Evan (Angel Institute #6)

Chapter 5

Five

EVAN

T he sun hasn't even peeked over the horizon when my phone buzzes, jolting me out of a restless sleep. I groan, fumbling for the device on my nightstand, my eyes squinting against the harsh glow of the screen.

It's a text from Molly: Evan, I'm so sorry to bother you this early, but my car won't start. I'm going to be late for my shift at the diner, and I have no idea how I'm going to get Chad to school. Is there any chance you could help?

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, a pang of concern tugging at my chest. Molly is on her own, working herself to the bone to provide for her son. The last thing she needs is car trouble on top of everything else.

I text back quickly, my fingers clumsy with sleep: No problem at all. I'll be there in 15 minutes to give you a ride. Don't worry about a thing.

I throw on some clothes, not even bothering to check if they match, and head out to my truck. The air is frigid; the windshield frosted over, and I curse under my breath as I wait for the defroster to kick in.

As I drive through the quiet streets of Benton Falls, the Christmas lights twinkling in the early morning darkness, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. All these people, safe and warm in their homes, living their perfect little lives. They have no idea what it's like to feel trapped, to dream of a life beyond the confines of this small town.

But then I think of Molly, of the strength and resilience she shows every single day, and I feel a flush of shame. Who am I to complain about my lot in life when she's working so hard just to keep her head above water?

I pull up to her house, the porch light casting a warm glow in the predawn gloom. Molly comes out, Chad trailing behind her, both of them bundled up against the cold.

"Evan," Molly says, her voice filled with relief and gratitude. "Thank you so much for coming. I don't know what I would have done without you."

I wave off her thanks, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that has nothing to do with the heater blasting in the truck. "It's no trouble at all, Molly. I'm just glad I could help."

Chad scrambles into the back seat, his eyes wide with excitement. "Wow, Mr. Evan. Your truck is so cool! Can I honk the horn?"

I chuckle, glancing at Molly as she climbs into the passenger seat. "Maybe later, buddy. For now, let's focus on getting you to school on time."

As I drive, Molly fills me in on her car troubles, her brow furrowed with worry. "I just don't know how I'm going to afford the repairs," she says, her voice tight. "With Christmas coming up, and Chad's winter coat getting too small, and the rent due next week..."

She trails off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I reach over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey, it's going to be okay. We'll figure something out. I know a guy at the auto shop who owes me a favor. I'm sure he can give you a good deal on the repairs."

Molly looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. "Evan, I can't ask you to do that. You've already done so much for us."

I shake my head, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "You're not asking, I'm offering. That's what friends are for, right?"

The word "friends" feels strange on my tongue, foreign and unfamiliar. I've been so focused on my own problems, my own dreams of escape, that I've forgotten what it's like to have people in my life who I care about, who I want to help.

Chad pipes up from the back seat, his voice filled with childlike wonder. "Mr. Evan, are you and my mom best friends now? Because that would be awesome!"

I glance at Molly, seeing the hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, buddy," I say, my voice low. "I guess we are."

We drop Chad off at school, watching as he bounds up the steps, his backpack bouncing with each step. Molly watches him go, a tender smile on her face, and I feel a sudden, fierce urge to protect her, to shield her from all the hardships and heartaches that life has thrown her way.

But as we drive to the diner, the silence stretching between us; I feel the old frustrations creeping back in. The restlessness, the yearning for something more than this small-town life.

"I envy you, you know," I blurt out, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them. "Not that your car won’t start, but that you have this whole world of possibilities open to you, this chance to start fresh and chase your dreams. You aren’t bound by the expectations of others. Here I am, stuck on a Christmas tree farm in the middle of nowhere, watching life pass me by because I wasn’t given a say in the matter."

Molly is quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the passing storefronts. When she speaks, her voice is gentle but filled with a quiet strength. "Evan, I know it might not seem like it, but you have possibilities too. You have a chance to make this farm into something truly special, to build a life here that's filled with purpose and meaning."

