“Thank you all for coming to the grand opening of Downtown Smoky Heights!”
Thunderous applause breaks out, and I hear distinct wolf-whistles from the front of the crowd that sound an awful lot like my best friend’s husband, where he’s probably standing with Wyatt.
“Our town has had a rough few decades,” she says, before she’s interrupted.
“Haven’t we all?” cracks who I’m pretty sure is Ernie, from somewhere near the bar, to ripples of laughter.
My sister continues with ease. “And while so many people thought the town had already seen its best days, I think this project shows that some of our brightest times are still ahead. I am so proud to present to you today the version of downtown that the Heights was always meant to have. Not controlled by corporations or conglomerates of investors trying to profit off of our hard work. But owned by you.”
Her eyes search the crowd as she waits for the cheers to die down, and I don’t have to see him to know it’s Wyatt she’s looking at now.
“Smoky Heights is the place where most of us grew up, fell in love, had our hearts broken, lost it all, and kept going anyway.” Her voice cracks, and her gaze moves through the crowd once more. “This place holds our stories, our history, and our future.”
Another roar of applause, and I find myself clapping along. It takes longer than usual for the noise to die down, but when it does, she continues, as elegantly as ever. “So whether your heart has always been in Smoky Heights, or it recently claimed you as one of us when you least expected it…please enjoy the locally owned shops, dining establishments, and storefronts that are the backbone of the town we call home, and will be the backdrop to new memories for generations to come. Ladies and gentlemen, your new Downtown Smoky Heights.”
With a flourish she gestures at both sides of Main Street, the giant bows that adorn every single entrance, hiding their signage. As the crowd thunders, my sister picks up the scissors with help from the mayor, and together they snip the ceremonial ribbon.
The business owners on either side of the stage hold onto a large rope, like they’re prepping for tug of war, but when they start pulling, it’s not people that fall. It’s the ribbons. One by one, the entire street is revealed to the crowd, one storefront at a time.
My eyes water, watching it go.
Smoky Stacks
Smoky Sweets
Foamy Heights
Until the ribbon on the restaurant falls, and my eyes can’t tear away.
The new sign takes my breath away, pulling at the seams inside of me that are holding me together, threatening to unravel and pool into the pavement right here and now.
Heights Bites
The new logo glistens in the bright midday sun.
It’s beautiful, charming, and feels small town in an authentic way that I wouldn’t expect an outsider to understand.
The fact that Wilder chose it?
I can’t stop the tears, and I don’t try. They stream down my cheeks as I run through the crowd, swimming upstream like a salmon, I have to find him.
“Wilder!” I call out, voice hoarse from twenty-four hours of non-use.
Faces turn to look at me, the curvy girl running through the happy crowd crying, but I don’t look back at them. The only face I’m looking for will be a head above any of the others here.
“Wilder!” I call again, feet thumping against the pavement of the sidewalk, lampposts flying past my periphery as I pass the first block.
Careening to a halt, I nearly knock into the largest frame on Main Street, and I let myself fall into his arms, wrapping mine around him without hesitation.
“There you are,bella,” he croons, holding the back of my head with one hand, while the other wraps around my waist.
“You didn’t change the name!” The lack of breath in my lungs means my words come out as one, and I’m not sure he can hear me over the roar of the crowd, chattering as they move through Main Street to take it all in, but I feel him nod against me.
He waits until I pull back, looking up at his strong features, before he speaks again. “Couldn’t change the name without the approval of my co-owner.”
My lips pop open, eyes raking over his face, searching for the joke, but his gaze is dead serious, even if he’s smirking.
“Me?” I can hardly form the word.
