Now that I’m here, I think I understand her more.
It’s quaint in the way that small-town downtowns usually are, but with an extra hum in the air. I can always feel the magic on the farm, but this is different. Louder, but warmer.
I breeze by the shops, noting the cute little disco balls painted on the windows, announcing the new year, and the black-and-gold garlands twisting up the light poles. I bet they celebrate every holiday here, not just the big ones.
Something about that makes me smile in spite of myself.
I follow the crowd toward the lake, shivering as a chilly wind skims over us.
This isn’t like New Year’s Eve at home. There are celebrations from the town to the tip of the mountain. Next year, we’ll have to celebrate with Phoebe. She’d love skiing down the mountain with glow sticks.
Storywood Ridge is ultimately stuck in another millennium, slow and steady. But Enchanted Hollow feels like more of the same, with a twist. No shouting, no phone tilted toward the sky.
It’s endearing the way they mill about, waiting for the year to turn. Just a hum of anticipation in the air.
It’s shockingly cold here. I expected it to be warmer, but there’s a thin layer of snow on the ground and a sharp northern wind with a vendetta. The humidity is thick, something we don’t really have back home.
I don’t hate it, but I wasn’t prepared for it either.
I tug out my phone and glance at it, only concerned that Aiden made it here in one piece. And when I see the quick text from him, I smile and put it away again.
I could’ve waited around to watch for their reunion, but it felt like an intrusion, and I think I’ve misstepped in that relationship enough. I shouldn’t, but I snag on the thought that maybe I’ve been too quick to assume in more instances than that one.
It doesn’t feel the best.
That’s why distance is safer, but gosh, it’s lonely.
Suddenly, the whole town goes dark. One section at a time, like a wave, so it doesn’t alarm anyone. There’s only a cheer that comes up from the crowd, so I figure it’s got to be expected.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how every other sense heightens now that everything is blurred and hidden.
Which is exactly how I know someone steps beside me before he says anything. His woodsy scent wraps around me, softening my edges with a hint of comfort.
He doesn’t crowd me, but he’s close enough that I can feel his heat, his height, his certainty. There’s no hesitation, and I can’t explain how Iknowthat, but there’s a tug of attraction.
Confidence is sexy.
“Cold?” he asks, voice low.
“Yes,” I say, surprised by how easily the word comes out.
He shrugs out of his coat and settles it over my shoulders without asking. He’s deliberate with the movement, like he doesn’t want to spook me, and he gets another point for that as well. The warmth sinks in immediately, carrying the scent of cedar and coffee and night air, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod, then realize he probably can’t see me. “Thank you.”
“First time here?”
“Yes.”
I’ve got no idea why I’m being so honest with this stranger. But maybe it’s because this moment is shrouded in darkness and I’m finally not the only one hiding.
“I thought so.” There’s something almost amused in his voice. “You’re watching everything like you’re taking notes.”
“I try to always be aware of my surroundings. But I find it useful to pay attention—you never know what you might learn about people.”
“You seem like the kind of person who notices everything.”
