Taking a deep breath, I reached for my phone and called Ellie again.
"Beth? Are you okay?" Her voice crackled through the speaker.
"Betty White broke down," I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm stuck on Maple Street."
There was a pause on the other end before Ellie replied. "Hang on. I think Walker's Auto Shop is on that street."
"Really?" I asked.
"Look around and see," she said.
"But is it even open?" I asked. "It's Saturday, and the market?—"
"Daryl isn't exactly festive," she replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was open."
I took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. The cold air bit at my cheeks, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. I looked up and down Maple Street, scanning the various storefronts. Evergreen Hollow always looked so magical during the holidays, each shop dressed up in its finest decorations.
To my left, a small bakery had its windows filled with an array of gingerbread houses, each one more elaborate than the last. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted out every time the door opened, mingling with the crisp winter air. A little further down, I could see a quaint bookstore, its windows frosted with fake snow. Twinkling fairy lights framed a display of classic holiday novels.
Across the street, a toy store had set up an impressive window scene with animated figures of Santa’s workshop. Tiny elves moved about, assembling toys and wrapping presents, while a miniature train circled around a snow-covered village.
I turned my head to the right and saw Walker's Auto Shop. The sign above the door was simple and unadorned, but there was something comforting about its straightforwardness. The shop itself was small and no-frills, just as Ellie had described. The large garage doors were closed, but light spilled out from behind them, casting a warm glow onto the snowy sidewalk.
"Found it," I said into the phone.
"Good luck," Ellie replied. "Call me if you need me."
I hung up and tucked my phone into my pocket before making my way across the street to Walker's Auto Shop. As I approached, I noticed the waiting room through a side window. It was quaint in its own way—mismatched chairs lined one wall, and an impressive collection of magazines cluttered a small table in the center.
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the office. The warmth inside was a welcome relief from the biting cold outside.
Now all I had to do was find Daryl Walker.
Chapter2
Daryl
Ileaned over the hood of the car, a '67 Impala, and tightened a bolt with the wrench. The smell of motor oil and metal filled my senses. Connor was supposed to be here an hour ago, but I knew better than to count on him. The guy had a knack for disappearing when you needed him most.
A cigarette dangled from my lips, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. The radio crackled in the corner, an old thing I kept around for company more than anything. A familiar tune started up, bells jingling and some crooner singing about a white Christmas.
I frowned, letting out a grunt of annoyance. "Ain't got no time for this Christmas crap," I muttered under my breath. My hand moved to the dial, twisting it sharply until static filled the air. Much better.
The garage was more of a home than my home, a place where I could shut out the world and focus on something real. Each turn of the wrench, each spark plug replaced, it all felt like progress. Not like the mess life outside these walls often turned into.
Connor and I were supposed to fix this car up together. A project to keep us busy after everything that happened with Mom and Dad. But he was never around when it counted. Just like always.
"Guess it's just you and me," I said to the Impala, giving her fender a pat. She was a beauty, even with her rust spots and worn-out tires. Fixing her up was my way of holding onto something good from the past.
The cigarette burned down to the filter, and I flicked it into an old coffee can I used as an ashtray. Reaching for another one, I paused, staring at the pack in my hand. Christmas might not mean much to me anymore, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find some peace in this place.
As I lit up another cigarette, I leaned back against the workbench, looking at the car with a mixture of pride and frustration. Connor might never show up, but this car would be ready one day. Maybe that’d be enough.
The silence of the garage wrapped around me again as I turned back to work on the engine. No Christmas songs were going to interrupt this moment of quiet; not today.
I tightened another bolt, my fingers working automatically. The familiar rhythm of the task allowed my mind to drift.
The holiday market.
