Between Then and Now (Hallow’s End #1)

5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I T WASN’T HARD TO FIND the town hall, especially since Ivy had pointed it out earlier during our walk-through town. The building’s sturdy stone fa?ade was easy to spot in the evening light, its intricate carvings subtly highlighted. The tall arched windows, softly glowing from within, cast a warm and inviting light onto the cobblestone streets. As I approached, the elegant wrought iron details on the heavy oak door caught my eye, adding a timeless charm to the historic structure.

Inside, rows of neatly arranged wooden benches faced a small stage with a well-worn podium. The warm lighting accentuated the dark wooden beams overhead, enhancing the welcoming atmosphere. Framed photographs and memorabilia lined the walls, each telling a piece of the town’s rich history.

There were sepia-toned portraits of the town’s founding families, candid snapshots of community events like parades and fairs, and old newspaper clippings celebrating local milestones. One area displayed medals and ribbons from various town competitions, while another showcased vintage tools and artifacts, a nod to the town’s early industries. These displays weren’t just décor, they represented the shared stories and deep connections that made Hallow’s End a tight-knit community.

I spotted Ivy near the front, her smile lighting up as soon as she saw me, and she waved me over, scooting to make room on the bench.

“I saved you a seat, just in case,” she said with a knowing grin. “Had a feeling you might end up coming.”

With a grateful smile, I slid onto the bench next to Ivy. “I decided last minute. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it on time.”

“Better late than never. You didn’t miss anything, don’t worry.” Ivy chuckled softly and added, “Margaret isn’t exactly known for her punctuality.”

I was about to ask Ivy who Margaret was when a tall woman with striking silver hair and a commanding presence stepped up to the podium. She tapped the microphone, drawing everyone’s attention. Curious, I leaned over to Ivy and whispered, “Who’s that?”

Ivy leaned in, whispering back, “That’s Margaret Hale. She’s our mayor, and a superb one. She’s very dedicated to the town and its people.”

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming,” Margaret began, her voice strong and steady. “I’d like to start by welcoming Lavinia Carlisle, who is visiting our town for a few weeks. It’s great to see her taking an interest in our community and attending a meeting, something we rarely see from visitors.”

Caught off guard, I felt my cheeks flush as all eyes turned to me. The sudden attention was mortifying. Forcing a smile, I gave an awkward wave. Beside me, Ivy chuckled, amused by my discomfort .

“Welcome, Vinnie!” someone called from the back. I nodded awkwardly. The unexpected warmth of the reception made me feel more at ease, but I was sure my face was now a shade of red that matched the autumn leaves outside.

“Now, let’s talk about the upcoming Spooktacular Hallow’s Eve festival,” Mayor Hale continued with enthusiasm. “This is a cherished tradition in Hallow’s End, and we have some exciting plans this year.”

Relief washed over me as the focus shifted away from me. It was a welcome distraction, and I found myself interested in hearing about the festival.

“The haunted trail is fully planned out in Ravenwood Park,” Margaret announced, her excitement contagious. “We’ve decided on a new location for the pumpkin-carving contest this year, closer to the main square, for better accessibility. And if anyone would like to volunteer at the first-aid station, there’s a sign-up sheet on the notice board at the back. We could use a few more hands to help out.”

She continued with updates on various activities and events, each detail sparking a bit more excitement in the room. The atmosphere was light and filled with anticipation, making it clear just how much this festival meant to the town. Mayor Hale smiled, visibly satisfied with the response.

“And don’t forget about the famous apple pie contest,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s one of the highlights of the festival, and we need some new participants this year to keep the tradition alive. Last year’s winner, Carl, has held the title for three years running. It’s about time someone steps up to give him a run for his money, so we can crown a new champion,” she chuckled, glancing around the room, her tone light and encouraging. The audience responded with laughs and murmurs, clearly enjoying the friendly competition .

Ivy nudged me playfully. “You should enter the contest,” she whispered with a grin. “I do every year, but I’m absolutely terrible at baking. Last year, my pie had a soggy middle, and a crust that was burned to a crisp—pretty much charcoal.” She laughed, not the least bit embarrassed by the disaster.

I laughed along, shaking my head. “Trust me, if I entered, I’d probably set the kitchen on fire before I even got to the pie part. My baking skills are non-existent. The last time I tried to make cookies, I ended up with something resembling hockey pucks.”

Ivy burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, that makes two of us! Maybe we should team up and make a disaster pie together,” she joked. “At least we’d win for the most . . . unique entry. It’s all about having fun, right?”

I grinned, shaking my head. “Sounds like a plan. We could call it The Pie That Shouldn't Be . At least we’d give everyone a good laugh.” The idea of participating, even as a joke, was surprisingly appealing. It felt good to share a moment of levity, and I appreciated Ivy’s easy-going nature.

