by Leah Atwood
Drew turned a hundred shades of red. The mayor kept talking. And Maren could hardly hold in her laughter.
“Don’t giggle,” Drew hissed through a barely contained grin. “Not while Mayor Milt is waxing eloquent. If you laugh, I’ll laugh.”
“Can’t help it.” Her whisper crackled with amusement.
“Think about something serious. Tornadoes. Cavities. Bee stings.”
“Bee stings?”
He turned his navy eyes on her, gaze saturated with exaggerated gravity. “Deadlines.”
“Ooh, good one.” She swallowed another laugh. “I just had no idea your ‘errand’ included being honored in front of half the town.”
“Believe me, I didn’t either.” He rubbed his hands over his jeans. “Seriously, any chance to make a fuss about something, this town jumps at it. If it’s not festivals and fairs every weekend, it’s silly impromptu ceremonies in the park and—”
“But you built this.” She heard the awe infused in her whisper. “It’s really pretty, Drew. And you’re making more? And…” And the realization whooshed in then, as the townspeople clapped at whatever the mayor had just said. That window seat in the attic. The shelves. The completely remodeled kitchen.
“It’s all you, isn’t it? All the renovations at the house.” Why hadn’t it registered before?
He only shrugged. “I like building things.”
“Well, you’re good at it.”
His arms might be folded, his stance stubborn or maybe just embarrassed. But the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that almost-smile again, told her he liked hearing it.
“So how long do we have to sit here?”
“Eh, Milt usually cuts off after thirty minutes or so.” He leaned toward her then, voice still low. “But there’s a coffee shop on the riverfront. It’s called Coffee Coffee. Owner is this young girl— kinda sarcastic, pretty much like how I bet Win will be at twenty-one—but anyway she makes good coffee.”
“Yeah?”
“If you want, we could grab some. Then I could give you a tour of the town. You can do all your research or whatever.”
She had no clue why he offered.
But no way was she turning him down.
* * *
How had he let Maren talk him into this?
Drew stood in the doorway of the century-old church at the corner of Oak Street and Pine. Behind him, the breeze whirred through wrinkled branches and shuffled over the ice-clogged waters of the Blaine River.
The door clanged shut behind him. “We shouldn’t be here.”
Maren’s laughter echoed off the walls of the church sanctuary. Excitement radiated in her eyes and she spun on her heels to face him, already halfway up the aisle leading to the front of the church, where a side door opened into the bell tower.
He should never have told her about the bell. Probably shouldn’t have spent the entire day carting her around town either. They’d had lunch at The Mandarin—his favorite local hole-in-the-wall, a Chinese restaurant run by a Scottish ex-pat named Alec. They’d visited the library, housed in an old mansion, stopped at a couple antique shops and he’d even driven her past the railroad and museum.
And somewhere along the way, he’d told her about the church bell.
Shadows huddled against the walls and a branch rapped into the stained glass window up front. “Are you scared, Drew?”
He stalked down the aisle, footsteps like cannon booms in the quiet. “Do I look scared?”
Sometime during the day, she’d given up on the barrettes that’d held her hair away from her face this morning. It hung in willful twists over her shoulders now. She loosened her scarf as he reached her. “No, you don’t look scared. You do, however, look wholly disapproving.”
“Because I am. I tell you one silly story about the church bell tower and suddenly we’re breaking in—”
She flopped her mitten in front of his face. “Not breaking in. The door was unlocked.”
“Still. If we get caught and arrested—”
“Then that infamous Maple Valley rumor mill will have its story of the week.” Her smile lit her up her face.
Oh, probably the Maple Valley gossip superhighway already had plenty to say about the Renwyckes. Big enough news that a bestselling author was camping out at the farm. But after this morning, he was pretty sure the whole town already had them married off.
Too bad no one knew of Maren Grant’s affection for her cover model. Drew might not be the most intuitive guy in the world, but he didn’t have to be an Ethan Whitney type—that was the name of her detective, right?—to pick up on the fact that Miss Author had a thing for Colin.
