Go to bed, Noah.
There was nothing to stay up for.
No one to stay up with.
He turned off the light and peered through the window. Outside, snow drifted through the dark. Tomorrow, he told himself, he’d go into town early and pick up supplies for the Festival before everyone else descended on Home Depot.
For now, he stood by the window, watching the flakes settle, until the chill made him move.
The house felt too quiet, a silence that had begun two years ago.
Maybe it’s time to change that.
Yeah, right.
Chapter Three
Ten a.m.on the morning after Thanksgiving, Home Depot smelled like fresh-cut pine.
Eli stood in the lighting aisle with Aileen’s shopping list that might as well have been a novella.
extension cords (green, outdoor)
timers (digital preferred)
warm white lights (NOT cool white)
She’d underlined that last part three times.
He had a coffee in one hand and a cart half-filled with things that jingled faintly when he moved it. The soundtrack filling the air was pure holiday capitalism: carols piped through tinny speakers, jingling cash registers, and someone arguing about socket adapters three aisles over.
“Eli Winters? Is that you?”
He turned and peered at the speaker, a woman in her late fifties, her silver hair tied in a scarf. That was the clincher. Millie Bouchard’s scarves had been a regular sight around Mapleford when he was growing up.
Nice to see some things don’t change.
“Hey, Mrs. Bouchard.”
She frowned. “I think you’re old enough to call me Millie. What are you now, thirty?”
“Thirty-two.” He smiled. “Do you still decorate the diner with wreaths that smell of cinnamon?” The Mapleford Diner was across the street from the bakery, and Millie had owned it forever, or at least, that was how it felt. She was everyone’s unofficial mother, an organizer of awesome cookie drives, and keeper of everyone’s secrets.
And when Eli had been fifteen, she’d caught him in the park with a gay mag, and hadn’t told a soul.
Millie grinned. “You know it. Are you home for long? The Festival could always use fresh help.”
He bit his lip. “Just a couple of days. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of help, though. Everyone always pitches in.” He was pretty certain that hadn’t changed, even though there seemed to be more selfish assholes crawling out of the woodwork with each passing day.
Or maybe that’s just me being cynical.
“Stop by the diner before you disappear, then, and we’ll have some cookies and a glass or two of mulled wine.”
He couldn’t rein in his smile. “Is that still a thing?”
“It is inmydiner,” she retorted. She patted his arm. “Good to see you. It’s been too long.” Then she pushed her cart toward the end of the aisle.
Eli shook his head. Millie was a welcome blast from the past. Then he remembered his list.
