touch heals, but it doesn’t cure,” he said softly.
Angelina nodded and closed her eyes, surrendering to the tears that were so desperate to fall.
The Maple Ridge Music Festival was in full swing. Brightly decorated booths lined each side of the street as music streamed from the stage at the far end of the road. Despite its name, the festival wasn’t just about music. It was an amazing display of local talent, offering everything from homemade crafts to beaded jewelry. The Morton sisters were selling their quilts and canned goods, while their husbands sold their leather wallets and belts in the neighboring booth. A customer could buy cotton candy at the Baptist church tent or burgers and fries from the high school band.
Because Celia’s Strings was right in the middle of town, they never bothered to set up a booth. They simply opened the doors, and tourists could come and go as they pleased. In the one hundred years since the festival’s inception, it had only been canceled once because of rain.
Dylan pointed his camera toward the street and snapped a few pictures. “This is amazing. The crowd is a little thin, though. Is that normal?”
“It’s still early,” Maddie said. The three of them were sitting on a wooden bench just outside the door. “Just wait. This place will be crawling with people this afternoon.”
“And tonight,” Angelina said with a grin.
“What’s tonight?”
Maddie bounced in her seat. “The concert! At sundown, some of our local bands take the stage. The booths close and the street becomes a giant dance floor!”
“Maddie really loves to dance.”
Dylan grinned. “What about you, Angelina? Do you love to dance?”
“It’s okay.”
Her best friend snorted. “She loves to dance. Especially slow dances.”
Subtle, Maddie.
“Is Nick coming in this weekend?” Angelina asked. Maddie and Nick Phelps had been high school sweethearts. He’d been working for his dad’s trucking company since graduation, and weeks would pass before he had the chance to come home.
“He’ll be here this afternoon, which means I am taking the early shift at the shop while you and Dylan enjoy the festival.” Maddie leapt off the bench and followed a couple of customers inside. “Make sure he tries Ms. Imogene’s blueberry dumplings!”
Angelina sighed loudly, causing Dylan to chuckle. He grinned and jumped to his feet.
“Come on, Angelina. Take me to the dumpling booth.”
“Then there was Camilla Jones—one of my distant cousins who lived in Maple Ridge way back in 1840. She was born at midnight, which according to mountain tradition means she had the ability to talk to spirits. Camilla loved talking to the ghosts of Civil War soldiers.”
Dylan polished off his third bowl while Imogene Williams shared her family’s stories. Angelina had rolled her eyes throughout most of the conversation, but at least the dumplings were good.
Imogene wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at the two of them. “More? We’ve got plenty.”
Dylan and Angelina exchanged a look before shaking their heads. They thanked her and were just getting ready to leave when Imogene let out a squeal.
“Wait! I want to introduce you to my daughter!”
Angelina stifled a groan when she saw Christine Williams waving wildly in the distance. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, and the biggest flirt in Maple Ridge. As she strutted down the street, everyone noticed that her denim shorts just barely covered her bottom and her tank top left very little to the imagination. Neither wardrobe choice was unusual for Christy.
“Who’s this?” Christy smiled up at Dylan and pointedly ignored his companion. Again, that was nothing new. Christy and Angelina had spent most of their lives trying to forget the other existed, especially after Christy’s unfortunate case of pimples.
The memory never failed to make Angelina laugh.
Imogene made the introductions. “Christy is a photographer with the Maple Ridge Gazette
Angelina nodded and closed her eyes, surrendering to the tears that were so desperate to fall.
The Maple Ridge Music Festival was in full swing. Brightly decorated booths lined each side of the street as music streamed from the stage at the far end of the road. Despite its name, the festival wasn’t just about music. It was an amazing display of local talent, offering everything from homemade crafts to beaded jewelry. The Morton sisters were selling their quilts and canned goods, while their husbands sold their leather wallets and belts in the neighboring booth. A customer could buy cotton candy at the Baptist church tent or burgers and fries from the high school band.
Because Celia’s Strings was right in the middle of town, they never bothered to set up a booth. They simply opened the doors, and tourists could come and go as they pleased. In the one hundred years since the festival’s inception, it had only been canceled once because of rain.
Dylan pointed his camera toward the street and snapped a few pictures. “This is amazing. The crowd is a little thin, though. Is that normal?”
“It’s still early,” Maddie said. The three of them were sitting on a wooden bench just outside the door. “Just wait. This place will be crawling with people this afternoon.”
“And tonight,” Angelina said with a grin.
“What’s tonight?”
Maddie bounced in her seat. “The concert! At sundown, some of our local bands take the stage. The booths close and the street becomes a giant dance floor!”
“Maddie really loves to dance.”
Dylan grinned. “What about you, Angelina? Do you love to dance?”
“It’s okay.”
Her best friend snorted. “She loves to dance. Especially slow dances.”
Subtle, Maddie.
“Is Nick coming in this weekend?” Angelina asked. Maddie and Nick Phelps had been high school sweethearts. He’d been working for his dad’s trucking company since graduation, and weeks would pass before he had the chance to come home.
“He’ll be here this afternoon, which means I am taking the early shift at the shop while you and Dylan enjoy the festival.” Maddie leapt off the bench and followed a couple of customers inside. “Make sure he tries Ms. Imogene’s blueberry dumplings!”
Angelina sighed loudly, causing Dylan to chuckle. He grinned and jumped to his feet.
“Come on, Angelina. Take me to the dumpling booth.”
“Then there was Camilla Jones—one of my distant cousins who lived in Maple Ridge way back in 1840. She was born at midnight, which according to mountain tradition means she had the ability to talk to spirits. Camilla loved talking to the ghosts of Civil War soldiers.”
Dylan polished off his third bowl while Imogene Williams shared her family’s stories. Angelina had rolled her eyes throughout most of the conversation, but at least the dumplings were good.
Imogene wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at the two of them. “More? We’ve got plenty.”
Dylan and Angelina exchanged a look before shaking their heads. They thanked her and were just getting ready to leave when Imogene let out a squeal.
“Wait! I want to introduce you to my daughter!”
Angelina stifled a groan when she saw Christine Williams waving wildly in the distance. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, and the biggest flirt in Maple Ridge. As she strutted down the street, everyone noticed that her denim shorts just barely covered her bottom and her tank top left very little to the imagination. Neither wardrobe choice was unusual for Christy.
“Who’s this?” Christy smiled up at Dylan and pointedly ignored his companion. Again, that was nothing new. Christy and Angelina had spent most of their lives trying to forget the other existed, especially after Christy’s unfortunate case of pimples.
The memory never failed to make Angelina laugh.
Imogene made the introductions. “Christy is a photographer with the Maple Ridge Gazette
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