Her gaze landed on me. I could have declined. Instead, I nodded. “Of course.”
Lydia cheered. “Kitty is in charge of talent!”
“I am not,” I said, but she was already telling someone else.
Jane leaned closer. “Thank you. I know it is a lot.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and it was. Mostly. I liked being useful. I liked being needed. I just didn't love Lydia volunteering me without my permission.
I spent the next hour or so helping with cleaning up, washing dishes, and setting the dining room for lunch before Jane called my name.
“Could you run into town?” she asked. “We are out of the gift bags for the cocoa kits. And could you drop off Meri’s library book?”
“Of course.”
I pulled on my coat and boots. Cold air slipped in as the door opened, sharp and bracing.
Outside, snow settled on my lashes and melted. The path to town was packed down with footprints. I tucked my scarf higher and started walking, the inn warm behind me and the town ahead.
Chapter Two: The Shop On Main Street
Caleb
I liked the shop best before noon, when the street outside was busy enough to feel alive but not so busy that people wandered in just to kill time. Mornings made sense where I had a list that needed to be done, like a guitar which neededrestringing, a cracked bridge that required patience instead of force, and a violin case that had been left with a note that said “PLEASE FIX ASAP” as if the capital letters would make my hands move faster.
I worked through the repair of the guitar on my bench, tightening the last string and testing the pitch until the notes matched what my ear expected. The instrument responded cleanly, which was satisfying in a way I didn’t bother explaining to anyone. Instruments did what they were built to do when you treated them properly. That was the simple part of running a music shop.
The complicated part was the stack of envelopes waiting on the counter.
I had been pretending for the last hour that I didn’t see them. When the denial stopped being useful, I wiped my hands on a cloth, crossed the room, and opened them one by one.
The electric bill was higher than I liked. The supplier invoice was higher than I expected. The rent notice was exactly what I feared it would be, which meant my landlord had either learned optimism or stopped caring whether I liked him or not.
I sorted the papers into neat piles, not because it changed anything, but because chaos on the counter made chaos in my head. I told myself what I always told myself. The shop wasn’t failing, yet it also wasn’t thriving. It hovered in that narrow space between just enough and not quite, held there by lessons, repairs, and the steady loyalty of people who preferred fixing something over replacing it.
The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up out of habit, expecting a customer.
Instead, a woman I recognized from the town committee stepped in with a clipboard and an expression that suggested she believed persistence was a virtue and boundaries were onlysuggestions. Her boots left damp marks on the mat. She smiled like she was arriving with good news.
“Caleb,” she said brightly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I didn’t love that sentence. It was never followed by something easy.
“Good morning,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “What can I do for you?”
She came straight to the counter and slid a flyer toward me as if it was an inevitable part of my day. “We’re finalizing the winter festival details. We have the rink set, the cocoa booths are planned, and we’re doing a talent show in the town square. We would love your support.”
I glanced down at the flyer she slid across the counter.
The corners were decorated with hand-drawn snowflakes. Someone had used cheerful fonts. It was nice enough, I supposed.
“What kind of support?” I asked, even though I already knew.
Her smile widened. “Well, you own the music shop, so it feels like such a perfect fit. We were thinking you could perform something or even be part of the opening.”
I set the flyer down slowly. “No.”
She blinked. “No?”
