She stood slowly. Her knees were stiff and her legs shook slightly from being bent down for so long. Snow clung to her coat. Her fingers were practically numb now. Her heart hurt in a way that was familiar. Whenever she left this place, she felt raw and cut open.
Keena looked down at Lizzie's name one last time.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I always will.”
Her wolf whined and brushed against Keena. She tried to ignore her animal. She didn’t want to hear that word be whispered again. She turned and walked away from the grave before she broke down again. The walk back to her SUV felt longer than it had before. At the gate, she paused and looked back. Lizzie’s grave was partially hidden by the white pine now.
She turned and continued on. She climbed into her SUV and shut the door. The cab was freezing, the windshield covered with snow. She started the engine and waited for the heat to kick on. The urge to drive back to town and stop at the bookstore was strong.
No.
She would finish her shift and patrol like she was supposed to.
She would keep her distance from Brice Andrews and the pull toward the human woman that she had no right to want. She would go home to her quiet cabin that was safe.
That was what she needed.
By the time evening settled over Evergreen Hollow, the Christmas market looked like something out of a dream. Brice stood in her booth near the edge of the town square, dressed in a cream wool coat and a burgundy scarf and watched the lights flicker to life above the crowd. They were strung from the lampposts in delicate swoops and crossed over the square and created a canopy effect.
Fresh snow covered the roofs of the vendor stalls and the air smelled like cinnamon, pine, hot cider, and roasted nuts. Somewhere near the center of the square, a group of children sang off key with all oftheir hearts. In Brice’s opinion, Joy to the World had never sounded better.
The whole town had come out for the event. The bakery had a stall stacked high with gingerbread men, brownies and more. The florist table overflowed with wreaths and bundles of white pine boughs tied with red ribbon. A local artist displayed watercolor paintings of the town in every season. Evergreen Hollow in the wintertime seemed to be the most popular one he sold.
Everywhere Brice looked, people were smiling, laughing, talking, and just living in the moment. She hugged herself to ward off the chill. She had been smiling and laughing non-stop since she arrived and set up her booth for the market and her cheeks ached in the best way.
The sense of community was strong in this place. She loved how neighbors knew each other by name and the children were trusted to run between stalls while adults pretended they weren’t keeping watch from far.
Evergreen Hollow really was the fresh start she’d been searching for.
Her booth was small compared to some of the others, but Brice had made it as charming as she knew how. A dark green tablecloth covered thefolding table which was topped with stacks of carefully chosen books. Little battery powered candles, pine garland, and a wooden sign painted in gold letters completed the scene.
Hearth and Story.
Beside the sign sat her favorite part of the display—a wicker basket filled with brown paper covered books tied with twine. Each one had a handwritten tag with a clue to what was inside instead of a title.
Small town romance. Grumpy hero. One bed. A cozy mystery. Lots of secrets. Excellent tension.
The last one had sold three copies within the first hour. Brice was treating those sales as market research.
Nandi had helped her set up everything earlier and she bounced between the booth and the hot cider stand with the kind of energy that only a twenty-eight year old with three gingerbread lattes in her system could sustain. Brice had finally sent her away to enjoy the market.
“But you need help!” Nandi had tried to argue.
“I need you to go enjoy the festivities and have fun,” Brice said. After minimal grumbling, Nandi had disappeared into the crowd with a paper cup filled with cider and a promise to return beforeclosing. Brice hadn’t seen her since, which was fine. The girl worked hard and deserved to play hard, too.
“Excuse me, young lady.”
Brice turned toward the voice and found an older man standing in front of her booth. He leaned slightly on his curved wooden cane. He wore a navy peacoat, a plaid scarf and his cap was dusted with snow. Her cheeks were red from the cold and his eyes held a twinkle of mischief in them that she’d be able to see a mile away.
“Hello there, my friend. Looking for anything in particular?” She greeted him warmly.
“A book,” he said.
“Well you are certainly in the right place,” she grinned.
“Good. Glad to know you aren’t a sock seller.”
That earned him a laugh. He smiled and gave a pleased little nod as if she passed some sort of test.
