Page 187 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“I run a ranch. Usually if I’m walking somewhere, there’s a reason.”

“Try something new.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” she sighed.

“You walked two miles through a thunderstorm before you met me.”

She didn’t say anything, but I saw the little smirk that twitched at her lips.

“Fair.”

The old willow came into view at the edge of the original town square. This time, we walked toward it.

Calling it a tree didn’t feel sufficient anymore. Its trunk was wider than both of us could’ve wrapped our arms around, twisted and scarred by more years than anyone seemed able to agree on. The lowest branches swept toward the ground before curving upward again, creating a curtain of narrow leaves that moved with the evening breeze.

Willow Creek had grown around it.

The brick walkway curved rather than disturbed its roots. A low fence protected the widest part of the trunk. There were benches beneath the branches and an old-fashioned lamp nearby that cast warm light over the carvings covering nearly every reachable inch of bark.

Carson slowed. “I haven’t been here in years.”

“Really?”

“Probably since before the accident.” Her hand stayed in mine. We stepped beneath the branches. Hundreds of names surrounded us. Some carvings were fresh enough that the exposed wood was still pale. Others had darkened and softened with age until the tree had nearly reclaimed them.

Initials.

Dates.

Family names.

A few hearts.

She moved around the trunk. “I always thought this was a couples thing.”

“That’s what tourists think.”

She glanced back. “There’s lore?”

“Of course there’s lore. This is Willow Creek.”

“Which version?”

“Depends who you ask. Darlene claims a soldier carved his wife’s name before leaving for war. Dad says it started with two brothers. Iris says everybody’s wrong and refuses to elaborate.”

“That sounds like Iris.”

I moved beside her. “But the meaning’s always the same.”

Her eyes lifted to mine.

“You carve something you don’t want time to erase.”

Something soft shifted in her expression.

I gave her hand a small tug. “Come here.” Finding our carving took longer than I expected. The tree had grown around it over the years, stretching the letters and darkening the grooves.

Then I found the ugly thing.