Flannel and Frost
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Epilogue
The bell over the hardware store door chimed for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. Late-summer humidity drifted in with every customer, carrying the scents of cut grass, sawdust, and someone’s distant barbecue. The place was alive in a way Ryan had once struggled to imagine—bright, buzzing, shelves full, tables stocked with neatly labeled bins and carefully arranged tools.
Moesha had long since returned from her semester break. As always, she occupied her familiar post at the counter, headset around her neck, nails painted sunflower yellow. She greeted Evelyn with a wide grin the moment she walked in.
“Look who’s slumming it with us regular folk,” Moesha teased, leaning forward conspiratorially.
Evelyn smirked and adjusted the reusable canvas tote on her shoulder. “Some of us needed screws for actual responsible, functional projects.”
Moesha clucked her tongue. “Mm-hm. And some of us claim we only came here for screws but somehow find reasons to linger.”
A faint flush crept up Evelyn’s neck, but she rolled her eyes. “I’m here because you texted me about the new shipment of book stands.”
“That’s what we’re calling him now? A ‘shipment’?” Moesha whispered loudly, hand shielding her mouth.
Evelyn snorted. “You are impossible.”
Behind them, Ryan was helping an older customer choose between two nearly identical drill bits. His voice was calm, patient—answering questions, making sure the man understood the differences without an ounce of condescension. Evelyn watched him for the briefest second before forcing her attention back to the counter.
“He didn’t shave today,” Moesha said under her breath. “Which is your favorite version of him, don’t deny it.”
“Moesha.”
“What? I’m just stating facts.”
Evelyn busied herself examining a small wooden display of brass hooks. “I genuinely don’t know how Caleb survived knowing you since childhood.”
“Oh, he didn’t,” Moesha said. “He’s technically a ghost. Explains a lot.”
The bell chimed again. As if his ears were burning, Caleb himself walked in, wiping sweat from his brow, a rag tossed loosely over his shoulder. He gave both women a warm nod.
“Well now,” he said, “if it isn’t my two favorite troublemakers.”
Moesha held up a hand. “Before you ask—no, I didn’t break anything today.”
“That we know of,” Evelyn added dryly.
Caleb grinned at her. “Good to see you, Evelyn. Your neighbor still collecting jars for that canning spree she’s planning?”
“Don’t remind me,” Evelyn groaned. “I’ve become the designated jar scout.”
“You always were the organized one,” Caleb said kindly.
Across the room, Ryan looked over and caught sight of them. His expression shifted—just slightly, softly—when he saw Evelyn. Not overt, but present. A lift of his brows. A quick, warm flicker in his eyes. She returned it in kind, small but real.
Caleb noticed. He smirked to himself.
“Looks like things are running smooth,” he said, scanning the bustling aisles. “You’ve got half the town in here.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Moesha said, tapping the counter as if knocking on wood.
At that moment, Ryan finished with his customer and gave a grateful nod as the man left. He made his way toward the counter, passing Caleb with a light shoulder tap.
“Hey,” Ryan said, “thought you were working on the Evans porch today.”
“Taking a break,” Caleb replied. “Figured I’d check in on you, make sure you haven’t let these women bully you into free labor.”
Moesha placed a dramatic hand to her chest. “Accusations. Wounds. Betrayal.”
Evelyn fought a laugh—and failed.
The store hummed around them ... families browsing tool sets, kids tugging on their parents’ sleeves, wind chimes clinking near the front door. It felt lived-in now. Rooted. A part of Willow Creek’s daily rhythm.
Ryan leaned on the counter, close enough for his elbow to brush the edge near Evelyn’s hand. They didn’t acknowledge the proximity aloud. They didn’t need to.
“You doing okay?” he asked her gently.
She nodded, eyes warm. “Yeah. You?”
His smile was quiet, but sure. “Yeah.”
Moesha looked between them knowingly, hands on her hips like a director orchestrating a scene she’d always expected.
“Late summer suits this place,” Caleb remarked, taking it all in. “Feels like it’s always been here.”
Ryan didn’t answer right away. He looked at Evelyn, then back at the store, then at his friends gathered around the counter.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It really does.”
The bell above the door gave a soft jingle as Ryan flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, though the sound felt more like a gentle exhale than a declaration.
Moesha had left an hour ago, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t be weird, you two,” before darting out. Caleb had vanished even earlier, off to check a neighbor’s roof before full dark. Now the store was quiet—comfortably so. Not like the silence of Ryan’s apartment, thick and isolating, but a calm that felt earned, shared.
Evelyn stood beside the counter, jotting down inventory notes Ryan had asked her opinion on earlier. Her tote bag leaned against the stool behind her, half-packed, forgotten in the rhythm of closing up.
Ryan swept the aisles, the broom whispering across the floorboards. He glanced over at her occasionally—not out of nervousness, the way he once might have, but simply because he liked the sight of her there. Present. Unrushed.