40
PATTON
Winnie appearsin the bay doorway and stops short at the table for two set up in the middle with a tablecloth, candles, and surrounded by strands of softly glowing twinkle lights that I borrowed from the Fireman’s Ball supply.
“Patton, what is this?”
“Dinner.” I usher her in. “You said you wanted a real date. I’m on call, but I’m also stubborn.”
She laughs. “This is so thoughtful. So romantic. It’s perfect.” She steps in front of me, lifting onto her toes and wrapping her arms around my neck. “You did all this for me?”
“The guys helped. Hayes tripped over the table leg and almost took down the whole thing, but we recovered.”
She looks at me with her deep brown eyes, and I forget how to breathe. Unlike a fire, perhaps I don’t need oxygen to survive. All I require is Winnie.
I pull out her chair. “I made pasta. Your dad’s recipe. I take full credit if it’s bad.”
She blinks slowly, taking in this information. “I can’t imagine it being anything but delicious. I’m surprised he shared it.”
I recently reached out to Winnie’s parents to ask them an important question, and we ended up talking about food for an hour.
During dinner, we discuss her day, my call, Oreo chasing a squirrel out back, and the town gossip she heard from Mindy. The conversation flows, but the whole time, the wrapped package sits on the table between us, waiting. I get an A+ on the Alfredo.
Finally, after we’ve finished eating, I slide it toward her. “I need you to open this before the entire town shows up.”
“Why would the entire town?—?”
“They will. Trust me.”
She glances toward the windows and says, “I’m surprised they’re not peering in, spying.”
I chuckle.
She unwraps the package carefully, revealing the leather-bound photo album underneath. Her fingers trace the embossed cover. She opens it and I watch her face as she reads the dedication I wrote on the first page:
For Winnie,
Every moment of my life has led me to you. I want a lifetime of memories with you.
Love, Patton
Her hand flies to her mouth.
“Keep going,” I say softly.
She turns the page, and I see the exact moment recognition hits as she looks at baby pictures of her at Joyce’s lake house, followed by toddler Winnie with wild hair and a dandelion clutched in her chubby fist. Then come school photos spanning years.
“How did you—?” Her voice breaks.
I move my chair closer so I can see the pages with her. “I asked your grandmother for help.”
Winnie shakes her head in disbelief as she continues through the album. Every page documents a piece of her life—her years in Reno, family gatherings at the restaurant, packing to move to Huckleberry Hill.
Then recent months, including photos she didn’t know existed. Her at town events, organizing festivals, making this community better, forging connections.
And then photos of us. The squirrel incident—someone captured her looking startled while I’m clearly trying not to laugh. The Fire & Ice Fest. Town planning meetings. The bakery’s grand opening. The Fireman’s Ball, both of us finally smiling at each other like we’re in love because we are.
The last pages have empty photo corners and a note that I wrote,For all the moments still to come.
