Page 21 of Fall Love

“But seriously, I can’t say. Then my wish won’t come true.”

“I think that only applies to birthday candles.”

I softly smiled as we neared the well. An ancient tree hovered over that special water. The giant oak still had a good portion of its leaves clinging to the long limbs and short twigs like crumbled paper. The amber-brown color of the leaves gave the appearance of permanent autumn. Time frozen until spring ripped away the old leaves and fresh green ones would bud.

In the dark, wintry night, the tree looked spooky. Tall and overarching, almost threatening, the limbs were black onyx against a nearly midnight sky.

“I’m still not telling you.” I gave him a playful wink.

The tree stands in a small square of land with a low wrought-iron fence around the perimeter, more for decoration than protection. The space is on the edge of Lovewell Manor, a heritage home that’s been turned into a visitor center. The locals never abuse this space. During high tourist times, a volunteer historian was on call to stand guard and explain the tree, the well, and Lovewell Landing lore.

While the well was originally just a strange hole near the base of a tree, the town’s founders built a rock barrier around the opening in the earth. The knee-high wall was upkept for aesthetics, not to mention, it prevented people from falling into the open pit.

“I’ll leave the truck running. I’ll be back right after midnight.”

Driver flicked his wrist, exposing a rather expensive-looking silver wristwatch.

“That’s ten minutes from now.” He lifted his head, staring at me, possibly questioning my sanity.

“I know. I’ll wait here until just a minute or two before twelve.” I reached for my phone, reset my alarm, and found a playlist to fill the time.

Then, we sat, and we waited, and the silence between us wasn’t strange. Which was strange.

I didn’t like awkward pauses in conversations, which was one reason I didn’t date. I wasn’t a conversationalist, and I hated small talk. When I met someone, it was either a hard and fast connection or over before it could begin. I didn’t have an in-between speed, and I didn’t form long-standing attachments. I didn’t need to talk to fuck, which sounded crude, but most guys didn’t care.

So, the silence was different. He tipped his head back, eyes on the ceiling, and listened to the low volume of a sultry song that might have been a little too sexy for the moment.

A strange twitch came over my skin. Like a tickle more than an itch. A need to rub my flesh against his. To feel his hand again, and maybe other parts of him.

When my alarm suddenly blared, his head snapped forward, and I flinched, giggling awkwardly at the break in whatever had been swirling around us.

Other than a heated truck cab, low music, and an undeniable attraction.

“I’ll be right back,” I stated, pressing open the door and leaving the Bronco running, only briefly considering he might steal the truck and ditch me.

Instead, he pushed open his door.

“You don’t need to—” I held up a hand to stop his approach.

“I won’t be in the way.” He waved toward the well and followed me the few short feet to the low rock wall surrounding the water.

I stared down at my phone, the modern device a stopwatch, counting down the seconds while I stood next to that ancient, sacred well.

This is ridiculous. The thought whispered through my head.

But my next thought was something Miss Charma always muttered.

“Down the well one went, a true love you’ll never forget.”

The saying could be interpreted in so many ways, but I focused on something else she’d say.

“The well will always bring you what you need.”

What I needed was a way to save my dad’s garage. A way to fix our troubled finances and keep Rusty’s Wrecks. I only had a year; technically, even less.

We had a five-year plan, and that fifth year had begun. We were sinking, drowning actually.

My true love was that old building and the memories within it, and I didn’t want to lose it.