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Even still, I was fleeing. In search of a pocket of peace that allowed me to come back to myself before I got too far gone and forgot how to retrace my steps.

A quiet flutter of resolve worked through me even as my eyes smarted from the sting of unshed tears.

I could do this.

I had no choice.

Blinking rapidly, I kept the tears at bay. And thank God, because a few minutes later my eyes caught on a rectangular green sign in the distance.

As I got closer, I let off the gas and slowed to an almost crawl to read it.

Welcome to Bliss Peak

Population 4,438

Elevation 2,100 ft

According to the phone mounted on my air vent, I still had twelve minutes left of my trip before I got to my grandma’s house.

With my hands fastened at ten and two, I took in the scenery with a renewed awe. Every time I visited this town, it felt like I was stepping into a dream and living in an alternate world.

The people were too nice and the living was too slow. That’s what I told myself for years anyway, but now that I was in need of refuge it was the place I’d run to. The irony…

“So pretty,” I murmured.

Hickory trees lined the narrow two-lane road, their leaves yellow with the promise of autumn.

A few minutes later, the road opened up and the mountain range came into view.

My mouth dropped open at the sight and silence engulfed my car once I reached over to turn off the radio. I needed a moment of silence to take it all in.

How could a place be this breathtaking?

Bliss Peak, North Carolina.

No Bojangles in a fifty-mile radius, but with views like this, I could forgive it.

Just enough sunlight remained to bathe the treetops and mountain peaks in an ethereal glow that tempted me to pull over and snap a picture. But I resisted the urge and told myself I’d be here for enough sunsets to fill my camera roll.

Before I knew it, I was pulling up in front of my grandparents’ yard. Their small craftsman-style cottage was about twenty yards from the road, set off by a white picket fence on each side that was just for show. It was never closed, but it was cute, I’d give it that much.

A smile I couldn’t help took over my face and I hurriedly snatched my phone from the mount, undid my seatbelt and flung open the driver’s door.

I was almost out of the car before I remembered to thank my old Camry for braving the trip across the state.

Patting the sun-faded dashboard, I whispered sweetly, “Good job, Camryn.”

Then I was rushing to the front door, unable to contain my excitement at seeing my grandparents. Apparently, when you had grandparents like mine, the excitement never dulled, no matter how old you got.

The moment I raised my hand to knock on the door, Pauly St. John pulled it open with a toothy grin, his pipe hanging precariously from the side of his mouth.

His eyes crinkled more than usual around the corners while his gaze scanned me.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere, young lady?”

“Granddad,” I laughed, falling into him easily when he pulled me into his chest for a hug. I soaked up the warmth of his embrace and the softness of his round belly.

My sister and I had spent the first ten years of our life whole-heartedly believing the man in front of me was Santa Claus.