Yet, her suggestion stirred a memory of Sebastian, and suddenly, I was back in that cozy kitchen on a rainy afternoon.

Sebastian stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, expertly rolling out dough. His dark blonde hair, slightly tousled, had a dusting of flour over it that highlighted the warm beige tone of his skin. With his sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexed as he worked, showcasing the definition and strength that made him effortlessly attractive .

“We have to do this right,” he insisted, a playful smile revealing a charming dimple. “My grandmother’s recipe is all about precision.” His focus and light-heartedness as he looked at me were captivating, drawing me in with his effortless charm.

The scent of apples and cinnamon filled the air, warm and inviting. I watched him with amusement and admiration as he moved gracefully around the kitchen. He handed me a bowl of peeled apples, already coated in sugar and spices. “Your turn,” he said, grinning. “Just layer them in carefully.”

As I layered the apples into the pie crust, Sebastian hovered close, his presence comforting and electrifying. His tall, six-foot-four frame towered over my more delicate build, enveloping me in a heady mix of warmth and intensity. I could feel the heat of his body as he leaned in, pressing me gently against the counter. His nearness made it hard to focus, especially when he reached out to push a stray strand of my dark hair behind my ear. His lips brushed against the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and causing me to momentarily forget about the pie altogether.

“Not bad,” he murmured, stepping back to admire our work, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. The subtle brush of his kiss lingered on my skin, a sweet distraction that made my heart race. He had a way of making even the simplest moments feel charged and special, and I found myself getting lost in the sensation of his closeness.

As we finished layering the apples and prepared to put the pie in the oven, Sebastian playfully flicked a bit of flour at me. I gasped and retaliated, quickly escalating into a full-on flour fight. Laughter filled the kitchen as we tossed flour at each other, the room becoming a snowy chaos of white powder. Amid our playful banter, Sebastian suddenly pulled me close, his lips capturing mine in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the pie was forgotten, and all that existed was the heat between us .

The kiss was electrifying, a fusion of lingering joy and a hidden longing. His hands were firm on my waist, drawing me closer, while mine tangled in his flour-dusted hair. It was a spontaneous and unguarded moment, free from the usual complexities that often hung over us.

Lost in the memory, I almost missed Ivy’s curious gaze. “You okay, Vinnie?”

I shook off the lingering sadness and managed a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Mayor Hale’s words broke through my thoughts. “Remember, everyone, the Halloween festival is a joint effort. It’s an opportunity for us to gather, celebrate our traditions, and create new memories. Let’s make this year’s festival one to remember.”

As the meeting continued, various concerns and suggestions were discussed. “Next up for discussion, is the matter of our town’s declining revenue,” Mayor Hale stated, her expression becoming more solemn. “We need to find ways to boost it without compromising our values.”

An older gentleman stood up, frustration evident in his voice. “We’ve all seen those leaflets from Carlisle Enterprises, promising to revitalize our town by opening a chain store. They claim it’ll boost revenue and bring more business, but we can’t let them come in and change what makes Hallow’s End special. These constant mailings are becoming annoying, and we need to put a stop to it.”

He paused, glancing around the room. “We know what they really want—pushing out our local shops, and replacing them with generic stores. Just look at Brookside. They swooped in with promises of development, and now all the unique, independent businesses are gone, replaced by chains. If we let them do the same here, we’ll lose the charm and character that make our town unique. We need to stand up for our community and support our local businesses, not let some corporate giant homogenize our town.”

As he spoke, a wave of discomfort washed over me. I shifted in my seat, avoiding eye contact, and hoping to blend into the background. My father’s influence was clearly being felt here, and the mention of that made my stomach churn. Does everyone read the news these days? I thought, feeling exposed.

The man’s description of the company’s tactics—constant mailings and grand promises—sounded more like hounding. That wouldn’t be surprising. My father’s business style had always been about aggressive pursuit. “Promise big, deliver bigger, and never take no for an answer.” It was practically the family motto, drilled into me from a young age. Hearing the impact of those methods on this community left me feeling conflicted. I knew how his strategies worked, but seeing the negative side of them in real life was unsettling.

Growing up, I had only seen the business side—how my father’s tactics were designed to expand and dominate the market. But hearing these townspeople voice their concerns made me realize the impact on real lives and communities. It was jarring to witness firsthand how something that was just another business move for my father, could feel like a threat to the fabric of a town like Hallow’s End.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. A middle-aged woman with a worried expression added, “John’s right. The chain store promises revenue, but at what cost?”