I snort, the sound harsh in the stillness of the truck. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one saddled with a family legacy you never asked for, a life you never chose."

Molly reaches over, her hand resting on my arm. The touch is gentle, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me. "I understand feeling trapped, feeling like your life isn't your own. Believe me, I do. But I've also learned that sometimes, the greatest adventures, the deepest joys, are waiting for us right where we are. We just have to open our eyes and our hearts to see them."

Her words hang in the air between us, a challenge and an invitation all at once. I want to believe her, want to trust in the possibility of happiness, of contentment. But the old doubts, the old fears, cling to me like cobwebs, clouding my vision and my judgment.

We pull up to the diner, the warm glow of the windows a beacon in the early morning darkness. Molly turns to me, her eyes searching my face. "Thank you again, Evan. For everything. I don't know what I would’ve done without you today."

I nod, my throat tight with emotion. "Anytime, Molly. I mean it."

She gives me one last smile, then slips out of the truck, hurrying towards the diner's entrance. I watch her go, feeling a tug in my chest, a longing for something I can't quite name.

As I drive back to the farm, the sun just peeking over the horizon, I try to shake off the melancholy, the sense of dissatisfaction that clings to me like a second skin. I have work to do, trees to tend, a business to run. I can't afford to get lost in daydreams and what-ifs.

But as I pull into the driveway, the familiar sight of the barn and the rows of evergreens stretching out before me, I feel a flicker of something I haven't felt in a long time.

Hope.

It's small, fragile, like a candle flame in a windstorm. But it's there, a tiny spark of possibility in the darkness of my doubts.

I think of Molly's words, of her unwavering belief in the power of the present moment, the potential for joy and meaning right here, right now. And I feel a sudden, fierce desire to prove her right. To find a way to make this farm, this life, into something I can be proud of. Something I can love.

I climb out of the truck, the brisk morning air filling my lungs, the scent of pine and wood smoke tickling my nose. The farm is quiet, peaceful, the only sound the gentle rustling of the wind through the trees.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders, a new sense of determination settling over me. I may not have all the answers, may not know exactly where this journey will lead me. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm ready to find out.

Ready to take a chance on the life I have, instead of pining for the one I don't.

I head towards the barn, my mind already racing with ideas, with plans. I'll start with the little things, the small improvements that can make a big difference. A fresh coat of paint on the barn, some new signs to guide customers through the trees. Maybe even a hot cocoa stand, a place for families to gather and warm up after a long day of searching for the perfect tree.

As I gather my tools, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the dusty windows, I feel a smile spreading across my face. It's a strange feeling, this flicker of excitement, of anticipation. But it's a welcome one, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always a glimmer of hope waiting to be found.

The day passes in a blur of activity, my mind and body fully engaged in the work at hand. I trim branches, stack firewood, even start sketching out designs for a new wreath-making station. It's hard work, physical and mental, but it feels good. Honest. Like I'm finally putting my energy into something that matters.

As the sun dips below the tree line, casting long shadows across the farm, I hear the crunch of tires on gravel. I look up to see Molly's battered old sedan pulling into the driveway, Chad waving excitedly from the passenger seat.

I feel a flutter of nervousness in my stomach, a sudden self-consciousness about my dirt-streaked face and sweat-stained shirt. But then Molly steps out of the car, a warm smile on her face, and all my worries melt away.

"Evan, hi!" she says, her voice bright with surprise. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

I shake my head, wiping my hands on my jeans. "Not at all. I was just finishing up for the day. What brings you out here?"

Chad bounds over, his eyes wide with excitement. "Mr. Evan, Mom said we could come visit you at the farm. Can you show me how to cut down a tree? Can I help you make a wreath? Can we have a campfire and roast marshmallows?"

I laugh, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Whoa there, buddy. Let's take it one step at a time. I don't want you handling any sharp tools just yet. But I'd be happy to let you help me stack some wood, maybe make a wreath. How does that sound?"

