Chapter 1
Hope
I grab my coffee and sit in the local cafe attached to the grocery store. That's how it is in the small town of Whiskey River, Montana, but since the cafe offers free Wi-Fi, I can't complain.
I moved here three months ago after visiting the Montana visitor center and seeing a lone pamphlet for Whiskey River. The town looked so beautiful; I wanted to check it out. I fell in love with the place, found a rental that day, and never looked back.
It seemed the perfect place to settle down and forget all about my mom and her new druggie boyfriend.
The boyfriend is new, but the druggie persona is not. A single mom, she dates a particular type of guy and bounces from one to another, only paying attention to me between boyfriends—which is always short-lived.
I left the first chance I got. Living out of my car, I traveled for a while, took some online classes to become a book editor, and now, I can work from anywhere. One of the places I like is this cafe in downtown Whiskey River with free Wi-Fi.
With its beautiful mountain views, this town seems like a good place to put down roots. The people are so welcoming, like Jana, who has quickly become my best friend. She’s also the general manager of the grocery store and cafe. When she saw me coming in every day, we started talking, which eventually led to us hanging out.
"Ugh, it's already been a morning. I just want to go home and go back to sleep," Jana says, sitting beside me with her cup of coffee.
"Or is it a tourist problem today?"
I learned early on that Whiskey River has two types of people. There are the locals who have their own set of drama and problems, yet everyone tends to stick together no matter what. Then there are the tourists. These are the ones who come and stay overnight on their way from Yellowstone National Park or Glacier National Park or vice versa. It’s as if they’re visiting all the small towns in Montana. They tend to cause more problems than all of the locals combined.
"Yeah, this one was a tourist. She rented some cabin nearby, came into the store to stock up, and didn't understand why we didn't have all her special dietary needs food ready and available for them. She blew up when I told her we could've had it ready if she’d called in a special order. I said that no one else around here has those special-order items, so it would be useless to stock them on a regular basis. Then she accused me of calling her useless and demanded to speak to my boss. Unfortunately, when I told her I was the boss, she wanted to speak to the owner. Well, as you know, they’re traveling and told me not to call, so I had to call the sheriff. Let's just say it was quite a show for the locals. If you’d been here twenty minutes earlier, you would’ve caught the end of it."
The tourists always have something interesting to say or do something crazy to entertain us locals. We’re not like other areas of the country. Here, I dare say, we are a bit old-fashioned, and to be honest, that's part of what made me fall in love with this place. I thought I'd stay for a year, check it out, and maybe move on, but within my first month here, I knew Whiskey River was where I was meant to be. This is my home and where I will be putting down roots.
Jana was beyond excited when I told her I planned on staying for good, and we’ve become fast friends. She said most people our age are leaving and going to school and don't return to Whiskey River until they're ready to settle down and start a family—if they come back at all.
"You’re coming by the community garden today, right?" Jana asks me.
"I’ll be there. But I plan to hang out here and work until then."
Jana nods and finishes her coffee before standing and going back to work.
Jana started the community garden a couple of years ago as a way to share and help people in town. It's been a huge help for me. Whiskey River might be a small town, but Montana isn’t a cheap place to live. With the amazing mountain views, especially the ones from Main Street, even the cabins on the outskirts of town are pricey. My tiny one-bedroom takes half of what I make each month in rent. Thankfully, it came furnished. But it makes saving money to get my own place difficult. So when I can save money on groceries from Jana’s garden, I jump at the chance. I've also been taking any opportunity for extra work lately, which sometimes means I'm at the cafe from the moment they open until they close just for the internet.
I dive into the book I'm editing and don't pay attention to the time until Jana sits beside me again with my lunch. Being friends with the general manager of the store and cafe, who knows you're on a tight budget, has its perks. The kind that includes free gourmet sandwiches for lunch, the employee password for the fast internet, not just the guest internet, and being able to take home the cafe leftovers that they would otherwise throw away.
"So, what type of book are you editing today?" she asks before taking the first bite of her sandwich.
"It's the next book in that military series I edited a few months ago."
"The one where all the heroes are wounded in some way? I started reading that series and binge-read it in a weekend. It's so good."
I smile because I love those books, and I'd read them even if I weren't getting paid to edit them.
"This is the one where the guy has lost his eyesight."
"Oh! I’ve been waiting forever for that one to come out. Can I get a sneak peek?" Jana exclaims.
"I would if it, but it’s against my contract. This is a repeat author that I can't afford to lose."
"I guess we can't have that." Jana sighs dramatically as if it's a huge inconvenience, but I know she's joking because we've done this song and dance before.
Over lunch, we chat as she fills me in on some of the local gossips I've met. Most of the people she's talking about come to the store, but I can't always put faces to their names. I'm still learning who’s who. I became one of them once people realized I was moving here for good. They stop and talk to me as if they've known me my entire life, and I’m familiar with their niece’s godson's brother, who lives in North Carolina. I smile as I listen before they continue and finish their grocery shopping. It’s nice to be part of a community that cares.
Another thing I enjoy is people-watching. When I take my editing breaks, I see the local health nut who sneaks a bag of candy underneath her groceries and the little old ladies who go up and down every aisle talking to everyone and pinching the cheeks of the kids as they walk by.
Over my time here, I've gotten to know the regulars and see some of the mountain men who come down every few months to hit the stores. In short, I've seen pretty much everyone in town. It’s rare to spot someone I don’t know who’s not a tourist–like the man who just walked in.
He looks like the other mountain men who’ve come in with rough, faded clothing and well-worn jeans. But that's not what catches my attention.
No, what rouses my curiosity is his unsure expression as he steps through the door and looks around. After watching a few people walk in, grab a grocery cart, and head off to the produce section—the first part of the grocery store when you enter—he hesitantly grabs a cart.
The thick muscles on his forearms flex as he pulls one cart from the row of others and cautiously walks toward the produce area like everyone else. Then he stops and looks around again, almost like he’s never been in a grocery store and has no idea what to do or where to start.
I can't take my eyes off him. He walks through the produce area, looking at different things, reading signs, and shaking his head. He picks up some fruit before going into the first aisle. From where I'm sitting, I can watch him. He looks at every item’s price tag as he slowly walks down the aisle, sometimes turning the box or packaging over and reading it.
Something about him captivates me, and I don’t want to take my eyes off him. He’s tall and muscular. Pretty much the kind of guy any girl would go for, yet he seems to be one of the men who hides here in the mountains.
He’s unsure about being in the grocery store. I have this need to watch over him on the off chance that he might need help. Then I could jump up and offer assistance, not that it's my job.
He finishes on the first aisle and turns. When he walks up the next aisle facing me, I continue to watch. It seems like he hasn't seen half the items in the grocery store. He reads packages, and I can tell by his expression whether he's interested. He's about halfway down the aisle when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, which I assume is a grocery list.
It's only then that he finally looks in my direction. I should look away and give him his privacy to shop, but I can't because his eyes are locked on mine. We stare at each other, waiting.
Waiting for what, I have no idea.
