“Is that what you look for when you travel? The soul of a place?”
The question struck her as unexpectedly profound. “I guess I do,” she admitted. “Anyone can describe scenery or list attractions. I want to find out what makes somewhere unique, what would make someone want to experience it for themselves.”
“And what have you found in Bear Creek?” Christopher asked, his voice softening.
Sorcha hesitated, feeling suddenly exposed. What she’d found in Bear Creek was sitting right beside her, his firm hands restingon the steering wheel, his presence filling the truck cab with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heater.
“I’m still discovering that,” she said carefully.
They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the road narrowing as they ventured deeper into the forest. Sorcha watched the trees flash by, sunlight dappling through the branches onto the snow below.
“So what about you?” she asked, seizing the opportunity. “You mentioned working in finance, but you didn’t say much more. What brought you to Bear Creek, really?”
Something flickered across his face—caution, perhaps. “Like I said, my car broke down.”
“That explains how you got here, not why you stayed,” Sorcha pointed out gently.
Christopher’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “I needed a change. The city was…too much. Too loud, too fast, too crowded.”
There was more to it, Sorcha could tell. Her journalist’s instinct hummed with certainty. The careful way he chose his words, the slight tension in his jaw—he was editing his story.
“What about family?” she asked. “Do they visit you here?”
“No family left,” he said simply. “Just me.”
The sadness in those three words made her heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But that would be presumptuous. They’d known each other for barely two days.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead.
Christopher shrugged. “It’s been a long time. And I try not to look back, you know?”
“Wise words.” Sorcha recognized a closed door when she saw one. Whatever had happened, whatever had driven him to this remote mountain town, he wasn’t ready to share it. And she had no right to pry, not when she was leaving so soon.
Her reporter’s mind chafed against the mystery, instinctively wanting to dig deeper, to uncover the truth. But the part of her that was drawn to Christopher urged her to let it be. Trust had to be earned. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her when he was ready.
She made a silent promise to herself: no late-night Google searches, no discreet calls to contacts who might know something. If Christopher chose to share his past with her, she would listen. If not, she would respect his privacy.
The truck turned off the main road onto a narrow track that wound deeper into the forest. Tall pines crowded close on either side, their branches heavy with snow, creating a tunnel of green and white.
“Are we still in Bear Creek?” Sorcha asked, peering through the windshield.
“Just barely,” Christopher replied. “The town limits extend pretty far.”
The trees suddenly opened up to reveal a small clearing. A rustic wooden structure stood in the center, smoke curling from its chimney. To Sorcha’s surprise, the small parking area was nearly full of cars, and she could see people seated at rough-hewn benches scattered among the trees behind the building. Strings of warm white bulbs hung from tree to tree, giving the clearing the glow of a secret winter festival.
“What is this place?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Christopher smiled as he pulled into an empty spot. “You’ll see.”
As they stepped out of the truck, a rich aroma hit Sorcha’s nose, the unmistakable scent of wood smoke mingled with something else, something that made her mouth water instantly.
“Pizza?” she asked, inhaling deeply.
Christopher laughed. “The smell does give it away, doesn’t it?” He gestured toward the shack. “Come on.”
They approached the weathered building, which looked like it had grown organically from the forest floor. A simple hand-painted sign above the door read “Louis & Renee’s”. As Christopher pulled open the door, a blast of warmth and the sound of laughter greeted them.
Inside, the shack was small but cozy. A wood-fired oven dominated one wall, its flames casting a golden glow across the room. Behind a simple counter stood a middle-aged couple, working in perfect tandem as they shaped dough and added toppings.Sprigs of pine and a small string of fairy lights decorated the shelf above them, giving the place a festive, storybook feel.
