s hand and smoothed it out. “Has Beckett seen notes like this before?”
“A few, when he first came to town. But it’s been quiet lately. I thought people had finally accepted him. He never complained, just kept his head down and worked harder.”
Of course, he had. Beckett wasn’t the type to draw attention to himself or his troubles. He’d endure this silently too, just as he’d endured fifteen years in prison for a crime he hadn’t actually committed.
“Who else knows about his past?” she asked.
“Most of the town, I suppose. It’s not exactly a secret in a place this small.
Not the details, but the fact he’s been in prison.
But most folks have come around. They’ve seen how he is with your dad, how he teaches those woodworking classes at the community center, and how he’s always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. ”
She thought about Beckett shoveling snow before dawn, the careful way he tracked her father’s medication, and his quiet presence that somehow made the house feel more like home than it had in years.
“This isn’t right.” Anger swelled inside her.
“No, it’s not. But the best thing we can do is ignore it. Don’t give whoever wrote this the satisfaction.”
She wasn’t so sure. Part of her wanted to march up to Walter Dobbs and confront him. But another part of her, the part that had spent the last two weeks observing Beckett, knew that wasn’t what he would want.
“I should get back. Dad and Beckett will be home soon.”
Annie hesitated, then asked, “Are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.” She carefully folded the note and slipped it into her pocket. “Maybe he doesn’t need to know.”
But as she walked home through the snow, she couldn’t shake the sick feeling in her stomach. Not just anger at whoever had written the note, but something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like guilt.
Because hadn’t she done the same thing when she first arrived? Judged Beckett based on his past, on the single fact that he’d been in prison? She’d been suspicious and standoffish, quick to question his place in her father’s home.
The realization made her steps falter. She’d been no better than whoever wrote that note.
When she reached the house, she found her father and Beckett already back. Stan was napping in his recliner, and Beckett was in the kitchen preparing lunch.
“How was the appointment?” she asked, hanging her coat by the door.
“Good. Dr. Miller says his blood pressure is improving.” Beckett glanced up from the cutting board where he was slicing vegetables for a salad. “How was Annie’s?”
“Fine. We got everything ready for the reading night.” She hesitated, the folded note heavy in her pocket. “The cafe looks great.”
He nodded, returning his attention to the vegetables. There was something in his posture, a tension that hadn’t been there during their walk the other day.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure.” But he didn’t meet her eyes.
Her heart sank. He already knew. Somehow, he already knew about the note.
“Beckett...”
“Your dad should eat soon,” he said, still not looking at her. “The appointment tired him out.”
She watched as he efficiently assembled sandwiches and salad, his movements precise and controlled. Too controlled. Like someone working very hard to appear normal.
“I saw the note,” she blurted out. “At Annie’s. On the bulletin board.”
His hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their work. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s cruel and unfair.”
He shrugged, a small, tight movement. “It happens.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“No,” he agreed quietly. “But it does.”
She moved closer, until she was standing beside him at the counter. “Has this happened before?”
“A few times when I first got here.” He finally looked at her, his gray-blue eyes carefully neutral. “It’s been a while.”
“Who do you think wrote it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “It matters.”
He set down the knife and faced her fully. “Why? What would you do if you knew?”
The question caught her off guard. What would she do? Confront them? Demand an apology? And then what?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s wrong. You don’t deserve that.”
Something flickered across his face, too quick to read. “It’s okay, Tessa. I’ve dealt with worse.”
The quiet resignation in his voice broke something inside her. She thought about all he’d endured. Fifteen years in prison. Starting over with nothing. And now this. “It’s not okay. And you shouldn’t have to just accept it.”
“What’s the alternative? Make a scene? Prove them right about me?” He turned back to the lunch preparation.
“They’re not right about you.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the vulnerability in his eyes made her breath catch. “Weren’t you thinking the same thing when you first got here? That I was dangerous? That I didn’t belong in your father’s house?”
The truth of his words stung. She had thought exactly that. She had resented his presence and questioned his motives. She had seen the ex-con instead of the man.
“Yes, I did. And I was wrong,” she admitted.
He seemed surprised by her candor.
“I judged you without knowing you, and that was unfair. But I know you now, Beckett. I’ve seen how you are with my dad and with the town. You’re a good man.”
He looked away, uncomfortable with her praise. “We should get your dad up for lunch.”
But she wasn’t ready to let it go. “Why didn’t you tell me about the note?”
He sighed. “What good would it do? Some people won’t ever see past what I did. I’ve accepted that.”
“Well, I haven’t. And you shouldn’t either.”
“Tessa.” His voice was gentle but firm. “This isn’t your battle.”
“Maybe it should be.” The words surprised her as much as they seemed to surprise him. “Maybe it’s time someone fought for you for a change.”
Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them. Something warm and electric that made her heart beat faster.
“Why would you do that?” he asked softly.
Because I care about you, she wanted to say. Because you deserve better. Because when I’m with you, I feel more like myself than I have in years.