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She smiled and then sighed. “I’m working on them. The first year I was here, they didn’t hang a single light, scrap of garland, or a wreath.” She peeked around him and pointed to the roundabout at the end of Main Street. “Don’t you think it would be amazing if we put a giant tree in the center with thousands of lights? We could have a lighting ceremony. Drink cocoa and sing carols.”
Christmas had always been special for Jackson, even more so when he was in the army. When he was far from home, care packages would show up. These boxes, sent to "any soldier," were filled with letters, cards, and homemade goodies.
Opening these packages felt like getting a hug from home. A pair of knitted socks wasn't just fabric; it was warmth in a cold barracks. A homemade cookie wasn't just sugar and flour; it was a taste of home, a momentary escape from the relentless demands of duty.
Each item from those boxes lifted his spirits, especially when he missed his family and friends the most. They were simple things, but they meant the world to him when he was far away.
“I think that would be great,” he said wistfully, looking away. “Doesn’t everyone want that?”
She shrugged. “They do. They just don’t know it yet.”
“Let me know what I can do,” he offered.
She smiled, her eyes lifting, causing her brows to disappear under her bangs. “Oh, sugar, don’t offer if you’re not ready to follow through.” She laughed. “You know the saying ‘ask, and ye shall receive?’ That’s my motto in life—I’m all about the asking. If I ask, I expect the receiving part to follow.”
Jackson left the bakery and crossed the street, his eyes meeting Marina’s from Cove Cuts as he approached. She and her daughter Kellen were in the process of decorating a window with holiday cheer.
“Mornin’ Jackson,” Marina said. He smiled and kneeled next to the small girl. Pinned to her chest was a junior sheriff badge, and holstered at her hips were two plastic squirt guns.
Kellen wrapped her thin arms around Gunner’s neck and squeezed, burying her face in the animal’s fur. Gunner nuzzled her cheek. She giggled and sank to her knees. Jackson grinned. Life didn’t get any better than this.
* * *
Later that day,Jackson strode into the warm, inviting atmosphere of the brewhouse, his boots clicking on the wooden floor as he approached the bar. The low hum of friendly chatter and laughter filled the air as patrons enjoyed their drinks and each other’s company. The smell of hops and pine cleaner drifted through the space. It was a weird combination but oddly comforting.
Behind the counter, Bowie was pouring a pint of ale for Doc, his movements practiced and fluid. He glanced up and spotted Jackson, greeting him with a nod. “Hey, man. Good timing. Cannon’s out tonight, so I’m helping out.”
Cannon, who ran the business, had been struggling lately. He was burning the candle at all ends with the schedule he kept. He stocked the bar during the day while trying to do maintenance work on the inn and care for his wife and son. Jackson imaginedhispresence at the inn didn’t make things easier. He always tried to be helpful but having someone underfoot in the house had to be tough. Especially for newer parents.
“Bowie, I appreciate everything Sage and Cannon have done for me, letting me stay at the bed and breakfast,” Jackson began hesitantly. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m intruding on their family life, you know?”
Bowie nodded, seeming to understand where his friend was coming from. “They’ve been happy to have you there, but it’s natural to want your own space.”
“Would they receive new guests if I wasn’t there?” The wing of the house he was staying in had remained vacant since his arrival despite having several rooms to rent.
Bowie shook his head. “They decided not to take on anyone until the little guy is older.”
He figured as much. He wasn’t a paying guest and saw all the trouble they went through to make him feel welcome and comfortable.
“Maybe it’s time for me to get out of their way.”
Bowie glanced at him. "Jackson, I get it, I really do. You see the lengths my family takes to make you feel at home and you question your place. But know this, they don't see you as a burden."
As Bowie spoke, his gaze wandered over to Doc, who occupied the last bar stool, nursing his beer. "If you genuinely wish to strike out on your own, I'll stand by you. In fact, Doc over there can help you find a new space to call home. Besides winning at tic-tac-toe, and lending an ear, he's got a knack for real estate. Oh, and if you're in the mood for tying the knot, he can officiate that too."
Jackson wiped down the bar top, chuckling. “I’ll start laying down roots with a home. I’m not in the market for a wife.”
Doc’s eyebrows rose as he said, “You don’t have to be, son. When the time is right, women have an instinct that lets them know you’re ready.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow, amused by Doc’s comment. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” Doc replied, his voice warm and wise. “When you least expect it, love has a way of sneaking up on you. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count.”
The door opened, and a dark-haired woman entered. She looked around the room, eyes scanning the patrons before they settled on Doc. Jackson noticed her striking features and bright smile, and he found it difficult to tear his gaze away.
“Excuse me,” she said sweetly, approaching them. “I’m looking for Doc Parker.”
Doc beamed at her, extending a hand. “That would be me, ma’am. And you are?”
