But as I drive home later, Killian's words won't leave me alone.
And I trust Sage.I realize how much I really do.
I just wish I knew what "inn things" were making her sound so lost.
And why I'm afraid to find out.
19
WHISKEY BUSINESS
SAGE
It takes me fifteen minutes to walk three blocks in Alder Ridge.
Not because of traffic—but because I’m stopped at least seven times.
Mrs.Polk wants to know if the inn will decorate for Christmas early.Edgar from the hardware store offers me a discount on goat fencing “for the little escape artist.”
A pair of tourists asks if I’m “the Sage Winters.”
When I say yes, they beam and pull out their phones—for selfies.Not because I’m famous, but because Grandma Rose was.
And somehow, when she passed, her spotlight shifted and I’ve been standing in it ever since.
The Cascade View Inn’s quirky torchbearer.
The girl who stayed.
It's Saturday afternoon, two days after Luke asked me to be his real date to Callum's engagement party, and now that I’ve reached my destination—Eleanor’s cafe—and I’m seated my usual corner table, I still feel like I’m wandering through the streets.
Inside, I stare at the tea menu like it holds the secrets to the universe.Like it’ll help me cut through the thoughts of how messed my life has become.
"Chamomile for calm, peppermint for courage, or whiskey for honesty?"She’s wearing a scarf with tiny pumpkins on it—two weeks post-Halloween—and her silver braids are coiled like cinnamon rolls.
“Um, I don’t know, Ellie.”I swallow, nerves clogging my throat.“Do you happen to have anything for 'confession of cybercrime to a billionaire'?"I ask.
She smiles.“Back room, between the emergency chocolate and Sarah's secret stash of wine."
"Eleanor."
"Sage."She mimics my serious tone."You've been sitting at that corner table for twenty minutes nursing the same cold coffee.Either you're writing a manifesto, or you need to talk."
The November afternoon sun streams through the café windows, highlighting dust motes and my poor life choices.
Outside, downtown Alder Ridge is doing its picturesque small-town thing—tourists taking photos by the decorative pumpkins, locals pretending the tourists don't exist.
And suddenly, I can’t take the smell of cinnamon and judgment in the air.
I glance up from my seat.“Eleanor?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I tricked Luke into coming to my inn.”
Eleanor doesn't even blink."I know, dear."
"You...what?"
