Leo raises one eyebrow.
I groan. “I came here for my grandmother. The plan was to scatter her ashes, spend two weeks in town, then leave.”
“And?” Olivia prompts gently.
“And it didn’t feel like an ending,” I say. “It still doesn’t.”
I glance out the window at the Main Street shadows dancing in early evening light. String lights flicker on. Someone across the street is laughing like nothing in the world could possibly touch them.
This town keeps feeling like it’s greeting me.
Which is frankly rude.
“I keep telling myself this is temporary,” I continue. “That I’m just helping. That I’m not… rooting.”
Leo finally uncrosses his arms. “You don’t root on purpose.”
“No,” Olivia agrees. “It sneaks up on you.”
Karl grins. “Then suddenly you’re arguing about event permits and sharing closet space.”
I choke on my latte. “That escalated quickly.”
She laughs. “Magic doesn’t always look magical at first. Sometimes it just looks like community.”
“I don’t know who I am here yet,” I admit quietly.
Olivia smiles like she’s been waiting for that. “That’s the fun part. Figuring it out. And luckily for you, you already have us to help you along the way.”
I glance around Coyote Cup again. Lani is arguing about oat milk. A couple of teenagers are whispering dramatically over a shared muffin. The world hasn’t ended.
Maybe I didn’t just come here to say goodbye.
Maybe I came here to see what happens if I don’t leave.
And that thought?
It doesn’t make me panic.
It makes me curious.
Later that night, after I’ve consumed enough caffeine to legally power a small appliance, I make the deeply questionable decision to announce, “I’m going for a walk.”
Ryder looks up from where he’s been pretending not to monitor the front windows like he’s personally responsible for the structural integrity of Main Street.
“I’ll come with you,” he says immediately.
“That wasn’t an invitation,” I reply.
“It wasn’t a request,” he answers calmly, already reaching for his jacket.
And this is how I end up hiking the Lookout Trail at dusk with a six-foot-something former motorcycle club enigma who looks like he could bench press the concept of danger.
The sky is doing that mountain town thing where it turns lavender and gold as if it’s auditioning for a travel brochure. The air is cool and pine scented and crisp enough to make you feel you’ve made better life choices than you actually have.
For a while, we walk without talking. Gravel crunches under our boots. The town beams softly behind us. Ryder’s shoulders are tight in that subtle way that means he’s replaying the entire council meeting frame by frame.
“You know,” I say lightly, “normal people blow off steam by watching bad TV.”
