into his palm.
The leather necklace was artfully wrapped around a riversmoothed stone painted in unnatural blues as an abstract killer whale. He peeled the tag from the end and closed it in her pale hand. With her lips parted in surprise, she turned it over between her fingers, a soft blush on her cheeks. Aly smiled, forcing her gaze from the piece. She attempted to give it back, shuffling Sarah’s gift into another hand. He waved off her protests.
With his coffee cooled enough to avoid burns, he took a sip, explaining, “No, no, no. It supports the community. We struggle here, starving artists and all. It’s nice to acknowledge a craft. Osh’s wife actually makes these herself.”
He pointed to the yard behind the stand as they passed, gazing wistfully. The man continued to work, carrying colorful trays to the display. A wiry woman in a floral windbreaker bunched up to her elbows sat cross-legged on a blanket over the lawn. Assorted piles of beads, yarns, and stones piled over feathers like paperweights formed a circle around her. She moved efficiently, though wincing with arthritis as she kneaded her materials.
“She told me about the snakes. When I was a kid, I got so excited for their displays. I was always alone when I came down here though, so I was waiting until my parents started paying me. Eventually she just tucked one in my coat pocket and told me to scram before her husband got back.” He laughed, tracing the ink of his wrist.
“It is pretty awesome,” she agreed, eyes lingering on his neck. “Where is it now?”
“It was made for children, so I eventually outgrew it. Sarah wears it looped around her wrist.” Noah looked down at Aly, the present already clasped around her neck. Distracted, half his foot landed on the edge of the road. Catching his feet, he pretended he hadn’t nearly fallen over himself.
This girl even messes up my walking.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t stopped talking since they left the tunnel, rattling off every other memory that slipped into his brain. Swallowing, he rolled his shoulders, asking, “I’m not totally overwhelming you, am I?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I love seeing the town. In two days, I feel like I’ve lived here half of my life.” She quickly added, “Which is a good thing.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“I’ve been all over the place. I was actually terrified I’d spend the rest of my existence locked in an ice fishing shack, or a cabin in the middle of a glacier while my father documented the natural scavengers of the north or something. Instead, I get to hang out with you.”
Why does it feel so good that she sounds so happy?
“It hasn’t been the worst weekend for me either,” he grinned. “Too bad we’re stuck in Ashland.”
“It’s better than some frozen mountain range. Ashland is more like how I pictured a little coastal town in Oregon.”
“We’re not all snowmen and Eskimos,” he agreed.
“And man-children,” she teased. “Just a bunch of drunken artists with half-baked lives.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she murmured, staring at the sky. “It’s unique. It’s wonderful, actually.”
“Really?” He quirked a brow, surprised. “The people or the culture? Because if it’s the former, you really ought to be tested for brain injury.”
“It’s a sense of identity. Something to ground you, to be proud of
– even when it’s not all glamour. People are gritty, life is hard. There’s something beautiful in the fall. ” Aly turned to meet his eyes. She seemed eager to read his expression, to know he appreciated what he had. “I’m this indistinct… list, mostly guesses and selfappointed infatuations, kind of zigzagging all over Europe.”
“I thought you were Italian.”
“My cousins are – Francesca and Giovanni, because my aunt, Lauren, married my uncle, Vincent, who’s from Italy. But me… I’m all over. My mom thoughtshe might be French, but that’s about all we know.”
“I can see that,” he smiled, observing the petite fingers laced between his own. “I think sometimes we can be just as artificial as the wanderers, though.”
“Ever read Tolkien?” she inquired, quoting, “’Not all wanderers are lost’?”
“Not much. I’m more of an Orwell-Palahniuk type of guy, though,” Noah countered.
Her lips parted, what Noah had grown to recognize as the Alyson-equivalent of a jaw drop. He might be slightly offended if he hadn’t been pleased with himself for surprising her. He raised an eyebrow, curious to her response. “Advanced English at the Regional.”
“And thatmade my day,” she announced, a smile gradually spreading across her