Now I know what any sane woman would do in this situation. I do. A hot guy, though one I just met, wrapping his warm body around mine on a cold, snowy fall day? Yeah, most girls would swoon right into him.
So I naturally elbow him in the gut and watch as he gasps for breath and falls to the ground. It’s rather dramatic if you ask me.
“It’s All Saints’ Day,” he wheezes.
Lark tugs on my useless jacket. “Mom, it’s All Saints’ Day.” Her eyes widen with enthusiasm, and I can practically see the excitement bubbling out of her.
“Yes, Elvira, I know.” I wiggle my brows, my own dark curls falling in my face.
“Arlo.” The woman’s raspy voice fills the air as she flicks back her veil to step up to the gate. Behind her, an array of people mill about, some of them whispering. “Get up.”
“She elbowed me, Ma.”
Oh, this is glorious. Ma? Her perfectly coiffed white hair sits under a mourning veil, and her short frame fills out her widow’s dress. She’s like that Broadway actress I didn’t know I needed to meet until just now.
“Well, Arlo, I taught you better than that. Never sneak up on a woman. She was right to elbow you in the gut. Now get up andintroduce me to this lovely young lady and her daughter.” Her warm eyes gaze up at me with a mischievous twinkle.
Her and I? Yeah, we are going to be friends. I can just feel it.
“Ah, I don’t need him to introduce me.” I go to reach for her hand, and just like that, Arlo slaps it down.
“Mom, not over the gate,” Lark hisses at me.
“Oh, of course, that makes perfect sense.” It makes no sense, but I allow her to have this.
“Arlo, why don’t you get our guests settled in the bed-and-breakfast.” The strange and intriguing woman goes to flip her veil down, dismissing us.
“Oh, but I would love to be a part of all of this.” I wave my hand around, careful not to allow it to touch or go over the iron fencing.
“My dear” —she uses a saccharine sweet voice that drips with honey— “do you have an invitation?”
“Ma.” Arlo slams his head into the snow once more. I hadn’t even realized he never got up. “Dial back the weird.”
“Please dial it up,” I encourage her, and I swear I see the slight quirk of her lips.
“Perhaps there will be an invitation for you later.” Her brows rise, and with a delicate shrug of her shoulders, she dismisses us with a flick of her veil. All her followers line up behind her as she begins to talk about the widowed lady who haunts this cemetery.
“I love it.” I smile down at Lark, then glance at the big Victorian house sitting just to the side of the cemetery. It looks cozy and inviting, and just thinking about the smoke billowing out of the chimney sends a trail of warmth through my body, chasing away the chill.
“Fine,” Arlo grumbles, rolling up. “This is where I’d have taken you to stay anyway. Let me show you to your rooms, and you can unload any bags.”
His broad frame leads the way through the thinning forest. The steps of the Victorian house squeak as he trudges up them and flips open the screen door, causing it to thwack against the siding. The inner door squeaks as well, and I swear I hear him mutter about oiling the hinges as he walks inside with Lark on his heels.
Pausing, I turn around, taking in the towering pines and balding maple trees. The crisp air fills my lungs, and with it, a sense of something I’ve never felt before settles over me. It’s a hopeful thing that I can’t quite grasp but lurks just out of reach.
I lean against the peeling banister, watching as the snow calms, leaving a blanket of white all over the road and the forest floor. Birds tweet overhead, and I swear I hear an owl in the distance.
Silent Springs and Atlanta are nothing alike. The climate isn’t just different, it’s the polar opposite. There, humidity clung to me like a second skin, but here, snow clings to my arms. The hustle and bustle of the city and the constant sounds of cars and sirens are an echoing memory in my ears, replaced with the silence, which consumes me like a reigning entity, forcing one to reflect and acknowledge their life.
I’m not ready to think about the path that led me here.
But the blank slate before me, expanding as far as the eye can see, promises me that maybe, just maybe, starting over doesn’t have to be so scary. That maybe fate really had a hand in us ending up here.
This house I haven’t even entered holds the feeling and promise of home. It’s something I’ve been seeking for the last decade. Yet the thought terrifies me. I had plans, and I intend to stick to those plans.
Behind me, the door creaks. “You know…” Arlo begins.
I glance over my shoulder at the handsome, rugged man. “I know many things, Arlo.”