Chad nods eagerly, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Yes, please. I want to learn everything about being a Christmas tree farmer.”

Molly watches us, a tender expression on her face. "I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this. I just wanted to say thank you for the ride this morning and thanks for putting in a good word with your friend.” She smiles and I can’t breathe while she’s looking at me like that. “He had my car ready by the time my shift was over.”

I meet her gaze. My pulse picks up as I search her eyes. "I’m glad to hear it.”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and I feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her. To pull her close and breathe in the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin.

But I resist pushing the thought away. We're friends, nothing more. And I’m not looking for one more reason to be tied to this town, even if that reason has the most captivating hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.

Instead, I turn to Chad, clapping him on the shoulder. "All right, buddy. Let's get to work, shall we? Maybe your mom can work on a wreath for you to take home while we finish stacking the wood.”

Chad giggles, his face lighting up with mischief. "Okay."

I’m surprised by Chad’s enthusiasm to stack wood, but then I’m reminded of when I was a young boy, happy to do anything with my dad on the farm.

As we set off towards the barn, Molly falls into step beside me, and I feel a sense of rightness settle over me. I’m glad there aren’t any customers to take me away from this moment.

Just inside the doorway of the barn, I show Molly the pile of boughs, cut wire, and tools needed to create a wreath of her own. “Go ahead and get started. It won’t take us long to stack this wood.”

As the sun sets behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, we finish up the woodpile and make our way inside the barn. Chad is dragging his feet now, his energy flagging after a long day of excitement and adventure. Molly is holding up a beautiful wreath, admiring her work.

“Wow,” I look at the perfectly symmetrical circle of evergreen branches. “You didn’t tell me you were an expert wreath builder.”

Molly’s cheeks blush and I search for anything else to say to keep the flush of happiness on her face. “I’m not, but this was so much fun.”

“You want a job?” I asked, half serious, but suddenly the idea is the best one I’ve had in years. Molly raises a brow, her eyes searching mine. She can’t tell if I’m joking or not. “Seriously.” A plan formulates in my mind. “You can work here as little or as much as you’d like when you’re not at the diner. The pay isn’t monumental, but I’ll do the best I can. And I’d be happy to keep Chad here with me after school.” I can see the thought racing through her mind. “Just for the holiday season. I think it would help both of us out.”

She brushes the hair back from her face. “I…I… I think that would be amazing.”Her eyes are glowing, and I can’t tell if they’re lit with emotion or barn light. “You’re an answer to a prayer.”

Chad tugs on his mom’s sleeve. “Do we get to work for Mr. Evan?” His tired eyes brighten. Molly scoops him up, balancing him on her hip with a practiced ease. "I think so.” She glances at me, and I exhale. “But first we better get you home to bed," she says, her voice warm with affection.

I nod, feeling a pang of disappointment at the thought of saying goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles, her eyes searching mine. “I’ve got the morning shift, but we can come after I pick Chad up from school.”

“That’ll be great.” I can already feel the anticipation for tomorrow, like a seedling ready to sprout.

We stand there for a moment; the silence stretching between us, heavy with unspoken words and unspoken feelings. Then Chad yawns, his head drooping against Molly's shoulder, and the spell is broken.

"I should get him home," Molly says, her voice soft with regret. "See you tomorrow."

I nod, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “See you then.”

As I watch them drive away, the taillights of Molly's car disappearing into the gathering dusk, I head back to the barn, my mind already racing with plans for tomorrow.

Suddenly, the tree farm feels new and exciting, and it’s all because of Molly and Chad.Perhaps there’s hope for even a grumpy old Scrooge like me finding his Christmas spirit.

I smile to myself, shaking my head at the thought. It's a cheesy sentiment, the kind you'd find on a holiday card or a made-for-TV movie. But somehow, standing here in the fading light of a December evening, it feels true.

Feels right.

I take one last look around the farm, at the trees and the barn and the house that's waiting for me just beyond and for the first time in a very long time, I’m happy to be home.