Page 5 of Forever In Willow Creek
The bell above the door chimed softly as Zoe stepped into Mae’s Porch Teas, a cozy little shop that felt like stepping into someone’s living room. Doilies. Floral teacups. Scones the size of fists. It was charming and eccentric—just like Granny Mae.
Zoe didn’t expect to see Luke there.
He was seated at a small table near the window, nursing a cup of something steaming. No flannel today. Just a plain black T-shirt and jeans, his hair still damp from a recent shower. He looked up as she entered, his mouth twitching into a half-smile.
“Well, well,” he said. “Didn’t peg you as a tea-room kind of woman.”
“I’m full of surprises,” she replied, walking to the counter. Mae was nowhere in sight, so she helped herself to a menu. “You mind if I join you?”
Luke gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Please. Might be the best thing that’s happened to me today.”
Zoe slid into the seat and glanced around. “This place is adorable in a ‘grandmother who collects porcelain cats’ kind of way.”
He chuckled. “Mae’s been running it since I was a kid. Tea, stories, gossip—she serves it all hot.”
A younger woman came from the back with a notepad and a cheerful smile. “Hi, I’m Elise. Granny Mae’s granddaughter. What can I get you?”
“Something calming,” Zoe said. “And sweet.”
“Lavender honey blend and a cranberry scone,” Elise said, writing it down before Zoe could answer. “Trust me.”
Luke leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “So, what brings you in today? Don’t tell me you’re already sick of pumpkin decorations.”
Zoe smiled. “I needed somewhere quiet. And I was curious. Sarah said this place had the best tea in town. Also, I may have needed a break from pretending I know how to decorate hay bales.”
Luke laughed, the sound easy and warm. “Fair. I come here when I need to stop thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
His smile faded slightly, his gaze dropping to his cup. “Life. The shop. Things that didn’t go the way I planned.”
Zoe didn’t press. She just waited.
After a long pause, he added, “My dad passed away three years ago. Heart attack. Out of nowhere. One day he was yelling at me to stop over-tightening bolts, and the next, I was standing alone in the garage with no idea how to fill the silence.”
“I’m sorry,” Zoe said quietly. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
He nodded, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. “He built everything. This shop. My sense of purpose. Even my idea of what it meant to be a man. When he died, I felt... unfinished.”
Zoe swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She knew that feeling—chasing after something that had once felt clear, only to realize you were no longer sure what you were even running toward.
“My mom died when I was a kid,” she said softly. “Breast cancer. I was eleven and Sarah was seven. My dad threw himself into work. Big career, big goals. And I guess I tried to do the same when I got older. Be so successful it made the grief worth it. Spoiler: it didn’t.”
Luke looked up then, eyes meeting hers. Something passed between them—raw, simple, and human.
“Maybe that’s why you’re here,” he said. “Not just to get away. Maybe you’re trying to remember what enough feels like.”
Zoe didn’t speak for a moment. She just looked out of the window, at the little street of Willow Creek, where nothing was urgent, and everything was present.
“I think I forgot how to be still,” she said finally. “How to just... feel something without spinning it into a checklist. Sarah was the opposite. She went to college here and stayed.”
Luke reached across the table then, not touching her, but close his hand resting palm-down near hers. “Stillness takes practice.”
Their fingers didn’t meet, but the space between them buzzed with something she had been craving for a long time.
Elise returned with the tea and scone, interrupting the spell. Zoe blinked, leaning back slightly. Luke sat upright again too, but his eyes lingered on hers a second longer.
As they sipped their drinks, the conversation shifted to easier things—Granny Mae’s insane pie recipe, the time Luke accidentally welded his keys to a workbench—but something had changed.
Zoe wasn’t just a visitor anymore. Not to him.
And maybe not to herself, either.