She laughs softly. “Yeah. Actually, I came here to scatter my grandmother’s ashes. She used to live here. It’s the place she loved.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m not good with these kinds of emotions, the ones that come up when people talk about grief. So I do what I do best: offer something that feels a little more grounded, a little less heavy.
“Well, if you need something else to take your mind off things, I’m sure we can find a way to keep you occupied.” I raise my glass to her, the corner of my mouth twitching up into a grin. “Coyote Glen’s got a way of pulling people in without them even realizing. And it’s not always the scenery that does it.”
She laughs, a little lighter this time, and I’m grateful for that. “I’m starting to believe you. There’s something kind of charming about this place. It feels alive. Even when it’s quiet.”
I smile at that. She's not wrong. Coyote Glen has a way of making you feel you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even when you’re not sure where that is.
She takes another sip of her drink, and then she says something that catches me off guard.
“Do you ever get bored here? With everything always the same? I mean, small towns… familiarity is par for the course, right?”
I think about it, letting the question settle. It’s not exactly the kind of thing people ask in a small town.
“Bored? Not really. Things change in their own way around here,” I say, leaning on the bar slightly, considering the rhythm of life in Coyote Glen. “But… it’s a small town. People get tired of the same things pretty quick. We need something new, to shake things up a little. That’s part of where we come in. Me and the new owners of The Hollow.”
Her eyebrows arch, and I can tell she’s hooked, the wheels in her head already turning. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. What doyouthink?”
“Well,” she starts, growing increasingly animated, “what about a themed night? Something seasonal. Like a ‘CoyoteGlen’s Got Talent’ showcase? I mean, I don’t know if anyone here can sing, but you’ve gotta have a few hidden gems, right?” She glances over at me, as if she’s testing the idea out. “It could be anything really… a poetry slam, karaoke, even a stand-up comedy night. People love getting the chance to show off.”
Her enthusiasm is infectious. I’m leaning on the bar now, half watching her and half trying to keep up with her mind. “I’m with you so far. Keep going.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “What if you did a monthly ‘mix and mingle’ type event? You know, a kind of casual get-together. Maybe a wine night or a craft beer tasting. Throw in a bit of live music, and let the locals connect more outside of the usual small talk. And, hell, even have a community dinner… everyone pitches in a dish, everyone gets a plate. Something simple, but it gets people talking.”
I lean back slightly, impressed. She’s not just throwing out ideas; she’s got a whole vision. A picture of what The Hollow could be. A place where people come to gather, to escape, to live a little bit more.
“That’s actually really solid,” I say, a slow grin spreading on my face. “You’ve got some serious event planning experience, don’t you?”
Her lips twitch, a slight bashful look creeping in. “I used to work in event coordination before I started traveling. Planning big stuff, small stuff. I’ve always had a thing for making sure people have a good time.”
I chuckle softly. “Well, it shows. I think you just might have cracked the code for getting people excited about coming here.”
She leans back in her seat, satisfied with herself, seemingly imagining how it’ll all play out in her head. “I think people need something fresh. This town’s got its charm, but people could get restless.”
I smile, genuinely impressed. “Exactly. Something different, exciting. I’ll bring it up with Ryder, see if he’s on board.”
Aurora’s eyes twinkle with that mischievous glint again, and I’m not sure what it is, but there’s a feeling in the air between us that’s different. Not just the ideas, not just the plans.
Her.
There’s a connection I can’t ignore. It’s the way she speaks, the way she listens, and damn if she doesn’t have a way of making this whole town seem not just a pit stop.
But before I can get lost in my thoughts, she leans forward, glancing down at my arm.
“So,” she says, “Tell me about your tattoos.” She reaches over, the tip of her finger brushing against the ink on my forearm, tracing the edges of a dark swirl of lines that snake down my skin. “They’re really… something.”
I freeze for just a second at the feel of her touch. The brush of her fingertips is light, but it sends a jolt of heat up my arm. I can’t tell if it’s the warmth of her hand or the fact that it’s the first time someone’s really taken the time to notice them.
“Yeah, they’re mostly just… memories,” I say, trying to play it cool.
Aurora tilts her head slightly, studying them. “Memories, huh? I love that. What’s the story behind this one?”
She points to a pattern of intricate lines on my bicep.
I exhale, the words coming out before I even realize it. “It’s from a guy who taught me how to fix engines. He was the only one who ever made me feel I wasn’t just a ‘broken kid.’ I got this one after he… after he passed.”
