I sip my coffee, letting the warmth settle in my chest as Dottie continues to recount one of Evie’s many legendary adventures in town. Her stories are vivid and filled with details I’ve never heard before. My grandmother, this strong, independent woman I’d always admired, had so many layers I didn’t know existed.
Dottie’s eyes twinkle with mischief as she talks about the time Evie got into a heated argument with the mayor over the town’s flower beds, all because she thought the daffodils didn’t “suit the place.”
It’s funny, the way these little glimpses into Evie’s life make her feel closer, like she’s not really gone. In a way, she’s here in every story, every corner of Coyote Glen. The idea that this small town was so much a part of her makes me feel like maybe I’m not just passing through. Maybe I’m meant to be here a little longer, learning about the life she lived that I never got to see.
After a while, the conversation shifts. Dottie’s laughter slows down, and she turns more serious.
“You know, your grandmother was the kind of person who always had a plan,” Dottie says, tapping her fingers on the edge of her coffee cup. “She knew what she wanted, even when no one else did. That’s why I think you’re here for a reason.”
I pause, taking in her words. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Dottie says slowly, “I think Evie left you a little more than just memories. She wanted you to understand somethingabout this place… about her life here. I’m sure you’ve felt it, too, right? The pull?”
I nod, not really sure what to say. Idofeel it. There’s something magnetic about this town, about Evie’s presence in every corner. The way everything feels both familiar and new, like it’s been waiting for me all along.
“I think you’re right,” I say quietly. “There’s something here… I don’t know exactly what it is yet, but it feels like I’m meant to be here. At least for now.”
Dottie smiles knowingly, but she doesn’t press me further. Instead, she stands up, dropping a few bills on the table. “Well, sweetheart, I’m going to leave you to think on that. But remember, I’m here if you need anything. Coyote Glen has a way of making you realize things when you’re ready.”
I thank her, and we exchange a warm hug before she heads out, leaving me alone in the cozy café with my thoughts.
I haven’t read my grandmother’s letter yet. I haven’t been ready. But maybe after this chat, I’m finally getting there.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zane
The lock’s busted.
According to Arlo, the door at The Hollow’s never been right, always sticking when it shouldn’t, squeaking when you push it. But I’m going to make sure that isn’t an issue anymore, now that me, Finn, and Ryder own the place.
And I want to get it done before opening time.
The screwdriver in my hand’s got a little rust on it. The handle’s worn, the metal’s seen better days, but I’ve had it long enough to trust it. Long enough to know it works even when it looks all wrong.
I kneel down, twisting the screws back into place. There’s a certain rhythm to it. Tighten a little, step back, check for gaps, and then go in again.
Don’t force it. It’ll get there in the end, just a little at a time.
As I twist the screwdriver, I shift my weight back to check the alignment. That’s when I bump into something—no, someone.
I spin around to see a woman reeling, face flushed with surprise and embarrassment, arms windmilling.
“Whoa!” she yelps, grabbing for the door frame to steady herself, but instead knocking a jar of screws from the windowsill.
The screws scatter with a dramatic clatter, far louder than they have any right to be.
“Well, this is going well,” she mutters, still trying to hold onto the doorframe and some screws at the same time, trying to do some sort of contorted balancing act.
I can’t help but laugh under my breath, pushing myself upright and stepping forward to help her still herself.
“Easy there, cowgirl,” I say, chuckling, “It’s just a door, not a dance partner.”
She flashes me a grin, half-wincing as she finally gets her balance.
“I should’ve known better than to try and sneak past a door fixer in full action,” she says, brushing off her jeans. “Didn’t see the ‘danger zone’ sign on the door.”
I take a second to actually look at her. I didn’t notice before, but she’s a lot smaller than me, about half my size, with a mane of messy hair that looks as if she tried to tame it but gave up halfway through. I can tell right away she’s not the type to let herself get embarrassed, even though she clearly should be right now.
