Page 13 of Reunited with the Hometown Hero
As if summoned by her name, an elegant silver-haired woman exits one of the shops, leaning slightly on a carved wooden cane. Her face lights up when she spots Noah, then registers surprise—followed by keen interest—when she notices me.
"Noah? Perfect timing. I need your height." She gestures us over, her sharp eyes never leaving my face. "And who might this be?"
Noah's posture changes subtly—straighter, more formal. “Gram, you remember Riley. She's writing an article about Angel's Peak for Horizon Magazine."
"The Riley Bennett?" Eleanor's eyebrows arch as she extends a delicate hand that belies her iron grip. "My, my. I'd begun to think you were gone for good."
"Gram." Noah's warning tone only seems to encourage her.
"What? It's been a decade. I'm old. I speak my mind." She taps her cane for emphasis. "Besides, if anyone understands our transformation, it's someone who knew what we were before."
Her shrewd gaze assesses me with unsettling precision. "Though I hope you'll find more than material for your article here, dear. Lost things have a way of finding their way home in Angel's Peak when we least expect them."
Noah clears his throat. "Riley's only in town for a few days while her rental is being repaired."
"Is that so?" Eleanor's smile reminds me of a cat with a particularly juicy mouse. "Well, tight deadlines focus the mind wonderfully. Perhaps you'll join us for dinner tomorrow at The Haven? Hunter's preparing a special summer menu preview."
"I wouldn't want to impose?—"
"Nonsense. Noah will pick you up at six." She pats my arm with surprising strength. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I need my grandson to hang some banners for the festival that are beyond my reach."
Just like that, I’m dismissed.
I stand there for a second, watching Eleanor guide Noah away with a deceptively gentle hand on his arm, her cane tapping against the pavement in brisk, decisive beats. It’s only as they move off that it settles in—how effortlessly she just maneuvered that entire exchange.
Welcome, wrapped in warmth that felt genuine.
A warning, tucked neatly beneath it, sharp enough to catch if you were paying attention.
And a dinner invitation that wasn’t really an invitation at all.
My gaze drifts to Noah’s back, broad and unyielding as he listens to his grandmother with the same quiet attention he’s always given the people who matter to him. He glances over his shoulder, catching my eye, something like apology flickering there.
Twenty minutes.
A timeline. A promise. A return.
Even that feels… deliberate.
“Lost things have a way of finding their way home…”
The words echo, settling somewhere deeper than they should. I exhale slowly, pulling my phone from my pocket, more for something to do than anything else.
Angel’s Peak hasn’t just changed on the surface.
It’s still a place where people see too much, say exactly what they mean without saying it outright, and move you into position before you realize you’ve been handled.
Dinner tomorrow. Six o’clock. With Noah.
Not a question.
Not really a choice.
I glance down the street at the storefronts polished into something new, something brighter, and start walking.
“Take your time,” I call after him, keeping my voice light, easy, like none of this has shifted anything inside me. “I’ll explore a bit on my own.”
Even as I say it, something’s already in motion, and I’m not entirely sure I’m the one setting the pace anymore.
