Page 2 of Married in Misty Mountain

“Well, I just signed on for another month on my apartment lease. So I have one month to figure it out.”

Clara looks concerned. “I hate the idea of you leaving us so soon while your ex is out there looking for you. You’re safer here.”

Clara is the only person I’ve hinted to about my past. Guilt rushes through me as I internally acknowledge this additional white lie.

The truth is, I don’t have an ex, per se. But I am on the run from a man.

Derek Creevy and I never dated. He never even asked. That’s because Derek Creevy never needed to ask. My father “promised” me to him in what I now see as a horrifying tradition known as “betrothing.” My father came to me when I was 13 and told me that he and the Creevy family had everything arranged, and I was to be married to him the day I turned 18.

It took me a long time to realize how messed up that was.

Referring to Derek Creevy as an “ex” has made the way smoother. People instantly jump to their own conclusions and don’t ask a lot of follow-up questions. But the awful truth is, Derek is twenty years older than me. No, Derek never laid a hand on me because he didn’t need to. Our futures were sealed, and he was patient enough to wait on me.

If that makes your stomach turn, welcome to the club.

So I hope you understand the white lies. Because let’s be real: in the compound I grew up in, if I had married Derek when I turned 18, all signs point to him becoming a future abusive ex-husband.

I let out a long sigh. “I have enough tips to get my car fixed up. Well, fixed enough to get me to Denver. They have a shelter there for people like me.”

“A shelter?” Clara gasps. “No. No way. I’d rather you stay in Misty Mountain with Hank and me.”

“No, no,” I say, shaking my head. This woman’s kindness is breaking down my walls, and I’m almost about to cry for the second time in ten minutes. I won’t allow it. “I’ll have a lot more job opportunities in Denver. Maybe someone will pay me to get the cereal from the tallest shelf for little old ladies at the grocery store. My only marketable skill, quite frankly.” Yeah, going for the joke usually keeps my walls up. Nicely done, me. Keep pushing those pesky, friendly people away.

Clara is determined, though, and a sly smile spreads across her pretty face. “That gives me an idea. Jack Gregory at the general store always knows about openings in the area. Go down there and talk to him.”

Translation: let me call in a favor from my friend, and we’ll all pretend you landed another job on your own merits.

“The general store? Why, so I can drown a family of five on a rafting trip?” The general store is generally the first place tourists go to book excursions. Tour guides are one of the things this town can’t seem to get enough of.

“I’m serious, Mildred.”

I’m about to let my pride get the better of me and crack another joke, but then I look into my friend’s eyes and know I don’t want to leave Misty Mountain. Despite my screw-ups, despite my drafty old apartment, plus the fact that I haven’t managed to save enough money to pay for my car to get fixed properly, I can feel the sense of belonging. The local mechanic patched my little car up just enough to make it run until I could afford real repairs. Who would do that for an anonymous single woman in the big city? Who in the big city would be so protective of me that they’d bend over backward to help me stay?

“You don’t have to get me a charity job, Clara.”

“It’s not charity. You just need to build a little confidence in your skills,” she says.

Gosh. Clara is the mother figure I never knew I needed. My childhood teacher once laughed at me when my classmates called me a giraffe on roller skates. Instead of taking issue with that teacher, my mother scolded me for being clumsy. Clara might be on to something because I never overcame that blow to my confidence.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say, frowning at how much I hate admitting I’m wrong.

Hank could have fired me on my first night. I had mistakenly opened the bar’s most expensive bottles of champagne for a table that had ordered sparkling wine. Turns out, the bubbly I was supposed to serve to customers was in a separate wine fridge altogether, but I had to make a special effort to screw up by finding the Dom Perignon way at the back. Hank had been setting it aside for some lavish wedding reception, and now he’dhad to stock up again. He’d refused to take it out of my paycheck since it was an honest mistake.

Last week, I overturned an entire tray of elk venison stew, made from Hank’s game he hunted himself. That was the night I’d also cut myself and needed stitches after trying to clean up the mess myself.

“Listen,” Clara says in a tone that will suffer no more foolishness from me, “Go on down to the general store now, before they close for the day. Jack will help you out.”

Embracing my pathetic state and feeling fortified by the chocolate croissant, I hug Clara goodbye for the night and make my way down Evergreen Way. Most of the quaint shops are already closed for the night, but I can still smell the residual scent of baked bread coming from the Pine and Petal Cafe. The window display of Evergreen Books and Trinkets is lit up with the white glow of fairy lights, showcasing the latest book by local author Finn Campbell. I pause and read the sign announcing a book signing coming up soon.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” I hear someone say. I look up and finally notice the couple a few feet away, gazing into the bookstore window. I recognize the older man of the couple as Finn Campbell himself, along with his wife, Sami.

Though I’m feeling a little starstruck at the sight of the reclusive author, I keep my distance and let them have their moment.

“Thanks, baby,” he says, kissing her forehead, his arm around her shoulder. The way he holds her so close and protectively makes me ache for something like that.

I walk past them, giving them space, and head past the Hollow Tree Inn. The lobby is dark and quiet as I pass by, and throughthe window, I spy the owners, Ellen and Maggie, exchanging a kiss behind the reception desk. I blush and look away, feeling like a peeping Tom.

The setting sun casts a warm pink glow against the mountains surrounding the town. This place looks like something out of a storybook where nothing bad ever happens. Everyone who sets down roots here succeeds. Everyone has someone to love, it seems.

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