3. Evangeline

THREE

EVANGELINE

T he sound of my radiator hisses and clanks, then fizzles. I snuggle deep under my electric blanket and exhale, sighing heavily at the sight of my breath. At some point in the middle of the night, the heating in my house went out. This isn’t the first time. Nor will it be the last. This is what I get for living above my law practice, thinking it would be smart to save money. But when the old fire station—a one-truck station that served Deer Ridge until the town built a new one—was renovated into office space and a loft, I had to jump at the opportunity to open my practice here. The renovation wasn’t exactly the best and now I’m paying the price.

The radiator makes some more ungodly noises, forcing me to give up on my slumber and face the bitter cold that my loft offers. Thankfully, I had the keen sense of mind to keep a pair of woolen socks next to my bed. Only someone who has experienced brutal mornings would think of something like this. I slip my socks on and then set my feet on my threadbare rug. It’s threadbare by choice because my robot vacuum had trouble going over the thicker rugs I had, and they give my loft a quaint feeling. It’s only during the winter when I wish I had something different.

I make my way into the bathroom and stare briefly at my claw-foot soaking tub. Yep, for all the issues with the heat, the tub more than makes up for it. After relieving myself, I wash up, brush my teeth, and then head to my kitchen, where my already brewed coffee waits for me. Thank the engineers who invented coffee machines with timers. I’d be really cranky if my coffee wasn’t ready when I woke up.

It takes about a half cup until I feel like I can tackle the radiator. I’m hoping the line is just clogged and needs to be drained. If not, I’ll have to call for someone to come look at it. With my mug still in my hand, I walk toward the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out over town. Honestly, this was a selling point. When they did the renovations, they kept the original size of the windows.

A light snow falls, adding to the already covered sidewalk and streets. Across from me, Auggie’s Hardware’s OPEN sign flickers on and the young men who work there start shoveling the snow away from the door. Down the street, Mr. Whitaker is doing the same thing. I frown, watching him. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself by lifting the snow. Regardless of how light it seems, it can induce a heart attack. He really needs some help. I make a mental note to stop in at the town office later, hoping they know someone who can help. As a community, we should come together and give the people of Deer Ridge aid, especially during the winter.

As much as I want to stand here and watch the snowfall, getting lost in the majestic beauty of it all, there are things to do. Life calls, starting with a strong need for heat. I take a drink of my coffee and set my mug down even though I’m not a fully functioning caffeinated adult yet.

If I don’t have heat upstairs, then it’s likely the entire building is out. Thankfully, it’s just me working in my office, until my office assistant, Noelle, comes in. I bundle up like a snowman and take the back staircase down to my office where all the important stuff is, like the boiler, electrical box, and whatever else is needed to run this place.

I’m halfway down the stairs when I feel a burst of heat. Part of me sighs in relief, while the rest of me groans because this isn’t as easy as me banging on a few pipes or hitting some reset button.

“Crap on a cracker.” I head back upstairs to check to see if I have hot water and, after holding my hand under the running tap for I don’t know how long, I bring my finger to the brink of hypothermia before giving up and getting dressed. I can take a shower at my parents’ or wait until I’m done working on the farm for the day. It’s not like I’ll meet the man of my dreams today, and if I do, he’ll see me at my worst .

After getting dressed for the day and running a brush through my hair, I pack some extra clothes just in case I don’t come back tonight. It’s one thing to keep your bedroom at a cooler temperature while you sleep. It’s a whole other thing when you don’t have heat in the dead of fall, even if the calendar states that it’s not quite winter yet. Mother nature has other thoughts.

On my way out the door, I pull my phone out and text Noelle.

You don’t have to come in today. We don’t have heat. Take the day and relax or come by the farm and help out.

I get into my car and turn it on, blasting the heat to defrost my frozen fingers. I didn’t realize how cold I was until now. A shiver runs down my spine, giving me a slight ache.

Noelle

I’ll be by this morning after I put in the service call.

As I stare at my phone, a smile forms. I hit the jackpot when Noelle applied to be my assistant. She’s a go-getter, community oriented, and I never have to tell her to do things. She just does them.

You’re the best!

After setting my phone on the passenger seat, I pull out of my driveway, which also doubles as my parking lot. I head right to the Evergreen Café for my daily peppermint mocha with a shot of espresso, which I only have during the holidays. My mom will have food and coffee at the house, but my parents can’t make a good cup of coffee to save their lives. Plus, driving to the café will give me an opportunity to stop at the bakery for cinnamon rolls and check on Whitaker’s. Maybe I can get Noelle to go over there for the day to help, or I will if my parents don’t need my help. Either way, Mr. Whitaker will have someone else in the store today, making sure he’s getting the help he needs.

