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Sutton returned with a steaming mug and a plate of cookies, setting them before me with authority. “Eat. You'll feel better. Now, tell me everything.”
As I nibbled on a cookie, crumbs falling into my lap, I poured out the story, from the opposition letter to my determination to fight. Sutton listened, nodding along, her expression a mix of sympathy and resolve.
“Listen, Eryn,” she said once I'd finished, “this town may be small, but we've got big hearts. And most of us have your back. You're trying to do something good here.”
“Thanks, Sutton. That means a lot.” My voice was thick with emotion, the lump in my throat making it hard to swallow more than the herbal tea.
“Plus, you've got a certain charm about you,” she added with a wink. “Use it to your advantage. Especially with Gray.”
“Charm?” I snorted, the sound more derisive than I intended. “I doubt that'll work on him.”
“Never know until you try. I think he’s caught up in you. Everyone else thinks so too, by the way.” Sutton's eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Maybe . . .” I mused, though skepticism hung thick on my tongue. He was caught up in me, sure, he just couldn’t admit it and refused to be supportive.
“I’ll tell you what. Let’s go out tonight and take your mind off Gray.”
I didn’t exactly feel like going out, but I could use a friend and one was here, offering her support.
“You know what? That sounds great. Let’s do it.”
* * *
I left Sutton with the promise of a fun night out and decided to spend some time strolling Main Street. Whittier Falls was alive with activity. Old timers sat outside the hardware store, the Whistle Stop Diner was packed to the gills and the ice cream parlor had lines of children and their tired-looking parents half-way down the block. I passed a man on a bench, sharing a doughnut with his hound dog.
I couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face. I loved my new town and let my eyes wander over the rustic facades of the shops lining the road, captivated by the charm.
I walked left, toward the park and felt the sun kiss my skin, its warmth tender against the cool breeze that ruffled my hair. Summer in Whittier was warm, but not hot like LA, and I welcomed the difference.
I paused before the faded mural that sprawled across the side of Milly's General Store, a little piece of Whittier Falls history painted in peeling pastels. My fingers traced the outlines of horses mid-gallop, feeling the rough edges where time and weather had left their mark.
“Beautiful day, isn't it, Eryn?”
I pivoted on my heel, the hem of my skirt dancing around my legs, and spotted Mitch Nelson stepping out of the general store. His smile was as weathered as his tan skin, lines etched deep from years of squinting under the relentless sun. He wore a wider brimmed hat than the younger men, and a bolo tie under the collar of his starched plaid shirt.
“Absolutely gorgeous, Mitch,” I responded, matching his grin with one of my own. “Makes me think you’re all lucky to have grown up here.”
“Guess the same could be said for folks who end up finding their way here.” He pushed off the railing, ambling closer with the slow, assured steps of a man who had traversed these streets more times than he could count.
“True enough.” I laughed softly, tucking my hair behind my ear. Our encounters had become somewhat of a routine, a friendly checkpoint as I tried to embed myself into the rich tapestry of Whittier Falls.
“Everything holding up at the ranch?” I asked, genuinely curious about the life so foreign to my own.
“Same old, same old. Horses and cattle don't much care for change, nor do we cowboys,” Mitch confessed, the twinkle in his eye betraying a fondness for the predictability of his world. “But what about you, city girl turned country rose? Fitting in alright?”
“I really think so,” I admitted, my voice laced with an uncharacteristic shyness. There was something about this place, a magnetic pull that made me feel like I belonged here, among the wildflowers and open skies. “Everyone's been real sweet.”
“Quite a sight, ain't it?” Mitch nodded his head toward the mural. He leaned against a lamppost, a crooked grin on his sun-worn face.
“Absolutely,” I responded, pivoting to face him with a smile. “It's like touching a memory.”
“Speaking of memories,” he started, pushing off from the post with an ease that belied his years, “how's the renovation coming along over at the Culver place?”
“Slow but steady,” I said. “I'm trying to preserve as much of the original charm as possible while bringing it into this century.”
“Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you.” His eyes twinkled with amiable curiosity. “Heard you got some grand plans for the property.”
“Grand might be overstating it,” I laughed, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun on my skin. “But I do have visions of turning it into a retreat of sorts. A place people can come to disconnect, spend time in nature, find some peace.”
