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The trip to the hardware store happened on a cold, crisp Thursday.
He needed weatherstripping, a new bracket for the barn door, and a handful of other small things that gave him a perfectly legitimate reason to drive into town. The fact that Sage had mentioned she’d never really seen Blackthorn Ridge properly had nothing to do with it.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
The sky was a rare, brittle blue — the kind of fleeting winter clarity Big Sky sometimes offered before the next December storm rolled down from the rugged Mission Mountains, heavy and dark along the ridgeline.
Snow glittered on the rooftops and along the fences as they drove down the winding road into town. Main Street was quiet but alive in that small-town way — strings of holiday lights strung between lampposts, smoke curling from chimneys, the scent of woodsmoke and fresh bread drifting on the air. A few locals waved from the sidewalks, their breath fogging in the cold.
Sage sat beside him in her long black duster, boots, dark lipstick, and the lavender streaks bright against her black hair. She looked like herself again — chin up, piercings in, armor mostly back in place. Cal tried not to notice how right she looked sitting in his truck.
“Howdy, Bear! Hi, Sage!” the voices of the Halverston sisters called out as they walked to the post office.
Sage turned to him, stunned. “Did they just say hi to me? How… who…” She trailed off as another local pushing a stroller waved at them both with an easy smile.
“Cal…? Why are people waving at me?” she whispered, sounding equal parts terrified and awed.
Cal looked away, mostly successful at hiding his smile.
They parked in front of Evergreen Feed & Hardware. As they stepped out, the bell above the bakery door jingled across the street.
“Bear!” came a warm, accented voice.
Lila Moreau came bustling out of Lila’s Bakery, ignoring traffic and the laws of physics alike, wiping her hands on her apron. She was carrying a small gold box tied with twine.
“You must be Sage,” Lila said, her eyes crinkling with motherly delight. “Mary Sue’s girl.”
Sage blinked, stunned. “I… how did you—?”
Lila laughed, soft and warm, and pressed the box into Sage’s hands. “Your mama is one of my favorite people.” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I never tell her, but her cookies? They are better than mine, no?”
Sage let out a surprised little laugh, glancing at Cal, who had suddenly become extremely fascinated by the incoming clouds overhead.
“And these—” Lila tapped the box, “—are my special cocoa truffles. Made fresh this morning. You come by the bakery anytime, yes? Don’t be a stranger. I have many stories about this one.” She pointed a playful finger at Cal, eyes sparkling. “He pretends to be so serious, but he cries at my apple pie. Every time.”
Cal, his black Stetson pulled low over his brow, gave a single solemn nod. “True. Like a baby.”
Lila and Sage both burst into laughter.
Sage looked down at the box in her hands, then up at Lila. Something soft and surprised flickered across her face. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Really.”
Lila gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Go on. But come see me soon, ma chérie. I’ll teach you… about bread!”
The way she said bread made it sound like she was offering sacred scripture.
Sage stared after her for a long moment, then slowly opened the truck door and set the box carefully on her seat, smoothing the cardboard surface with her hand. She closed the door with quiet care before rejoining Cal as they headed into the hardware store.
Inside the store went a little quieter when they walked in. Not because of him — the locals were used to Cal Meridian. It was because he wasn’t alone. Earl Keller looked up from behind the counter, took in the situation in half a second, and grinned.
“Morning, Bear” he said in his gravely voice. “Ah…This must be Sage.”
“Umm…Hi?” Sage said, cautiously.
“Hmm. Heard of you. I heard you’ve been giving him trouble,” Earl said warmly. “Good. He needs it.”
By the time they left twenty minutes later, Sage had Earl’s phone number (“in case he gives you grief, you call me — I’ve got stories”), and a free pocket knife that Earl insisted was a “new resident tradition.” Cal knew damn well he’d made that up on the spot.
She turned the little knife over in her hands as they walked back to the truck, snow crunching under their boots.