My eyes roll, thinking about Mr. Whitaker working his fingers to the bone while his son is off living in the city, not caring about his father.

If I ever get my hands on that man .

I shake my head and sigh. I get that this small-town life isn’t for everyone, but I feel like there’s a certain responsibility we, as children, have when our parents own a business. Especially when it’s the busy season. As soon as the leaves start to change, tourists flock to Deer Ridge. Zane could easily come back a few weekends a month and at least visit. Then maybe his dad won’t look so sad all the time.

As soon as I turn onto Main Street, a car pulls away from the curb. I pull in easily and decide to leave my car running, so it’s nice and warm when I get back in. Thankfully, the line at Alma’s isn’t out the door. The second I walk in, my stomach growls. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not and if it did and anyone heard it, I’m sure theirs growled just as loudly.

“Evangeline,” Alma calls my name and waves me forward. I apologize as I move around people waiting in line. At the counter, she pushes a box forward.

“What’s this?”

“Noelle phoned in your order. She said you had a rough morning.”

“Wow.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Noelle is the best.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell Alma automatically. I’m not someone who shares all their bad news.

Alma’s eyebrow pops up. I fight to roll my eyes.

“Fine.” I groan. “My heat is out, which isn’t a big deal except the furnace is old and I’m afraid it’s going to cost me a ton.”

Alma reaches across the top of the display case. “It’ll all work out.”

I love her optimism because I need it. I thank her for the cinnamon rolls and head toward the café where the owner, Lila, raises a cup in the air.

“Let me guess, Noelle called in my order?”

“She did. Have a great day, Evangeline. My dad said to let you know or your dad know he’ll be by later today. What time will you close?”

“If you’re cutting your own, an hour before sundown. You don’t want to be traipsing through the woods at night.”

“I’ll tell him. See you later.”

“Thank you.” I hold my cup up, letting her know I appreciate the drink.

Outside, I pause and look across the street. Jake Simmons, one of the young men who works at the farm, is shaking out what’s left of the trees I brought over on Friday. Mr. Whitaker comes out of the store, carrying a bag of groceries for someone. I watch as he sets them in the back seat of the customer’s car and gives her a friendly wave. He pauses and looks at Jake, and then his head shakes. I can only imagine how much he misses Zane, especially at this time of the year.

Mr. Whitaker waves. I smile and wave back. “Good morning, Mr. Whitaker,” I yell across the street.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bernie?”

I wave away his question. “I know. I know.”

“Have a good day, Evangeline.” He waves again.

“You too,” I say before opening my car door. Inside, I absorb the warmth for a moment before pulling out of my spot. I wave at Mr. Whitaker again as I drive by and then turn toward my parents’ house when I get to the corner.

Unfortunately, part of living in a small town is getting stuck behind a tractor, and sure enough, this is where I find myself. The Fosters’ tractor is decorated with Christmas lights, not that I can see them very well because of the sunshine, but at night, one of the Foster boys will happily drive it around town, playing holiday music to entertain the locals.

One of the Foster boys—can’t tell who it is—waves at me around as soon as we clear the curve in the road. I honk and wave, and he returns the honk. Another half mile of driving brings me to my parents’ farm. Our small parking lot already has cars in it, even though we’re technically not open. I park, gather my things, and carry the box of pastries into the house.

I step in and inhale the peppermint and cookie aroma. A soft melody of music streams from the speaker in the kitchen. In there, I find my mom at the sink, looking out to the backyard.

“Morning.” I set my stuff down on the chair, putting the box on the counter. I go to my mom and kiss her cheek.

“You know I have coffee,” she says when she sees my to-go cup.

“Yes, but I want to enjoy my morning jolt and your coffee . . . well, it’s not good, Mom.”

She rolls her eyes. “You stopped at Alma’s?”

“I did. I don’t have any heat at the fire station. Noelle called in an order for me.”

“I don’t know why you bought that place.”

I take some plates out of the cupboard, grab some forks, and open the box. Some of the frosting is on the inside of the lid, and I use my finger to scoop it up and put it in my mouth, ignoring her statement.

“What does Alma put in her frosting to make it so good?”

“If she told any of us, we’d put her out of business.”

I hand my mom one roll and plate one for myself. She follows me to the table, and we sit.

“Did you call about the furnace?”

I nod while I chew. “Noelle said she’d do it for me.”

“You should sell.”

“Mom, you know why I bought it.”

“Nostalgia costs a lot of money. ”

“But my memories are free.”

The firehouse-turned-office, and now my home, was once the station my grandfather used to be captain of. I grew up there, playing on the trucks and sliding down the pole. Being there makes me feel close to him. Besides, it’s a wicked cool building, and I love it.