Page 7 of Howling Holidays

"I'll get your car settled at the inn for you. We can meet up for breakfast at Millie's after you get checked in. If you want to, of course," I offer.

"That sounds perfect," she replies with a small smile. Despite my unease about being in town, something about Emily's presence calms me.

At the inn, our goodbye holds a strange sense of finality. As if there’s so much left unsaid between us. But I hold back, knowing better than to share anything more than is necessary. My wolf whines mournfully, already missing her laugh and curious questions. Such a reaction is foolish, though. Dangerous. And yet impossible to deny. We are pulled toward Emily, through forces unseen but unstoppable.

An hour later, we sit across from each other in a corner booth at Millie’s Diner. The aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air. I pass Emily a menu, the plastic crackling as she opens it.

“The chocolate chip pancakes are amazing,” I recommend over the clatter of dishes and hum of chatter surrounding us. I smile, oddly comforted by the familiar atmosphere. Emily’s steady gaze and subtle smile put me further at ease. Despite the dangers, her warmth is inviting and makes me want to confide in her.

Sitting across from Emily again eases the restlessness gnawing at me. Her candid talk of obstacles with her grandmother’s service proves to be a welcome distraction from Everwood's secrets weighing oppressively on me. I feel sad for Emily that she lost her grandmother right before Christmas, before they could reconnect. She tries to stay cheerful, but I can tell she carries a lot of regret.

In unguarded moments over coffee, I observe things too easily forgotten up in the cabin's isolation. Emily's compassionate spirit. Her intelligence and thoughtfulness. The alluring flash of her eyes when her passion ignites. Her rare mix of gentleness and conviction. The conversation with her flows easily and makes me feel like I can let my guard down, though deep down I know I shouldn’t.

"So..." she begins, tracing her finger along the rim of her coffee mug. "Everwood has always been a place of stories it seems. Strange stories that my grandmother used to tell me as a little girl."

I meet Emily's gaze, and I can tell she’s searching for any flicker of recognition. My expression remains neutral, though she can sense the wariness in my eyes.

"Stories of magic...and creatures lurking in the woods," she continues carefully. I shift my weight in my seat, my jaw tightening ever so slightly.

"Just folktales, to scare the kids," I reply with a dismissive chuckle that I hope doesn’t seem forced.

She leans forward curiously. "But people here really seem to believe them. All the charms and talismans for sale in town..."

I rub the back of my neck, hoping the conflict playing across my face isn’t apparent. I can tell she senses I’m hiding something.

"Look, Emily..." I begin.

She touches my arm gently. "It's okay. I’m a visitor here and I know I’m asking a lot of questions. You don't have to tell me anything. Let's just enjoy our breakfast."

I nod, relief flooding through me. As we chat about lighter topics, the tension dissipates. But the secrets of this town still lurk in the shadows, and I can tell she’s determined to uncover the truth.

My shoulders relax as we change the subject, moving our conversation to safer ground.

"So how long have you been running the Christmas tree farm?" she asks, taking a sip of coffee.

"Going on ten years now," I reply. "It’s been in my family for generations. I took over for my father after..." my voice trails off, trying to hide the pain. “After he passed away. It’s been hard, but I’m glad to carry on his legacy.”

“I’m so sorry, Logan. I lost my father when I was young too so I can relate. It’s really hard sometimes.”

I nod but hesitate, wondering if I should pry further. I’d never met anyone else who also lost their father. I feel like I should know what to say, but the words escape me. The rawness of her expression keeps me from pressing the topic.

“It must be a lot of work getting those trees ready every year,” she adds.

My mouth quirks into a half-smile. "Yeah, it's a labor of love though. My pack - I mean my crew - helps out."

She raises an eyebrow at my obvious slip up but seems to let it slide. We talk more about the farm, the satisfaction I get from seeing families pick out the perfect tree.

In turn, she shares fond memories of times spent here with her grandmother - the pine-scented hikes in the woods, reading by the fire while snow drifted outside. A pang of loss hits me, but also nostalgia for those simpler days as children.

I listen intently, my eyes softening. In this moment, the rest of the diner fades away and it's just the two of us. The connection between us deepens, though so much still lies unspoken.

When I glance at my watch, I feel a twinge of disappointment. "I better get going soon," I say regretfully. "But I'll see you later?"

Emily nods, our parting bittersweet. We leave the secrets between us for another time. But the mysteries of this town, and the magnetic pull between us remains.

I walk her outside, the cold air biting after the cozy warmth of the diner. We pause under the awning, neither quite ready to say goodbye.

"Thanks for breakfast," she says. "It was really nice getting to know you better."

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