JD's hand froze mid-reach, lingering above the drawer.
Why this town?
He didn't know. He'd been planning to head to the next town for work at a steel factory. Bitterness filled him as he rode the bus, drowning out even the music in his ears, a constant reminder of the woman who had shattered his life.
Then he'd spotted it—a row of oak trees on a distant hill, their silhouette etched against the horizon. Without thinking, he stepped off the bus. The walk toward the trees had taken longer than expected, darkness falling before he reached the town. Asking around for shelter, he'd been directed to Jane's Bed and Breakfast. The kindly woman there ntioned a logistics company nearby and offered to drive him to the McDonald farm, where they occasionally took in paying guests.
When JD arrived at the farm, disbelief struck him. The row of oak trees—the ones that had inexplicably drawn him—were on the McDonald property. It felt like his first win in a long ti. Small, perhaps, but aningful.
Was it fate? He wasn't sure. But as he lowered his head in a rare mont of reverence, he spotted it: a four-leaf clover. If that wasn't luck, then what was?
Later, as he wandered to the barn, he caught sight of her. Through the high window, sunlight stread in, framing her fiery red hair like a halo. He froze, awe-struck. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. His heart skipped a beat, and it felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.
The mont still lingered in his mind, clear and vivid. Only a few monts in his life were like that. They say that in your final monts, all your happiest mories and regrets will flash before your eyes. He was certain that the image of her smiling face as she watched the little goats would be among those mories on his deathbed.
The Redhead Goddess.
"Are you a wanderlust?"
Her sweet voice pulled him back to the present.
"Ah..." JD turned to her with a soft smile. "Sothing like that."
Joanne nodded, noticing the flicker of sothing unreadable in JD's eyes. He didn't seem eager to elaborate, and she was glad her question hadn't unsettled him too much.
"I promise you I'm not a serial killer," JD quipped with his signature wink.
"Hopefully!" Joanne chuckled, holding up her crossed fingers playfully.
JD laughed, turning away, only to stop abruptly as his gaze landed on sothing that made his heart skip a beat. Nostalgia washed over him, stirring mories he hadn't visited in years.
A Pentax K1000.
"You have this cara? Wow!" JD exclaid, picking it up with the excitent of a child discovering treasure. His expression softened with awe as he turned the cara over in his hands. Photography had been his solace growing up, and this particular model had been a constant companion. Though not rare for enthusiasts, stumbling upon it here felt like fate.
Joanne's smile faltered briefly, a shadow of sothing unspoken crossing her face. She hadn't realized the cara was still there. She'd ant to donate it to Goodwill, but sohow, it had lingered.
"I wanted to learn photography," she said, her smile returning, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't know if the film's still any good, but..." She hesitated, then added softly, "You can have it."
JD's hazel eyes widened with surprise, glimring under the warm light. Or were they hazel-green? Joanne blinked, caught again by the quiet mystique of his gaze.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tinged with wonder, as if he couldn't believe his luck.
Her smile turned genuine, seeing how joyful he looked, cradling the cara as though holding a piece of his past. It was better this way. She had never found the courage to touch the cara again—it carried mories she wasn't ready to face.
"It's yours," she said softly.
JD's grin lit up the room, his happiness so infectious that Joanne couldn't help but watch him for a mont longer. There was sothing about his unguarded delight that stirred an ache deep within her, a feeling she couldn't quite na. It sat heavy in her chest, bittersweet and unwelco.
Before it could consu her, she turned and began to walk away.
"Wait!" JD called, his voice stopping her mid-step. She turned, forcing a small smile she didn't truly feel.
"Say cheese!" he said, his grin widening as he raised the cara to his eyes.
Before she could protest, the shutter clicked.
"Now I'll know if the film's still good," JD added with a playful smirk, lowering the cara.
Joanne tried to smile, but it faltered before it could form. The sharp pain in her chest returned, cutting through her composure like a blade. Without a word, she spun on her heel and rushed upstairs to her room, the sting in her heart too much to bear.
Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her hand pressed to her chest as though that could sohow steady the storm raging inside.
"It's over, Joanne," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the stillness. "Don't linger on it. Let it go..."
She drew in a shaky breath, willing the tears threatening to spill to stay at bay. But as she moved to her bed, the fight left her. Wiping at the corners of her eyes, she fell onto the mattress, the weight of her emotions pulling her down.
She was so tired. Tired of feeling, of rembering, of carrying the weight of things she couldn't change. But sleep wouldn't co—not yet.
Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she pulled out a bottle of whiskey. The glass clinked softly as she unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, the burn sliding down her throat, dulling the edges of her pain.
"You can't turn into your grandfather," she murmured, her voice thick with a sadness she couldn't escape. But the whiskey was the only thing that would let her sleep tonight.
With each sip, the ache in her chest began to blur, the sharpness dulling until exhaustion took over. Joanne closed her eyes, the bottle slipping from her fingers as she succumbed to the only solace she could find.
-----
The next morning, after finishing her chores in the barn, she headed to the kitchen, excited to whip up breakfast. She thrived in the daylight, where the rhythm of her work kept her mind busy and free from past worries.
Humming a cheerful tune, she busied herself with preparing biscuits and gravy, the mouthwatering aroma soon filling the air. Suddenly, from a distance, a voice called out.
"JD?"
She halted, her ears straining to catch the sound. His voice—then a piercing scream—shattered the calm of the morning, raw and frantic, as if he were in grave danger. Without a second thought, she dropped her spoon, her heart racing.
She bolted outside, her feet pounding against the ground as she rushed toward the source of the commotion.
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