Flannel and Frost
Copyright© 2026 by Art Samms
Chapter 6
The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon—just the soft rumble of the HVAC and the whispery shuffle of pages turning somewhere in the nonfiction stacks. Evelyn balanced a small stack of newly returned books against her hip as she rounded the corner toward the shelving cart.
She’d just slid a gardening book into place when she felt, more than heard, a presence behind her.
“Sooo...” Tori’s voice sing-songed through the calm like a pebble dropped into still water. “How’s Mr. Moody Hardware today?”
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly. “Tori,” she warned, not turning around. “I’m busy.”
“Mm-hmm. And yet you can still answer my very reasonable question.” Tori sidled up beside her, hip bumping lightly against Evelyn’s. She had her usual chaotic halo of curls, a chunky sweater three sizes too big, and a grin that suggested she had absolutely no intention of behaving.
Evelyn slid another book onto the shelf. “We worked together one time. Clearing brush. That hardly makes him—”
“Your tragic mountain soulmate?” Tori offered helpfully.
“—anything of the sort,” Evelyn finished sharply.
Tori clasped her hands to her chest in faux romantic agony. “Oh, come on. He’s tall, broody, handsome in that ‘I’ve-seen-some-things’ way. He scowls at sunlight but helps clean up the town park without complaint. He’s basically a roguish woodland creature with taxes experience.”
Evelyn stared at her. “What does that even—no. Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
Tori ignored her. “And I heard”—she leaned in conspiratorially—”that you two worked in perfect rhythm. Like a duet. A partnership. A symphony of suppressed longing—”
Evelyn coughed so loudly a man at the far table glanced over. “We barely spoke.”
Tori shrugged. “Sometimes silence is the loudest language.”
“Tori,” Evelyn said through a tight jaw, sliding the next book on the shelf with excessive precision, “he’s not my type.”
Tori beamed. As if she’d been waiting—eagerly—for that exact sentence. “Oh, but he is your type.”
“No,” Evelyn said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes,” Tori insisted, ticking traits off on her fingers. “Quiet. Wounded. Emotionally complex. Gorgeous in that understated ‘I don’t realize I’m beautiful’ way. It’s like a Netflix algorithm built him just for you.”
Evelyn froze mid-shelving. “That is absurd.”
“Is it?” Tori said sweetly. “Miss ‘I like people who need help but pretend they don’t’? Miss ‘I fall for the soft-hearted survivors’? Miss—”
“Stop talking,” Evelyn cut in, a flush rising to her cheeks.
Tori didn’t. “You want to nurture someone who also challenges you emotionally. Boom. Mr. Moody Hardware. Delivered right to Willow Creek like a karmic DoorDash order.”
Evelyn put her hands on her hips. “I am not ordering anything from karma. And even if I were, Ryan is not on the menu.”
Tori smirked. “Sweetie. He absolutely is.”
Evelyn groaned, covering her face. “I am going to fire you.”
“You don’t pay me.”
“Then I’ll recommend Sadie fire you.”
“She won’t,” Tori chirped, “because I bring personality to the workplace.”
“You bring chaos.”
“Personality, ” Tori corrected, “and the occasional insight. And my insight says ... you like him.”
Evelyn grabbed the last book from the cart—hard enough that the cart rattled. “I don’t even know him.”
“Exactly!” Tori crowed. “And yet—here we are.”
Evelyn shoved the book onto the shelf and stalked off toward the next aisle.
Tori followed, entirely unrepentant. “I’m just saying,” she called lightly, “don’t pretend you didn’t notice how he kept glancing at you while you two were weeding. Everyone else noticed.”
Evelyn stopped dead. “Everyone?”
“Yup,” Tori chirped. “Welcome to Willow Creek, where privacy is a myth and romance is a spectator sport. You, of all people, should know that by now.”
Evelyn pressed her palm to her forehead. This—this—was precisely why she didn’t trust herself with vulnerability. And precisely why Tori would never, ever let her forget it.
Meanwhile, Sadie moved through the library with her usual soft-footed authority, her cart rattling faintly as she checked returns and straightened displays. She’d been doing this long enough that she could detect shelving errors from fifty feet away—and detect gossip at twice that distance.
Which is why, as she rounded the corner into the fiction aisle, she caught the unmistakable cadence of Tori teasing her aunt within an inch of sanity.
“ ... I’m just saying, Ev, when a man looks at you like he’s studying a rare manuscript—”
“Tori,” Evelyn growled, “not another word.”
Sadie paused, listening openly now—head tilted, expression keen with the kind of interest she usually reserved for mislabeled Dewey decimals.
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured to herself, nudging her cart forward.
She stopped beside them just as Evelyn attempted to escape into the travel section.
“Everything all right over here?” Sadie asked innocently, adjusting her glasses. “I could hear the ... enthusiasm from my office.”
Tori puffed up with triumph. “Oh, perfect timing! I was just explaining to Evelyn that she and Mr. Hunky Hardware—”
“Tori.” Evelyn’s tone was so flat it could have pressed wrinkles out of laundry.
Sadie lifted a hand. “Now, now. Let’s not threaten bodily harm in the stacks.”
“I wasn’t—” Evelyn started.
Tori cut her off. “Sadie, you saw them at the cleanup. Tell her they had chemistry.”
Sadie shifted her weight, considering. Her eyes crinkled the way they did when she was about to say something both true and merciless.
“Well,” she said, “I did notice the two of you working rather nicely together.”
Evelyn stared at her in betrayal. “You did not.”
“I absolutely did,” Sadie said, hands folded primly atop the cart handle. “You were synchronized. Like an assembly line. A very tense, emotionally repressed assembly line.”
Tori burst out laughing.
Evelyn groaned and reached for a book to shelve just to have something to do with her hands. “You’re both insufferable.”
Sadie shrugged. “We’re observant. Occupational hazard.”
“Tori is making ridiculous assumptions,” Evelyn snapped, sliding a novel onto the shelf with more force than necessary.
Sadie nodded sagely. “Well, Tori does embellish. But she’s not wrong about everything.”
Evelyn turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Sadie...”
“Oh, I’m not meddling,” Sadie said smoothly, which meant she absolutely was. “I’m just saying, Ryan seems like the kind of man who’s had a tough go of things. And you...” She gave Evelyn a gentle, pointed look. “ ... well. You have a soft spot for people trying to rebuild.”
“I do not—”
“She absolutely does,” Tori cut in. “Remember the ceramicist who moved here after his divorce?”
“That was different,” Evelyn protested.
“What about the widower who couldn’t figure out how to set up his email?”
“He was eighty-three!”
Sadie hid a smile. “The point is, Evelyn, you’re kind. And Ryan seems like he could use a little kindness.”
Evelyn crossed her arms, cheeks warming. “He’s a stranger. And he thinks I’m ... difficult.”
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