As I listened, a knot tightened in my stomach. I knew exactly how Carlisle Enterprises operated. My father’s company specialized in acquiring undervalued properties and struggling businesses in small towns. They promised redevelopment and revitalization, using chain stores as anchors to draw in more foot traffic. It was a lucrative model—buy low, rebrand, and sell or lease at a significant profit.

But the reality was often far from the ideal they sold. The same homogenized stores that could be found anywhere pushed out unique local businesses, all in the name of maximizing profit, often at the expense of the community’s character and spirit.

Mayor Hale raised her hands to calm the crowd. “I understand your concerns, Margie, truly. The town council has been aware of the situation, and has been in discussions about it. We haven't made any decisions regarding the free land and properties yet and, as I’ve advised before, no one is obligated to accept any deals they offer. Yes, the leaflets and constant calls to small businesses can be concerning, but I assure you that we’re addressing it, and exploring other ways to improve revenue.”

“Is that the same Margie who owns Willow Cottage?” I whispered to Ivy.

She nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, that’s her. She just got back earlier today from visiting her family in Brookside. She’s always been vocal in town matters.”

A younger man, perhaps in his early thirties, chimed in, “What if we find alternative ways to boost our revenue? We could promote more local events, or create attractions that draw visitors, without compromising our town’s identity.”

Mayor Hale nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a great idea, Scott. Council has been brainstorming similar approaches.”

Ivy leaned in closer to me and whispered, “This discussion has been going on for weeks now, but we’ve made little progress. Everyone's worried about the town’s future, but finding a solution is tough.”

The weight of my family’s legacy hung heavily over me, adding to my uncertainty about fitting in here. Seeing the genuine concern these people had for their town made me feel even more strongly about separating myself from Carlisle Enterprises. The idea of staying in Hallow’s End, and making my own path became more appealing, especially now that I was getting to know the people, and experiencing the tight-knit, supportive nature of the community. It felt like a world away from the cold business strategies I grew up with, and the last thing I wanted was to be associated with disrupting such a close and caring town.

As the room quieted down, Ivy glanced at me, then stood up, her voice clear and confident. “Let's not forget,” she began, “we have a thriving, dynamic community here. Supporting each other, and promoting local talents and businesses, is the heart of Hallow’s End. If we focus on that, we can find solutions that protect what we love about this town without compromising its essence.” She paused, her eyes scanning the room. “We’ve faced challenges before, and we’ve always come through stronger. Let’s keep pushing forward together.”

The space filled with a chorus of supportive murmurs and nods. Mayor Hale smiled at Ivy, appreciating her words. “Thank you, Ivy. It’s voices like yours that remind us of the importance of unity and creativity. As always, we’re committed to keeping our community informed and involved in the decision-making process.”

She paused, looking around the room. “We want to hear from all of you. If you have ideas or concerns, please share them. We’ve set up a suggestion box at the entrance—feel free to drop in your thoughts anonymously, if you prefer. We also have forms available for more detailed feedback. Your input is invaluable, and together, we can find the best path forward for Hallow’s End. ”

Mayor Hale moved on to the next item on the agenda, her tone more relaxed. “Now, let’s discuss the upcoming charity bake sale. We’re aiming to raise funds to renovate the town playground. We’re still looking for volunteers to bake and help out on the day of the event.”

A few hands shot up, and someone joked about Carl needing to bring his award-winning pie to the bake sale. This sparked a few laughs and light-hearted comments.

Next, a young woman with purple hair in the front row spoke up about organizing a community garden. “We’ve been talking about starting one for a while,” she said. “It would be a great way to bring everyone together, and provide fresh produce for those in need.”

As soon as she finished, a man stood up. “Speaking of gardens,” he said, voice tinged with frustration, “the veggie thief struck again! I swear, I had five pumpkins yesterday, but when I was watering this morning, there were only four. And don’t get me started on the carrots—gone without a trace!”

A collective groan mixed with chuckles rippled through the room. A few people rolled their eyes, murmuring, “Here he goes again,” while others stifled laughter. Ivy leaned over to me, whispering with a wry smile, “Like clockwork.”

I stifled a giggle, whispering back, “I thought you were exaggerating. Does he always think someone’s out to get his garden?”

Ivy nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Every single meeting.”

Mayor Hale, clearly accustomed to Danny’s regular complaints, addressed him with a patient smile. “Thank you, Danny. We’re aware of the ongoing issue, and we’re looking into ways to help prevent these . . . incidents,” she said, her tone a blend of sincerity and gentle amusement.

Danny sat back, still muttering about his disappearing pumpkins and pilfered carrots. “She says that every time. ”

Ivy leaned closer once more, her voice low and amused. “Poor Danny, he’s convinced there’s a vegetable conspiracy.”