AKA the brother who couldn’t deign to answer even one of Drew’s slew of phone calls.
He’d really thought that first night when Maren showed up that maybe if his family wasn’t enough to get Colin home, she might be. Maybe that’s why he’d made such an impulsive invitation for her to stay.
[Narrator]
Um, no, guys. He liked her. That’s why he said she could stay. But go ahead, Drew. Tell yourself whatever you want.
But a week’s worth of unanswered calls and texts and he’d long since abandoned that wishful thinking.
“Fine,” he said now. “I give. We climb the tower. We ring the bell. And then we get out of here.”
Maren tucked her mittens in her pockets. “Don’t forget the make-a-wish part.”
It was Maple Valley lore—the old church’s broken bell and its mythical ability to grant wishes. The bell was more for show than anything—no pull-rope or controls. Only time it ever rang was when someone climbed the tower and gave it a heave by hand. Usually bored teenagers.
Well, and tonight, the unruly author currently living in his house.
In the past week and a half, she’d become a fixture in the attic—her form in the window seat visible from the woodshop, the machine shed, pretty much anywhere in the farmyard.
And it hit him now—as he followed her toward the side door leading into the sliver of bell tower room—he’d gotten used to seeing her up there. To not being the only one home during the day. To the late night snatches of conversation when he finally abandoned the woodshop and she crept downstairs for her nightly bag of popcorn.
She was an odd mix, this author. Intensely focused on her writing and insistent it was her much more spontaneous friend Remy who’d talked her into her spur-of-the-moment trip to Iowa. But she was impulsive enough to stay. Not just willing but delighted to set aside her work for a day of exploring his peculiar little town.
Maren stood now at the base of the ladder leading up to the bell. Chilly night air tunneled down the tower, the glint of starlight barely visible through the opening at the top. Pale moonlight slicked over her form as she tipped her head to stare up the ladder.
“Remembering a certain climb up the side of my house, are we?”
He shouldn’t enjoy it so much—teasing her, watching her green eyes flash and her nose wrinkle as she searched for a comeback. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“In that case—” He held out one hand toward the ladder. “After you.”
Hesitance slowed her movement, but she grasped a rung with both hands and started her climb. He hefted himself up behind her. Leigh and Winnie probably wondered where they were. And it was supposed to snow again later this week—which meant he really should’ve been home tonight finishing up the patchwork to the machine shed roof. And…
And he could think of a hundred things he should be doing.
But he couldn’t remember when he’d had such a carefree day. Certainly not since moving back to Maple Valley. Maybe not since Mom and Dad had closed up the farm and moved to Arizona and whether they’d meant to or not, left him with the weight of family responsibility.
Maren reached the top of the metal ladder and with nimble movements, stepped onto the ledge jutting from the tower’s interior brick wall. He climbed off after her, the metal under his feet clangin
g.
The gap between the narrow ledge and the bell was like a gulf, and he could sense Maren’s enthusiasm slipping, almost hear the uptick in her heartbeat.
Or maybe that was his own heart murmuring that this here—the close quarters, the vanilla smell of her hair, and the very real desire to protect her—it was messing with his common sense. He cleared his throat, shucking away any stray sparks for the nonsense they were.
He was just tired. Too many fourteen-, sixteen-hour days making repairs to the house, trying to learn his way around the machinery in the shed, convincing himself he could make this work on his own. “All right, Grant, we came this far.”
Her gaze was on the shadows below. “That’s an awfully big drop.”
“You climbed all this way. Don’t chicken out now.” With barely a thought, he reached for her hand. Her fingers were ice cold but they grasped his like a lifeline. “I gotcha.”
She looked from him to the bell and back to him again. “Promise?” His grip tightened and he nodded.
It must have been enough for her because she reached out then—tentatively at first and then with the same look of resolve he’d seen on her face this morning as she filled her notebook with notes about Maple Valley. Her hand connected with the bell and she gave it a push.
