Evan (Angel Institute #6)

Chapter 14

Fourteen

EVAN

T he December air nips at my cheeks as I step out of my truck, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. The sun, a pale disk in the winter sky, casts long shadows across the church parking lot. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine and wood smoke that seems to permeate everything in Benton Falls during the holiday season.

As I adjust my collar, smoothing down the unfamiliar stiffness of my Sunday best, I catch sight of Molly's car pulling into the lot and my heart does a little skip. It's been happening more and more lately, this involuntary reaction to her presence. Like my body knows she's near before my mind has even registered it.

I watch as she parks and helps Chad out of the backseat. Even from here, I can see the way her chestnut hair catches the sunlight, the graceful curve of her neck as she bends to adjust Chad's coat. She's wearing a gold sweater dress that hugs her slender figure, and I find myself mesmerized by the way she moves, elegant and purposeful all at once.

Chad spots me first, his face lighting up with that infectious grin of his. "Evan!" he calls out, waving enthusiastically. "We’re here."

I smile back, raising my hand in greeting. "I see that, buddy. Right on time, too."

As they make their way over, I feel a sense of rightness settle over me. It's a feeling that's been growing stronger with each day Molly spends at the farm, making wreaths and bringing life back to the place in a way I never expected.

"Good morning," Molly says as they reach me, her hazel eyes warm with affection. "I hope we didn't keep you waiting."

"Not at all," I assure her, resisting the urge to reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I just got here myself."

Chad, bouncing on his toes with barely contained energy, looks up at me with wide eyes. "Is this your church, Evan? Do you come here every Sunday?"

I chuckle, ruffling his sandy hair. "It sure is, buddy. And I’ll admit I haven’t been here as often as I should."

Molly gives me a knowing smile. "Well, we're glad you could make it today. It means a lot to have you here with us."

Her words send a warmth spreading through my chest, and I find myself standing a little straighter. "I wouldn't miss it," I tell her softly, meaning every word.

As we make our way into the church, I marvel at how quickly Molly and Chad have become a part of my life. It seems like just yesterday that Molly started working at the farm, her skilled hands crafting beautiful wreaths that have become a hit with our customers. And Chad, with his boundless enthusiasm for everything from the tallest pines to the smallest pinecones, has brought a joy to the farm that I'd almost forgotten could exist there.

The service passes in a blur of hymns and prayers, but what stands out most is the feeling of Molly beside me, Chad's excited whispers as he tries to follow along, and the sense of peace that settles over me. For the first time in a long time, I'm not thinking about the pressures of the farm or the responsibilities weighing on my shoulders. Instead, I'm simply present, grateful for this moment and the people I'm sharing it with.

As we file out of the church after the service, I find myself reluctant to say goodbye. Before I can think better of it, I turn to Molly.

"I was thinking," I begin, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. "Would you and Chad like to come back to the farm for lunch? Nothing fancy, just some soup and sandwiches, but I thought it might be nice to spend some more time together."

Molly's face lights up, and I feel my heart skip a beat. "That sounds wonderful, Evan. We'd love to, wouldn't we, Chad?"

Chad nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! Can we make hot chocolate?"

I laugh, relief and joy mingling in my chest. "Sure thing, buddy."

The drive back to the farm is filled with anticipation. I catch glimpses of Molly's car in my rearview mirror, and each time I do, I feel a surge of warmth. It's strange how something as simple as knowing they're following me home can make me feel so... complete.

As we pull up to the house, I see Chad's face press against the car window, his eyes wide with wonder. I have to admit, seeing the old cabin through their eyes makes me appreciate it anew.

The log cabin sits nestled among the evergreens, its weathered honey-brown timber a perfect complement to the surrounding forest. The wide front porch, with its wooden rocking chairs, looks inviting in the crisp winter air. I've spent many evenings there, watching the sun set over the distant mountains, but suddenly I can picture sharing those moments with Molly and Chad.

I park and hurry around to open Molly's door for her, earning a playful smile.

"Such a gentleman," she teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

I feel a blush creeping up my neck, but I can't help grinning back. "I try," I say with a wink.

Chad bursts out of the backseat, his energy seemingly boundless. “I’m hungry,” he exclaims, already bounding up the porch steps.

As we follow at a more sedate pace, I find myself suddenly nervous. Molly's been to the farm many times now, working alongside me and bringing her own touch of warmth to the place. But inviting her into my home feels different. More intimate somehow.

I open the front door, stepping aside to let them enter first. The scent of the tall evergreen in the corner greets us, along with the lingering aroma of the coffee I'd made that morning.

"Oh, Evan," Molly breathes, taking in the cozy interior. "It's beautiful."

I watch as her eyes travel over the exposed wooden beams, the stone fireplace, the large windows that let in streams of winter sunlight. Chad is already exploring, peering at the family photos on the mantel and the antique farm tools that decorate the walls.

"Thanks," I say, feeling a mix of pride and self-consciousness. "It's home."

Molly turns to me, her expression soft and understanding. "It's perfect," she says firmly. "It feels just like you."

Her words pour through me like a hot liquid, warming me from the inside out. Because that's exactly what it is—this old cabin is a reflection of me, of my family's history, of the life I've built here. And having Molly and Chad here, seeing it through their eyes, makes me appreciate it in a whole new way.

"Come on," I say, clearing my throat against the sudden lump of emotion. "Let me show you around, then we can get started on lunch."

I lead them through the house, pointing out various features and sharing little stories along the way. Chad is fascinated by everything, from the old photographs to the view of the Christmas tree farm from the upstairs windows.

In the kitchen, Molly runs her hand along the smooth surface of the farmhouse table. "This is gorgeous," she says. "Did you make it?"

I nod, feeling a surge of pride. "My grandfather taught me woodworking when I was a kid. We made this table together the summer before he passed away."

Molly's eyes soften. "That's beautiful, Evan. What a wonderful way to remember him."

As we prepare lunch together, moving around the kitchen with an ease that surprises me, I imagine more days like this. More shared meals, more laughter echoing off these old wooden walls, more moments of quiet connection as we build something together—whether it's a simple soup, or a life intertwined.

Later, as we sit around the table enjoying our meal, I watch Molly and Chad. The way Molly's eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs at Chad's jokes. The way Chad looks at me with a mix of admiration and curiosity that makes my heart swell. And I realize that this is what I've been missing all along.

It's not just about having people in the house, filling the empty spaces with noise and life. It's about sharing this part of myself—my home, my history, my heart—with people who understand its value. People who see the beauty in this life I've sometimes struggled to appreciate.

As the afternoon wears on, with Chad exploring the yard and Molly and I talking on the porch, I feel a sense of peace settle over me. It's not just the familiar comfort of my home, or the inspiring words from the morning's sermon. It's the realization that, for the first time in a long time, I'm exactly where I want to be.

As the sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink, I know our time together is coming to an end. But instead of the usual melancholy that comes with goodbyes, I feel a sense of anticipation.

Because I know this is just the beginning.