Chapter 2
WILLOW
Ican’t believe I left my coat behind.
I spot the diner again as I round the bend in the road, the same squat little building with its flickering neon OPEN sign and snow-dusted windows.
I’d only stopped for coffee half an hour ago—long enough to thaw my fingers and pretend I was a normal person just passing through.
Apparently, I’m not very good at pretending.
I sigh and pull into the gravel lot, tires crunching loud in the morning quiet.
The cold bites immediately when I step out of the car, seeping through my sweater, my breath puffing white in front of my face.
The coat wasn’t optional.
It was survival.
I picked it up at a Walmart when I was driving through Virginia. That was when I started to notice the drop in temperature.
The fleece-lined windbreaker seemed perfectly toasty down there, but here, well, I wish I had two more.
Whatever. One is better than nothing.
Inside, the diner smells like bacon grease and fresh coffee.
Warmth wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I was holding my breath for.
A bell jingles softly as I step in, and the same older woman from earlier looks up from behind the counter.
“There you are,” she says, smiling, and turns to grab something dark and familiar from behind the counter.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest.
“Thank you for keeping it safe,” I say, forcing a smile as she hands me my windbreaker.
My fingers linger on the fabric like I’m reassuring myself it’s real.
“No trouble at all.” She tilts her head, studying me. “You never did say where you were headed.”
It’s said lightly, but the question lands heavy.
I shrug, casual. Too casual.
“Just passing through.”
“Mmm.” She hums like she doesn’t quite buy it. “Passing through where?”
I hesitate, then take a breath. I didn’t plan on stopping here again, but something about the town I passed through—the quiet, the trees, the way it felt tucked away from the rest of the world—kept pulling at me.
“Actually,” I say, “can you help me? I’m looking for Woodhaven.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, then she laughs, warm and genuine.
“Oh, honey. This is Woodhaven.”
My stomach flips. “This is Woodhaven?”
“Sure is.” She gestures vaguely with her coffeepot. “Planning on staying?”
“Oh—no. I mean—” I fumble. “I guess I’m just, um, passing through.”
I repeat myself. Like an idiot.
But her face is kind, and her smile turns knowing.
“You don’t pass through Woodhaven. Folks come here on purpose.” She pauses, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Or because they’re running from something.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I clear my throat, suddenly fascinated by the scuffed toe of my boot.
“Well,” I say carefully, “Actually, I’m looking for a job.”
Now that gets her attention.
“Well now,” she says, setting the pot down. “That’s a coincidence if I ever heard one.”
She leans closer, voice dropping like she’s about to tell me a secret.
“A good friend of mine—Kelly McCrae-Stevens over at McCrae Lumber & Sawmill—was just in here this morning. Needs someone to fill in for her. Shoulder surgery. Arthritis.” She winces in sympathy. “Pain in the butt, that is.”
She talks fast, words tumbling over each other in a thick Maine accent I’ve only ever heard on reruns of Murder, She Wrote and those awesome chiller Stephen King movies.
It’s oddly comforting.
Musical.
And it makes my New Jersey vowels sound loud and blunt by comparison.
“Anyway,” she says, peering at me. “You interested?”
I blink. I realize I haven’t answered.
My brain is still trying to catch up to the idea that the universe might have just tossed me a rope.
“Um. I guess,” I say finally. “I mean, I do need a job.”
“Well?” she presses, smiling like she already knows the answer.
“Yes,” I repeat. “I’m interested.”
“Good.”
She grabs a napkin and a pen before I can overthink it, flattening the paper against the counter and starting to sketch a map.
“Phones don’t always work once you head up the mountain.”
I blink. “Mountain?”
She pauses, pen mid-scratch, and looks up at me like I’ve just said the strangest thing she’s ever heard.
“Where do you think you are, girl?”
“I—” I falter. “Maine?”
She laughs again.
“Well, you’re right so far. This here’s the tail end of the Appalachians. We sit right on Bearpaw Ridge.”
“Bearpaw?” My eyes widen. “Are there, um, bears here?”
She studies me for a second, then softens, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“Oh, honey,” she says gently. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”
I shake my head.
She chuckles.
“Don’t you worry about the bears. They mind their business if you mind yours.” She slides the napkin toward me. “You just go see Kelly.”
“Thanks.”
I take the map with trembling fingers, heart pounding for reasons I can’t quite name.
Outside, the cold waits. The road waits.
But for the second time since I entered the state of Maine, I feel it.
Something else waiting for me.
Hope. Possibility.