He nodded. “I read a lot these days. That one’s good. Great mystery. The ending will surprise you.”
Annie glanced between them, a small smile playing at her lips. “Beckett’s one of my best customers. He’s working his way through my entire fiction section.”
“Just the good ones,” he said with a slight shrug. “Stan asked me to pick up his medication while I was out. I should get back. Enjoy your book.”
He nodded goodbye and headed for the door. She watched him go, noticing how several people called out greetings as he passed. He responded to each one with a quiet word or nod.
“He’s really found his place here,” Annie said, following her gaze.
She turned back to Annie. “It seems that way. Everyone treats him like he’s lived here forever.”
“That’s Sweet River Falls for you. Once you’re one of ours, you’re family.” Annie squeezed her arm. “That includes you too, you know. No matter how long you’ve been away.”
She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She sipped her coffee instead.
“Actually,” Annie said, “since you’re here, I could use your help with something.”
“Oh?”
“I’m decorating for our holiday reading night. My usual helper is down with the flu.”
She glanced at her watch out of habit, then realized she had nowhere else to be. No shifts to cover, no patients waiting. Just time, stretching out empty before her.
“I’d be happy to help,” she said.
“Wonderful! Let me just tell my worker at the counter, and we can head to the back.”
While Annie spoke with the young woman behind the counter, she noticed a large corkboard near the register. It was covered in small pieces of paper in various colors, each pinned haphazardly across the surface. A sign above it read “Wish Notes” in flowing script.
She moved closer, reading a few of the notes.
“I wish for a new bike for my brother. His got stolen, and Mom says we can’t afford another one.”
“I wish my dad would come home for Christmas this year.”
“I wish someone would notice me.”
“I wish for one day without pain.”
“I wish I could forget how much I miss you.”
Each note was unsigned, anonymous wishes sent out into the universe. Some were hopeful, while others were heartbreaking in their simplicity.
“It’s our annual tradition,” Annie said, coming to stand beside her. “People write down their holiday wishes, and sometimes others in town make them come true. Anonymously, of course.”
“That’s beautiful.” She stared at the corkboard.
“It started small, just a few wishes. Now we get hundreds.” Annie pointed to a blue note near the bottom. “That little boy got his puppy last year. And this woman,” she indicated a pink note, “received two months’ worth of meals after her surgery.”
She read more notes, feeling a tightness in her throat.
“I wish Mom would smile again.”
“I wish for courage to start over.”
“I wish to belong somewhere.”
That last one hit her like an unexpected punch. How many times had she felt that exact sentiment, even in Denver, where she’d built her whole adult life?
