Chapter 13

The Hollow Bean Café looked different on community nights—its normally tidy patio transformed into a loose horseshoe of benches, assorted chairs, and a few old tree stumps dragged over from somewhere behind the building. In the center, a stone fire pit crackled to life, sparks rising in little golden spirals. Heat radiated outward, fighting the cool spring evening that drifted down from the mountains.

Someone had strung lantern lights across the patio fence, their soft yellow glow mingling with the firelight. Music floated through the air—warm, familiar, imperfect in the best way.

Caleb sat on an overturned milk crate, battered acoustic guitar resting on his knee. His fingers moved easily across the strings as he played an old folk tune, the kind everyone in Willow Creek recognized even if the lyrics differed from family to family. June sat beside him on a stump, quietly tapping out a rhythm on her thigh, cheeks pink from the fire and the attention of half the town.

Kids ran in loose circles along the edge of the light, chasing each other with sticky marshmallow fingers. Every now and then one would dart too close to the benches, earning a gentle “watch it!” from a parent or—more often—Tori, who lounged with one leg slung over the arm of a chair as though the entire event had been put on by her.

Laughter bubbled up from clusters of neighbors swapping stories. Someone passed around trays of chocolate squares and graham crackers; someone else carried a pitcher of cider, refilling mugs with the easy familiarity of people who’d been sharing these nights for years. The scent of woodsmoke drifted in steady waves, mixing pleasantly with the crisp sweetness of melting marshmallow.

Ryan lingered near the edge of the circle at first, hands tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket. A couple of folks greeted him with nods or quick hellos, and he returned them, tentative but sincere. After a few minutes, he eased into an empty chair near the fire, letting the warmth draw him in.

The music shifted—a change in tempo, a subtle brightening. Caleb started a new song, one Ryan didn’t recognize, but the crowd did. Feet tapped. Heads bobbed. A few people even sang along in low voices. June grinned at her father, proud, and joined in on the chorus.

The café doors opened with a soft jingle, spilling warm indoor light across the patio.

Evelyn stepped out carrying a mug of something steaming, cheeks rose-colored from the heat inside. She scanned the circle, nodding to familiar faces. When her gaze passed briefly over Ryan—just a flicker, no hesitation—something in the air softened. Not a greeting, not an invitation, but not avoidance either.

She took a seat across the fire from him, close enough to be part of the same glow.

For a moment, Ryan simply watched the sparks rise and vanish into the dark, the murmur of conversation humming around him like a woven blanket. The rhythm of the night tugged at him—loose, warm, unhurried. Nothing like the world he came from.

That’s a good thing, Ryan reminded himself.

He realized, for the first time since arriving in Willow Creek, that no one here seemed to be measuring him. No one was waiting for him to prove himself or fail spectacularly. They were just ... sharing an evening. Making room around a fire.

Caleb’s voice lifted, strong and sure.

Kids laughed. Marshmallows popped. A breeze carried the smell of pine across the café patio.

Ryan let himself lean back in his chair, letting the warmth settle deeper into his bones, letting himself belong.

As the music eased into a gentler melody, the natural ebb and flow of the night shifted. People stood to refill drinks, rearranged chairs, drifted over to admire someone’s overbuilt s’more creation. In that quiet reshuffling, Ryan found himself carrying his mug toward one of the small outdoor tables set off to the side—half wanting a break from the noise, half wanting to still feel part of it.