Page 20 of Wrecked for Love
Past the next intersection, the scenery shifted. Buildings with wood siding and aged brick gave the town a nostalgic charm, like something out of the Old West but touched with homey warmth. A bakery, a diner, a convenience shop, each with hand-painted signs beneath wide awnings that stretched over the sidewalk.
I parked and wandered toward a shop that caught my eye—a harvest store, its windows glowing with soft light. Inside, handmade crafts and rows of preserves filled the shelves, and two women chatted near the counter. As I stepped inside, the scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon wrapped around me.
The customer, a woman with windblown hair and a rain-spotted jacket, shook her head as she spoke to the shop owner behind the counter. “The branch came flying at the window. Luckily, it’s just a crack.”
“Never underestimate a crack, Jude,” the shop owner replied, her voice rich with the wisdom of someone who’d seen more than a few storms. “Let me get Jonathan to take a look at it.”
“Oh, no, no. Don’t bother him,” Jude said, waving off the idea.
“It’s no trouble,” the older woman insisted, her motherly smile making it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Then she glanced past her customer and spotted me. “Well, good morning, stranger,” she greeted warmly.
I smiled back as Jude turned to leave, giving me a polite nod.
“I’ll have Jonathan swing by this afternoon,” the shop owner called after her.
Jude sighed but didn’t argue, the kind of surrender that came when you knew your neighbors would look out for you whether you liked it or not.
Then, the shop owner turned her full attention to me. “That storm sure did a number last night, didn’t it? I thought the wind was gonna carry my roof clean off.”
Her easy hospitality made me appreciate the town even more, like she was its unofficial ambassador, making sure no one ever felt like a stranger for long.
“It was a rough one, for sure.” I glanced around the shop, my eyes falling on a pack of biscuits and a few bottles of water. “I’ll take these,” I said, placing them on the counter.
The lady’s eyes twinkled as she reached for a jar from the shelf behind her. “And how about some of our famous Buffaloberry jam? It’s our town signature.” She winked. “Buffaloberry puts the ‘buffalo’ in berry, and I, well, put ‘berry’ in berry!” She laughed, a hearty, contagious sound.
I hesitated for a moment, wondering about Elia’s own jam that he had claimed was a “must-try.” Somehow, I liked the idea of tasting something from his hands. But then again, this seemed to be a town specialty. “Sure, I’ll take a jar,” I said, adding it to my growing collection of goods.
“Good choice! And here’s some freshly baked huckleberry bread, still warm.” She slid a loaf wrapped in parchment across the counter. “It’ll go perfectly with that jam.”
I paid for everything and thanked her, my bag now filled with the comforting load of small-town kindness.
I turned back to her, my curiosity piqued by the beauty of the town. “Are there any walking trails around here?” I asked. “I’d love to explore a bit.”
Mama Berry’s face lit up at the question. “Oh, honey, you’ve come to the right place for that! We’ve got some of the prettiest trails you’ll ever see. If you follow the road out past the old church, you’ll find the Buffaloberry Ridge trail. It’s an easy walk, mostly flat, but the views…” She clasped her hands together and looked to the ceiling as if thanking the heavens. “You can see the whole valley from up there. It’s perfect for an afternoon stroll.”
“That sounds beautiful,” I said, already picturing it.
“And if you’re feeling a bit more adventurous, there’s the Raven Bluff trail. It’s a bit more of a climb, but the reward at the top is worth every step. You’ll be able to see the river snaking through the hills. There’s a spot at the peak where a lot of folks like to stop and just sit. Reflect.”
“Wow. That sounds incredible,” I said, intrigued by the idea of losing myself in the landscape, if only for a little while.
“Mm-hmm. Just be careful after a storm like last night,” she added with a cautionary glance. “Some of the trails might still be muddy, and those bluffs can get slippery. Best to bring a good pair of boots if you’re heading that way.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, my thoughts already drifting to the idea of exploring those trails, maybe with Elia.
Damn!Why couldn’t I leave that man alone?
Mama Berry smiled as I stepped away from the counter, heading for the door. “Enjoy your time here in Buffaloberry Hill, honey. You’ll find this place has a way of making you want to stick around.”
As I left the shop, something tugged deep inside, close to the soul, or something like it. Maybe she was right.
I drove toward Buffaloberry Ridge trail. Just a mile before the trailhead, a quaint cottage caught my eye. It was tucked between a cluster of willows, their long, delicate branches swaying in the breeze. The sign out front read:The Willow. For rent.
Wired with an itch that I couldn’t scratch, I pulled over. I stepped out of the car and wandered to the back of the cottage. The view opened up into a stunning panorama. Beyond the ridge, rolling hills dipped and stretched far into the horizon, but it was the vibrant patchwork of wild meadows that held my gaze. The colors—yellows, blues, purples—reminded me of an illustration from a childhood book.The Enchanted Forest. Cody used to read it to me, his voice full of magic as we imagined venturing through endless woods, chasing after mysteries and hidden treasures. That same sense of wonder wrapped itself around me now, as though I had stumbled upon something magical and untouched.
I stood there, all five senses filled with nostalgia. But then, I suddenly sensed a presence. I spun around, scanning the area, but the yard was still.
