“People think small towns are simple. But we hold just as much complexity as anywhere else. Pain and hope side by side.”
She nodded, unable to speak for a moment.
“Come on,” Annie said, touching her arm gently. “The decorations are in the storage room.”
She followed her through a door behind the counter into a small hallway. Annie unlocked a door and flicked on the light, revealing a room lined with shelves stacked with boxes.
“These are the holiday ones,” Annie said, pointing to a stack labeled in the corner. “We need the ones labeled Reading Night.”
She pulled down the first box, surprised by its weight. “What’s in here, bricks?”
Annie laughed. “Book-themed ornaments, mostly. And the fairy lights. Lots and lots of fairy lights.”
They carried the boxes out to the main cafe area, where Annie had cleared a large table. As they unpacked, she found herself surrounded by tiny book ornaments, miniature reading lamps, and strings of lights shaped like open books.
“These are amazing,” she said, holding up a tiny replica of Pride and Prejudice.
“I’ve collected them throughout the years,” Annie explained, untangling a string of lights. “The reading night is my favorite event. We turn off all the regular lights and read by these fairy lights. Kids come in pajamas with their favorite books. It’s magical.”
She could almost picture it in her mind with the soft glow of lights, children curled up with books, and the warmth of community surrounding them. Something inside her ached at the image.
“Would you like to come?”
“I... maybe. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.”
Annie nodded, not pushing. “Well, the invitation stands. Now, can you help me hang these lights around the windows?”
For the next hour, they worked together, transforming the cafe into an even cozier space. Tessa climbed the ladder to hang lights while Annie directed from below. The physical activity felt good and purposeful in a different way than her hospital work.
As they finished, she found herself back at the wish board, drawn to the anonymous hopes and dreams of her hometown.
“Would you like to add one?” Annie asked, holding out a small green slip of paper and a pen.
She hesitated. What would she wish for? Health for her father seemed too obvious. A return to normal in Denver? But what was normal anymore? The panic attacks in supply closets? The trembling hands she tried to hide?
“Maybe later.” She handed back the paper.
Annie nodded, understanding. “The board will be here when you’re ready.”
She paid for her book and thanked Annie for the coffee. As she prepared to leave, Annie called out, “Tessa, wait. I forgot to give you this.”
She held out a small paper bag. “Blueberry muffin. Will you give it to your dad? It’s his favorite.”
She took the bag. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Outside, the temperature had dropped. She tucked the book and muffin into her coat and started the walk back to her father’s house.
Her mind kept returning to those wish notes. All those quiet desires, some simple and some profound. It struck her that beneath the picture-perfect surface of Sweet River Falls, there was so much more happening. People struggling, hoping, dreaming, hurting. Just like anywhere else. Just like her.
She paused at the edge of town, looking back at the twinkling lights strung across Main Street. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel quite so much like an outsider looking in. There was pain here, yes, but there was also hope. And maybe, there was room for her pain and her hope too.
The wish board had shown her that everyone had their own story and their own struggles hidden beneath the surface. Even Beckett, with his quiet strength and careful distance. Even her father, who had somehow changed enough to welcome a stranger into his home.
As she continued walking, snow beginning to fall in gentle flakes around her, she found herself wondering what Beckett might have wished for or what her father might write on one of those colored slips of paper. What would healing look like for each of them?
She didn’t have answers, but the questions didn’t fill her with dread. Instead, she felt a flicker of something that might have been curiosity. Or perhaps, more dangerously, it might have been hope.
Chapter 9
