“I’m very handy with a hammer,” she said proudly, pointing her butter knife toward the kitchen. “Just ignore that cabinet over there. It’s a… work in progress.” The poor thing leaned slightly to the left, as if bracing itself against the wall for emotional support. Tools and polish were spread nearby, like evidence of an ongoing battle.
I laughed, and the sound surprised me. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been wound all day, how tense my shoulders were, how shallow my breaths had become since stepping foot into Hillcrest Hollow. Sitting here with tea, scones, and two women who radiated genuine warmth, something in me finally loosened.
This might work. I might actually have found a place where I fit in, sort of. I could do this job and restore that incredible library. I could put Hillcrest Hollow back on the map in a small, scholarly way. It wouldn’t be hard at all to work with Grandma Liz, Gwen, and probably even this as-of-yet still unseen Jackson. Anyone dating a girl as nice and sweet as Gwen couldn’t possibly be half bad.
But Luther? I thought of his eyes, flat and cold and unsettlingly beautiful, and shivered. No, definitely not Luther. Still… the glimpse of him I thought I saw at his curtains lingered in the back of my mind. Watching. Waiting. Curious about me? Or was he just making sure I wasn’t getting into more “trouble” like I had at the library? Not that I had been making trouble, but he’dcertainly taken it that way. Thank God he hadn’t said anything to make Liz think less of me.
I pushed the thought away and reached for another scone. Focus on the good, Jade. Focus on the people you can handle. Not the guy who looked at you like a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve or break. My body shook as I remembered being trapped between him and that solid wall. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or heat that filled me at the recollection. Seriously, I had terrible taste in men; the last thing I needed was to get hung up on the jerk next door.
I had just started to relax. The kind of relaxation where your bones begin to remember what softness feels like: warm lamplight, blueberry scones, Liz’s enthusiastic budget breakdown, Gwen’s soothing tea. I’d even uncurled my fingers from the tight little ball they’d become after my encounter with Luther.
Then the front door swung open. Big boots hit the floorboards in rhythmic, purposeful thuds. Someone tall and broad entered, probably wearing an expression that said, I’m here to solve a problem and then reprimand someone for causing it in the first place.
“Sorry I’m late,” a deep voice called out. “Mr. Peters let his goats out again. And by “let,” I mean one of the little jerks flipped the latch and started a neighborhood parade.” The words evoked images of goats dressed up in laundry from a neighbor’s clothesline; a parade of cute, furry animals in dresses and heels heading down Main Street, with a farmer in coveralls and a straw hat chasing after them.
Gwen lit up, her face beginning to shine and her eyes positively sparkling. “Jackson!” Ah, so this was the mate/boyfriend, she had mentioned, the sheriff in town. I was intensely curious to see if the man matched the voice and the expectations, especially after having hung out with Gwen for the past hour. Her expression certainly seemed to indicate that she adored this guy very much; it was the type of expression you’d read about in romance novels; all lovestruck and glowing.
The man stepped into the dining room, removing his hat with crisp politeness. He had blond hair, eagle-sharp amber eyes, and the posture of someone who had spent years in uniform. He looked like he’d stepped out of a recruitment poster. Noble, steady, handsome in that golden-boy way that automatically made you trust him.
His gaze landed on me, warm and assessing but never intrusive. “You must be our new librarian,” he said, his voice rich with polite charm. “Sheriff Jackson. Welcome to Hillcrest Hollow.” He tipped his head my way as if he were still wearing his hat; he was clearly that used to having it on his head.
I stood, suddenly aware of my scone crumbs and slightly wrinkled blouse. “Jade Whitaker. Nice to meet you.” Even my hand felt clammy, and nerves filled the pit of my stomach. This was a nice guy, and I didn’t want him to think less of me. Luther I could not care less about, but Gwen’s boyfriend? Yeah, that mattered. I couldn’t screw this up.
He smiled, the kind that felt like a handshake in itself. “Hope the town’s treating you kindly so far.” It nearly made me laugh out loud, but that would be extremely rude. Kind? Sure, the people in this room had been, but Luther had been the rudest personI’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Well, besides my ex, and that had turned out absolutely horrendously. Who’d have thought kicking your boss in the nuts would get you fired?
“Mostly,” I said before I could stop myself. Gwen snorted into her napkin as if I’d said something extremely funny, and I narrowed my eyes at her in surprise. I hadn’t said a word about Luther; she couldn’t possibly know. The mayor hid her grin behind her porcelain teacup, the force of her personality sparkling in her eyes. She definitely would have sensed the animosity, but she’d done a very admirable job pretending it wasn’t there.
