Chapter 3 — Echoes in the Town Square

Evie

The snow had softened overnight, layering Pineberry Falls in a pillowy white that sparkled under the subdued morning sun. Evie tugged her scarf higher against the chill as she stepped out of Snowdrop Cottage, the familiar crunch of snow underfoot grounding her. The air carried a faint woodsmoke warmth, mingling with the crispness of freshly fallen snow. Today, she told herself, she would venture further into town, past the quiet streets she had wandered yesterday. She needed to see beyond her uncertainty, to find something that sparked—not just her imagination, but a sense of belonging.

The path leading to the town square was lined with snowbanks that seemed untouched, save for the occasional paw print or set of smaller boots. Evie wondered who might have left them, imagining the lives they mapped out. The thought of Jack and Lily returned, unbidden but welcome. She could still picture the way Jack’s hands had steadied her, his quiet strength a curious comfort. Lily’s bright eyes and unabashed curiosity had lingered in her thoughts, a reminder of what it felt like to be seen without pretense.

As Evie turned into the square, the scene before her stole her breath. The towering spruce tree at its center was a masterpiece of winter cheer, adorned with handmade ornaments of all shapes and colors. Each ornament seemed to tell its own story, catching the light and casting tiny kaleidoscopic reflections on the snow. Red and gold ribbons swayed gently in the breeze, tied tightly around its branches, their movement drawing the eye upward. Beneath the tree, a gathering of children laughed as they shaped snow into lopsided figurines while their parents browsed market stalls. The square itself bustled with life, the hum of conversation blending with the occasional ring of laughter or the tinkling of sleigh bells as a horse-drawn carriage passed along the cobblestone street.

Evie hesitated at the edge of the square, her fingers twitching with the urge to sketch—an impulse she hadn’t felt in weeks. The vibrant energy of the square, the warmth radiating from the people within it, and the tree itself all tugged at something deep within her. But then the familiar weight of doubt crept in, tethering her hands to her sides as her mind whispered reminders of her last failed attempt at art. What if she tried and the spark wasn’t there? What if she couldn’t do justice to what she saw before her? The thought made her chest tighten.

Taking a breath, she stepped forward, letting the sights, sounds, and smells of the square pull her deeper into the moment.

The scent of mulled cider hit her first, its spiced sweetness wrapping around her like a familiar embrace. A small wooden stall stood nearby, where a woman bundled in a thick shawl ladled the steaming drink into ceramic mugs. Evie approached, fumbling in her pocket for a few bills.

“First one’s on me,” the vendor said with a kind smile, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “Welcome to Pineberry Falls.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary—” Evie began, but the woman waved her off with a laugh.

“New faces are a gift. Enjoy,” the vendor said warmly, pressing the mug into Evie’s hands.

Evie murmured her thanks, cradling the warm mug. The heat seeped into her fingers as she wandered deeper into the square, her gaze flicking from stall to stall. Woven scarves here, hand-carved figurines there—each booth was like a small treasure trove, the craftsmanship meticulous, the care evident in every detail. She paused at one stall where a little boy no older than six stretched on tiptoes to hand a customer a knitted hat. At another, a teenage girl carefully arranged jars of honey, each label bearing a distinctive, hand-drawn design. The energy here was unlike anything Evie had experienced in the city—a collective pulse of creativity and warmth, unhurried but deeply intentional.

Drawn by the sound of a soft melody, Evie found herself in front of a group of carolers gathered near the spruce. Their voices harmonized beautifully, filling the air with a rendition of “O Holy Night” that sent a shiver down her spine. She stood quietly, sipping her cider and letting herself be still, the music resonating in the very air. It reminded her of the stories her aunt had told about Pineberry Falls, of the traditions that brought people together here. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be part of something like this, to weave her own story into the fabric of this town.

A tug at her sleeve startled her. She turned to find Lily grinning up at her, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Hi, Evie!” Lily chirped, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

“Lily,” Evie said, warmth creeping into her voice despite herself. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Daddy let me come help with the decorations,” Lily explained, pointing toward the spruce tree. Sure enough, Jack was there, holding a ladder steady as a teenage boy leaned precariously to hang a ribbon. Jack glanced over, catching her eye. For a moment, the noise of the square seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Lily tugged her sleeve again, breaking the moment. “Do you like it? The tree, I mean. Pretty, right?”

“It’s beautiful,” Evie said, meaning it. She crouched slightly to Lily’s level, her tone softening. “Did you help make any of the ornaments?”

Lily nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing under her hat. “I made the snowflake! The one with the glitter and the little button in the middle. Want to see?”

Before Evie could answer, Lily grabbed her hand and led her toward the tree. Her small fingers were warm in Evie’s glove, and the simple gesture sent a surprising ache through her chest.

“There!” Lily pointed to an ornament hanging low on one of the branches. It was indeed a snowflake, crafted from popsicle sticks painted white and dusted liberally with silver glitter. A bright red button adorned its center, slightly off-kilter but charmingly so.

“It’s perfect,” Evie said, smiling. “You’re quite the artist.”

Lily beamed at the praise, her joy infectious. “Daddy says the same thing. But Aunt Clara said you make pictures for books. Can you show me how to do that?”

Evie’s heart twisted at the suggestion, and she glanced toward Jack. He was still by the ladder, but his eyes were on them now, his expression unreadable. She wondered what Clara had told him and how much of it she would have to live up to.

“Maybe,” she said after a pause, her voice gentle. “We’ll see.”

Lily accepted this with a satisfied nod, then skipped off to join a group of children playing in the snow. Evie watched her go, her energy as bright and fleeting as sunlight on frost.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Jack’s voice came from behind her.

She turned to find him standing a few feet away, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He was close enough that she caught the faint scent of sawdust again, grounding and familiar.

“She’s hard to resist,” Evie said with a small smile. “You must be proud of her. She’s… special.”

Jack nodded, his expression softening. “She is. Takes after her mom in that way.”

The mention of Lily’s mother shifted the air between them, and Jack’s gaze drifted briefly to the tree. His shoulders seemed to tense, but only slightly, as if he were holding something back.

“She’d like you, I think,” he said quietly, after a pause.

Evie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she simply nodded, her gaze following his to the tree. The carolers were finishing their song, and the square was beginning to quiet as the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the scene.

“They’re lighting the tree tonight,” Jack said after a moment, nodding toward the spruce. “It’s something of a tradition. You should stay for it. Everyone gathers.”

“I’d like that,” Evie said, surprised at how much she meant it.

Jack nodded again, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to join Lily. Evie watched them together, the way Jack’s hand rested protectively on his daughter’s shoulder, his expression softening in a way she hadn’t seen before.

For the first time in days, she felt the faint stirrings of inspiration. The square, the tree, the carolers—it was a story waiting to be told, a picture waiting to be drawn. Her fingers itched to capture it all, her heart whispering that maybe, just maybe, this was where she was meant to be.