The Trouble With Falling

TWO

Elijah

I let outa groan when I see Patrick’s truck pull up in front of the store. I was about to close down the Grove Trading Post and head home, but it looks like Patrick is here for his daily visit.

The guy is new to town and while everyone else in Honey Peak tends to leave me alone and in peace, Patrick never got that memo. He showed up in town a few months ago with his nephew Brennan in tow. They had wandered into my shop on their first day and I had helped them find some hiking boots and camping gear. I had pointed them downtown to a spot for lunch and had thought that would be the end of it, but they came back the next day, and then the next. Somewhere along the way, we became friends.

The bell on the door tinkles loudly as the door blows shut after them. It’s starting to snow harder and I look around the shop, deciding that I can finish stocking those boots tomorrow. I’ll just say hi to Brennan and sneak him his Hershey Hug before I usher them outside. We should all be getting home before the storm gets much worse.

Growing up in Honey Peak, you get used to reading the skies and knowing when you’re going to get dumped on with snow. It snowed some last night but it’s even darker tonight and I have a feeling that we’re going to get more than the two feet we did last night.

For the first time since they retired and moved down to Florida, I envy my parents. They grew up in Honey Peak, but after they passed the shop down to me, they wanted to make a change. I don’t blame them for wanting to escape the cold and all of the snow.

“Hey, little man,” I call out as Brennan barrels down the aisle toward the front counter.

“Eli!” he yells excitedly as he hurries around the counter and wraps his tiny arms around my legs.

At six-foot-seven, I tower over everyone. I’m used to having to duck to enter rooms and feeling like a freak when I stand next to people, but Patrick and Brennan have never made me feel self-conscious. Brennan thinks I’m a badass because of my height. Maybe that’s why we’ve always gotten along.

“Hey, Eli,” Patrick says with an easy smile as he joins us at the front counter.

“What are you two doing out in this mess?” I ask as the wind howls outside.

“We had to come see our best friend. Wanted to make sure that you didn’t need anything from the store. We’re headed there before we head home,” Patrick answers as I grab the candy jar out from beneath the counter and hold it out to Brennan.

The little boy gives me a toothy grin as he shoves his hand into the jar.

“I’m good. I’ve got some leftovers at home that I’m going to heat up tonight. I can run and grab some more stuff tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick asks and I nod.

“Get out of here before the roads close,” I order and Brennan gives me another quick hug before he hurries out from behind the counter.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, man,” Patrick says with that same easy-going grin that never seems to leave his lips as they turn and head back out into the storm.

I trail after them, intending to flip the lock, turn off the lights, and head out the back, but before I can get there, the door swings open, letting in a cold breeze, a few flurries, and a shivering woman.

“Hey! Y’all are still open, right? I’ll be two minutes. I just need a new coat and maybe some boots,” she says, her thin coat dusted in snow.

Her accent is decidedly southern and sounds so out of place here in rural Michigan. I watch as she brushes off her tennis shoes on the mat.

“I’ll say,” I grunt out, scowling at the girl’s less than ideal winter wear.

“I just moved here from Atlanta and they don’t even sell this kind of cold weather stuff down there,” she says defensively as she starts to browse the rack of winter hats and mittens by the door.

“Oh. You’re the bakery lady.”

The woman tenses before she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Yeah… how did you know that?” she asks, looking at me like I might be a stalker.

I probably do look scary to her. I’m over a foot taller than her and my stoic face is great for keeping people from talking to me, but decidedly less so when you’re trying to put people at ease.

I’m the town loner. Born and raised here so people are used to not seeing me around much, but this girl is new and probably doesn’t know that. At least not yet.

“It’s a small town. Word gets around fast,” I say as I watch her walk around to the back of the store to the wall in the back that is filled with every kind of shoe and boot that you would ever need.

I stomp after her, hoping to get her out of here quickly so that I can head home myself.