Pearl blushes, a pretty pink that contrasts with her rhinestone-studded sweater. “Excuse my partner,” she says to me, though her eyes are soft as she looks at Dot. “She gets these grand ideas and I’m the one who has to figure out how to pack a picnic basket in a foot of snow.”
I can’t help but smile. “You should. Washington Park is beautiful in the snow. And the Denver Art Museum has a great restaurant. You could make a day of it.”
Dot’s smile widens. “See, Pearl? A plan!”
“Yes it is, dear.” Pearl laughs and then turns back to me. “So, how long are you in town for? We have to catch up properly.”
“A few weeks, maximum,” I say, the words feeling definitive. Final. This is just a trip. An errand. Then I’ll go back to my real life.
Dot leans forward, her expression turning conspiratorial. “That’s plenty of time,” she says, her voice dropping. “So, tell me, Saramaria. Do you like romance?”
The question comes out of nowhere, so random that I’m momentarily speechless. Romance? Right now, the thought of romance makes me want to set things on fire. But I see the expectant looks on their faces, the genuine interest, and I find myself nodding, confused about where this is going.
Dot claps her hands together, delighted. She pushes her chair back and walks over to her previous table, returning a moment later with a book. She places it on the table in front of me, and I stare at the cover.
It’s... something else. A muscular Highlander with a kilt barely containing his... enthusiasm... is hoisting a voluptuous, red-headed lass over his shoulder. The background is a misty Scottish moor, and the title is embossed in gold foil:Her Highlander’s Surrender. The cover seems to shimmer with implied sweat and heaving bosoms.
I look from the book to their faces. Pearl is watching me with an amused, knowing smile.
“We run a kind of book club in town,” Pearl explains, gesturing to Dot. “And she’s always looking for new members.”
“It’s not just any book club,” Dot adds proudly. “We just got the new vet, Willa James, to join, so you should too! We read the most delicious books.”
I think of the stacks of legal briefs and contracts in my Denver apartment. The dry, dense language that fills my days. “I’m not much of a reader,” I say, which is a lie. I’m just not a reader of... this.
“Oh, it would be fun!” Pearl insists, her tone persuasive. “It’s a great way to meet everyone, to be reintroduced to the town. Everyone will be there. Mabel, and Winona from the antique shop...”
“It would be a shame to be here for a few weeks and not reconnect with anyone,” Dot adds, her voice gentle but firm.
I feel myself wavering. The idea of being alone in this town, with only my anger and my grief for company, is suddenly daunting. “I’ll... think about it,” I say, the words feeling non-committal even to my own ears.
Dot pushes the book across the table, stopping it right in front of me. “Good,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Read this. Then we can discuss it by the end of next week, before you leave. It’ll give you something to talk about.”
I nod, my fingers closing around the glossy cover. It’s surprisingly heavy in my hand. Pearl smiles, a look of victory on her face.
Just then, Tessa appears with their to-go cups. “Two iced lattes for the troublemakers,” she says, winking.
“Ah, perfect timing,” Dot says, standing up. “We have to run, darling. Mabel and Willa are waiting for us at The Dust Up.”
I stand up too. “It was nice to see you both.”
“You too, sweetheart,” Dot says, patting my arm. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I watch as they walk away, their arms linked, their heads bent together in conversation. As they round the corner, I swear I catch Dot reaching down and giving Pearl’s ass a playful squeeze. Pearl jumps, then laughs, swatting her hand away.
A small, unexpected smile touches my lips. Well, at least they have each other. I look down at the book in my hand, at the passionate Highlander and his surrendered lass. Maybe a little mindless reading is exactly what I need.
The drive back to Meadowlark is a journey through a painting. The moon hangs full and heavy in the sky, casting a silver sheen over the rolling hills of Wyoming. The clock on the dashboard reads 10:17 p.m. Late enough that the world should be asleep, but my mind is wide awake, buzzing with the day’s events.
On the seat beside me sits a bag from the one department store in Muddy Creek. It contains a pair of jeans, a few T-shirts, and some practical boots. A pathetic attempt to blend in, and I feel silly looking at it now. As if a change of clothes could erase the eight years between the girl who left and the woman who returned. As if it could make this place feel like home again.
I kill the engine at the top of the driveway, the sudden silence ringing in my ears. The only sounds are the chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. I get out of the car, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my arms. I stand there for a moment, just looking at the land, and a memory hits me so hard it almost steals my breath.
I’m ten years old, sitting on this very hill with my father. He has his arm around me, and he’s pointing out constellations, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “See that one, Sar? That’s the Big Dipper. And right there, that’s the North Star. It will always guide you home.”
A wave of sadness washes over me, so profound it feels like a physical weight in my chest. If my parents were still here, everything would be different. I wouldn’t be a lawyer in a city that feels a million miles away. I’d probably be a chef right here in town, maybe with a little cafe of my own.
I can almost taste it— the scent of fresh bread, the warmth of the oven, the laughter of locals gathered around small tables.The thought brings a sad, wistful smile to my face. That dream, the one I thought I wanted, feels more like a home than the pristine, empty house I left behind in Denver.