The clash reverberated through the narrow tower, brash and echoing. Maren thrust herself back against the wall, one hand still clinging to his as the other came up to grab his arm. Her sigh of relief released in a whoosh and he couldn’t help a laugh.
“Well done.” He had to shout to be heard over the bell. “What’d you wish for?” “Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”
“This isn’t candles on a birthday cake. Come on, you dragged me all the way up here. Least you can do is tell me what you’re going to get out of it.”
“Fine. I wished I’d get this book done.” The bell’s clatter slowed and her voice lowered. “And that my editor would like it and it’d do the series justice and readers would eat it up. And that I’d somehow figure out how to balance both writing and teaching so I could have more free time. And…” She took a breath. “That I’d know what to write next.”
The bell’s last echo gave way to silence. “That’s all?”
The wry comment drew a laugh. Good, because she’d almost started to look…he didn’t know, sad or something. Wistful, that might be the word.
Maren tipped her gaze to meet his. “Although if I get this book done, it’ll be more thanks to you than a bell tower wish. I hope you know I know that. Letting me stay on the farm, it’s exactly what I needed.” Her pause stretched as the breeze tugged on the strands of hair around her face. “He said you were like this, you know.”
“Who said I was like what?”
“Colin.”
Drew released her hand.
“I asked him about his family and he mentioned both you and Leigh. He said you’re the kind of person who sees a need and makes sure it’s met.”
Didn’t sound like Colin. But maybe he’d been feeling extra gracious the night of their date.
“That’s why you agreed to let me stay, isn’t it? And why you spent all day showing me your town when I know you had work to do. And it’s what you’re doing for Leigh and Winnie, isn’t it? You’re helping Leigh get back on her feet and trying to give Winnie the stability she’s never had.”
He took a breath and let it out slowly. “How much has Winnie told you?”
Her hair brushed over his arm as she shook her head. “Not much. Just that Leigh did a couple stints in a recovery center.”
“More than a couple. Pretty much the first decade of Win’s life, Leigh was in and out of facilities.”
The acknowledgement was enough to bring too many memories to the surface. Sobbing phone calls in the middle of the night—calls Leigh didn’t even remember making in the morning. The smell of her apartment after her latest binge. The pit in his stomach whenever he left her at another recovery center in another town in another state.
The look in Winnie’s eyes.
The wind howled through the tower’s opening. “Win’s been shipped around from relative to relative for years. This past year is the longest she’s been with Leigh.”
“What about her dad?”
The pit in his stomach threatened to rise up and choke him. “Leigh’s high school boyfriend. Winnie stayed with him a few times, but last I heard, he lives in California now. If we’re all lucky, he’ll stay there.”
And Drew wouldn’t have to see him again. Wouldn’t have to remember…
If I’d just paid attention.
Cared more about his siblings than his friends, the party, the thrill of attention… “I wasn’t all the way honest.” Maren’s voice cut in.
He blinked. “Huh?”
“About my wish. I didn’t just wish to finish my book. I also wished to know I belong in a place as much as you know you belong here. Or maybe…” Her voice was soft. “To know I’m wanted in a place as much as you want your family here.”
Her honesty hovered in the quiet, gliding past the swell of his memories and landing under his skin.
“It’s so great, Drew. What you’re doing for them.”
“Yes…well…” No words. Only a warmth he didn’t understand.
And then Maren elbowed him. “Your turn.” She nudged her head toward the bell. “We came up here for you, not me.”
“In your own words, ‘we came all this way. Don’t chicken out.’” She grasped his hand. “And I promise not to let you fall.”
He laughed then and with a lightness that felt foreign, he reached forward and rang the bell. Only when it quieted did Maren turn to him.
“What’d you wish for?” Her voice was soft and he let himself look down at her. Under the ogling eyes of the stars, her own appeared luminous, watchful. As if his answer might unlock the door to secrets.
And he didn’t know why he said it. But he did. “I wish Colin would come home. That we could all be together for Christmas.”