Jackson, oblivious to the General Store-shaped problem lurking in my memory, continued smoothly. “Do you mind if I grab your rental keys? I can bring your bags up.” He had his hand on the back of Gwen’s chair, casually close without fully invading her space. It looked cozy, comfortable; the kind of gesture people who just fit did naturally.
“Oh, sure.” I dug them from my pocket and offered them to him. This was probably some of that casual small-town trust; I never would have handed keys to a stranger back in Boston. Then again… this guy wore his neatly pressed sheriff’s uniform; everything about him screamed trustworthy. Before he could walk off, Gwen reached out, curled a hand in his collar, and tugged him down into a kiss that was definitely not rated PG. When she let him go, he looked slightly dazed in the soft, fond way of a man completely and utterly smitten.
“Oh no, you don’t,” she scolded, patting his cheek. “Eat first. Bags later.” He obeyed immediately—military discipline alive and well—sitting as she went to retrieve the dinner food from thekitchen. When she returned, she gave me a little wink, as though to say, See, he’s welltrained. Mayor Liz had stacked her papers and moved them aside, and we’d handed out the stack of plates already left on the table just for this.
Supper became quieter after that, in the best possible way. Jackson ate with polite enthusiasm, Gwen kept refilling tea as if it were her sacred purpose, and Grandma Liz finished outlining the parts of the restoration plan that would require council approval. I wondered how big this council was, and how hard it would be to get their approval.
The town had fewer than a hundred inhabitants, and most were likely old. That was usually how it was with tiny, dying towns like this, wasn’t it? My mind flashed to an image of Luther, dark-haired, sharp-eyed, and definitely nothing like what a small-town local was supposed to look like. Definitely not old, either.
The food was hearty, simple, and comforting: thick vegetable stew, warm rolls, lemon butter. My nerves finally unclenched and my breath deepened. I could even feel how my shoulders lowered. This felt… good. Safe. I felt human again. Actually, despite that hiccup with the library’s neighbor, coming to this town might have been my best idea in ages. The calm, peaceful atmosphere was probably exactly what I needed to figure out what to do with my life.
Eventually, Grandma Liz pushed back her chair with a satisfied sigh. “Well, that’s enough town business for tonight. Jade, dear, here are the plans you’ll want to look over.” She handed me a neatly bound stack of papers, maps, budget breakdowns, and handwritten notes in colorful ink. “We’ll regroup in the morning.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. The mayor had been businesslike but kind when she’d interviewed me for the job on the phone. That had still felt like I was working hard to pass some ephemeral test, something I couldn’t name or define but had felt anyway. I’d passed, somehow, and now she seemed like the kind of grandmother who wanted to be solidly in your corner and advocate for all your ideas with pride. I’d never felt like that before.
After she left, Gwen and Jackson exchanged a look that was equal parts affection and domestic coordination. “You go on up,” Gwen told me, already gathering dishes. “We’ll bring your bags.” She rose and smoothed her hands over worn jeans that clung lovingly to her wide hips.
Jackson shook his head with a firmness that came with a whole lot of confidence. “I’ll do it. You cooked,” he insisted, and he rose to start stacking plates with competent hands, hands that clearly knew this task very well.
“Then I’ll clean,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Teamwork.” His smile was more than adoring, and it was obvious they had forgotten for a moment that they had a guest. I slipped upstairs before I could intrude on the sweetness.
The room was warm and dusky, the golden hour casting soft shadows across the butter-yellow walls. I spread the mayor’s plans across the small desk by the window, flipping through restoration estimates and structural diagrams until my eyes blurred all too soon. The journey here must have taken far more out of me than I’d thought. The white-knuckled driving on the small dirt roads—convinced I was lost—definitely hadn’t been fun.
A gentle knock sounded, and I slid the folder shut with a sigh. “It’s Jackson.” His voice carried easily through the door. “I’ve got your bags.” I opened the door, and he carried them in with effortless strength, setting them down by the dresser. “If you need anything,” he said, brushing off his hands, “just ask the owner of the General Store. Luther can get you anything. Man’s a miracle worker.”
I forced a polite smile. “Good to know.” What I meant was: over my dead and desiccated body. There was no way in hell that man was willing to do me any favors, and I was too proud even to consider asking. No, no way.
“I mean it,” Jackson added, oblivious to my internal screaming. “If he doesn’t have it, he can track it down. Don’t hesitate to ask.” He lifted his chin, jutting it toward the softly glowing store across the street. In the falling evening light, it was a little jewel between two dark, listing, and sad-looking buildings. The store was old but maintained, the library and the home on its other side decrepit and even creepy.
“Oh, I’ll definitely… consider it,” I said when I realized the sheriff was waiting for an answer. It seemed to matter a lot to him that I was taken care of and knew where to turn for help. Too bad he was very wrong about his friend. Luther would show nothing of the same willingness to be of service.
