Page 27 of Wrecked on the Mountain
Chapter Six
Jamie
I stand at the edge of Bear Paw Café's parking lot, watching Stone River Mountain transform into something that belongs in a luxury winter resort magazine.
The morning air is crisp enough to bite, but the sun's hitting the fresh snow, making everything sparkle like someone scattered diamonds across the entire festival setup.
This is exactly why I love this fucking town.
Thisis what home looks like.
Strings of warm Edison bulbs crisscross overhead between the pine trees, casting a golden glow that'll be perfect once the sun sets over the Annual Winter Festival.
Food trucks are lined up along Main Street—not your typical greasy carnival fare, but actual gourmet operations. There's the wood-fired pizza truck from Cascade Valley, the artisanal donut cart that's always popular, and I can already smell the bourbon-glazed bacon from Murphy's Smokehouse.
The warming stations I insisted on are scattered throughout the area like luxurious little islands of heaven. Each one features a roaring fire pit where flames dance in the breeze, surrounded by cozy seating that looks like it was stolen directly from some billionaire's retreat.
It's exactly the kind of detail that transforms a small-town festival into the winter wonderland fantasy that people drive hours to experience.
And yeah, I'm absolutely taking credit for this particular stroke of genius.
Because if there's one thing Stone River Mountain is good at, it's doing this festival, and doing it right.
Three months of planning, coordinating with vendors, arguing with the town council about permits, and calling in favors from every contact I've made in my thirty-five years of life. All so Stone River can throw a winter festival that'll make people remember why small towns matter.
All so my community can shine the way it deserves to.
"Standing around admiring your work again?"
Betty's voice cuts through my internal pride session. She appears beside me with a steaming cup that smells like heaven—her signature peppermint hot chocolate.
"Just making sure everything's perfect," I say, accepting the cup with a grin. "And if I happen to be congratulating myself a little, well... someone has to."
"Mmhmm." Betty's knowing look could strip paint. "And I suppose all these cozy little seating areas around the fire pits have nothing to do with creating romantic moments for unsuspecting singles?"
I clutch my chest in mock offense. "Betty Simmons, are you suggesting I'd use my position as festival coordinator to play matchmaker? That's your job."
"Oh honey," she pats my arm, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "I taught you everything you know about strategic seating arrangements."
Betty Simmons has been the unofficial mayor of Stone River's emotional landscape for as long as I can remember.
She delivered my baby sister, fed me cookies when Rebecca left, and somehow always knows exactly when someone needs a warm drink and a listening ear.
Word on the street is Betty's latest success story involves Beau Callahan. The perpetually scowling cabin builder who used to avoid human contact like it was contagious.
Now he's walking around my Mountain Rescue base with an actual smile.
"The festival looks beautiful, sweetheart," Betty says, her eyes twinkling with that maternal pride that our town loves. "Your mama's going to cry when she sees what you've put together."
I grunt, but I'm pleased.
Mom cried when I told her about the live string quartet I hired from Missoula. She'll lose it completely when she sees the ice sculpture garden and the gourmet hot chocolate bar.
"I see Etta and Mabel are beside themselves with excitement," Betty continues, gesturing toward the craft vendor area where the town's resident gossip queens are setting up their knitted goods booth. "They've been planning their 'Winter Romance Collection' for months."
I squint and shake my head. "A Winter Romance Collection? Jesus Christ."
I can see them now, arranging hand-knitted scarves and beanies of all colors. Knowing those two, they've probably coordinated the entire display to maximize chance romantic encounters.