He couldn’t make himself look away as she let his answer linger in the cool night air before placing one hand on his arm. “Then let’s go get him.”
* * *
Unfortunately, our famous author and aspiring farmer were not able to leave that very night. In fact, it would be another week before they would set out to find our elusive book cover model.
Five things happened in that week:
1. Inspired by the charming town of Maple Valley and the mysterious aura of the bell tower, Maren added another twenty-three thousand words to her novel.
2. Drew called his brother’s former talent agency…only to discover Colin was no longer with the agency. He did, however, obtain what he hoped was a current address.
3. Drew and Maren both attended Winnie’s school choir Christmas concert. It was, to put it nicely, rather long. But this is what you do when you’re a doting uncle and an author-in- residence-who-is-beginning-to-feel-like-family.
4. Drew introduced Maren to the wonder of stove-popped popcorn, forever ruining her for microwave popcorn.
5. Diana Pratt gave up.
Chapter 5
If all went according to plan, after twelve months of pining and nostalgic mental replays, Maren would see Colin Renwycke again tonight.
If only Drew seemed half as hopeful.
In the driver’s seat of his truck, Drew flipped down the sun visor. The winter day glowed under a white sun, nothing but snow-packed fields stretching on either side of the highway. “Des Moines. One measly hour away and he couldn’t even call to let us know he’s that close? What’s he even doing there?”
It had to be the sixth or seventh time he’d muttered the question since the silhouetted lines of Maple Valley faded in the distance fifteen minutes ago.
And for the sixth or seventh time, Maren pilfered past a canned response for something to sway Drew’s skepticism. “Maybe he signed with a new talent agency. Maybe there’s some great community theater there. He wants
to be an actor, so…”
Drew only tipped his sunglasses over his eyes. But the tick in his jaw told her what his words didn’t: He wasn’t nearly as hopeful. He was worried about the kind of state they’d find his brother in.
It just didn’t make sense—all his doubts about Colin. The Colin Renwycke she’d met this time last year was outgoing, confident, practically charismatic. He’d had plans and goals and enough verve to convince her he’d reach every one.
Then again, she’d only spent one evening with Colin. Drew had grown up with him. Clearly something had gone awry in this family. And despite his uncertainty, Drew was doing all he could to right whatever had gone wrong.
She had to admire the man for that. Even if he did make for a gruff road trip companion. She should’ve been prepared for his bordering on brooding company when he’d argued with her over the merits of flavored coffee at Coffee Coffee this morning.
[Narrator]
Oh, this is good. Let’s backtrack…
Maren: Peppermint mocha, extra whip, lots of sprinkles.
Drew: Just coffee, please. Black.
Maren: You don’t even want any creamer? Or a shot of hazelnut or raspberry or something?
Drew: You’ve lived in my house for two weeks now, Grant. We’ve had coffee every day this week after Winnie went to school. Did I ever once doll it up?
Maren: No, but this is a special occasion. We’re road-tripping.
Drew: We’re driving an hour and fifteen minutes.
Maren: Have you ever even had a mocha?
Drew: I had a cappuccino from a gas station once. It was like drinking a melted candy bar.
Maren: That actually sounds amazing.
Drew: It was gross. And lukewarm.
Maren: And not at all the same thing as a mocha made by a barista who knows what she’s doing.
Yes, this went on for ten minutes. For reals.
What had been amazing, though, is that after just two weeks in town, Maren had recognized at least a half-dozen faces in the coffee shop. Like the raven-haired owner, Megan, just as surly as Drew had claimed but likable all the same. And Raegan Walker, cousin to the man who’d opened the restaurant where Leigh worked, and her dad, Case Walker, the guy Drew had pointed out at the bench unveiling in the park. The man could’ve been a stand-in for John Wayne. She’d spotted Amelia from the newspaper, Sunny Klassen, who ran the hardware store where Drew shopped, and a high school kid named Webster Hawks, who’d apparently become a late-season football star.
