Page 27 of The Coach

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I should’ve guessed that’d be your way of saying you like it.”

We walk in easy silence for a while, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet and the occasional birdcall filling the space. Every so often, she points something out—a wildflower she loves, a tree she used to climb as a kid, a tiny wooden sign someone carved years ago with the wordstake nothing but memories.

Eventually, the trail curves, and the trees open up to reveal a small clearing with a wooden bench sitting right in the middle. Ivy stops, her expression softening as she looks at it.

“That bench,” she says quietly, “is dedicated to the couple who used to own this land. They farmed here for over fifty years before they donated it to the town.”

I step closer, reading the small brass plaque on the back of the bench.In honor of Evelyn and George Carter. Fifty-seven years of love, laughter, and a life well lived together.They even died the same year—just a few years ago—which is engraved into the plaque as well.

The words in the dedication hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I just stare at them, surprisingly feeling something catch in my chest that I didn’t know was there before this weekend.

“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” Ivy says, sitting down on the bench and brushing her hand over the plaque. “The story goes, George used to bring Evelyn out here every Sunday after church to sit under this tree and watch the sunset. It was their thing.”

I sit beside her, the bench creaking slightly under my weight. “Fifty-seven years,” I say, shaking my head. I’m not usually the sentimental type, but something it hits me harder than it seems like it should. This guy—guyandgirl—believed in that old fashioned, dedicate stuff to your soul mate kind of love. And quite frankly, that’s a type of love I’d given up on long ago. “Not something you see a lot any more. It’s honestly really endearing. Admirable.”

“It is,” she says softly. “I mean, I’ve always thought so. My mom used to bring me here when I was little, and she’d tell me their story. She said this place was proof that real love exists, even if it’s rare. I sometimes think that this kind of love doesn’t even exist anymore. That a certain kind of love is a relic of a bygone era.”

I glance at her, watching the way her fingers trace the edge of the plaque, her expression far away. “Do you believe that?” I ask. “That real love exists? Or do you really think it’s a relic?”

She shrugs, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe it does. But I also think my mom’s right—most people don’t stay in Riverbend long enough to find out.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She smiles faintly, tilting her head to look at me. “She says Riverbend is a good place to befrom. But most people? They move somewhere else. They leave. But I don’t know—to me? I feel mostly happy here. Sure, maybe I miss out on some glamorous parts of city living. The food, I guess? The dating scene. But I’ve always felt that I don’t need to chase happiness. That it’s right here. My grandmother used to say, ‘wherever you go, there you are.’ And I just feel like that’s the truth for me in so many ways.”

“Damn.”

The words settle between us, and I feel a pang of something I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s that this woman ten years younger than me somehow seems like one of the wisest people I’ve ever met.

I look back at the plaque, imagining George and Evelyn sitting here, their lives intertwined in ways most people only dream about. The dedication and the love it must have taken to be together for that length of time.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever have something like that. If I even want it. But then Ivy shifts beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, and the thought slips away, replaced by something simpler, something raw.

“This place suits you,” I say, breaking the silence.

She raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug, leaning back on the bench. “It’s honest. Uncomplicated. Beautiful.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, laughing softly. “Now you’re just laying it on thick.”

“Maybe,” I say, grinning. “But it’s also true.”

The smile on her face is real, and for a second, I forget about the train I’m supposed to catch later, the life waiting for me outside of Riverbend. For now, it’s just her, this place, and the quiet magic of Whispering Pines.

We sit there for a while, the warmalmost-summerbreeze rustling through the pines, the faint sound of birdsong filling the quiet. Ivy’s eyes are on the plaque again. I don’t think I’ve ever been this comfortable just sitting with someone, but with her, everything feels... right. Easy.

I shift closer, sliding my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me without hesitation. The warmth of her body against mine sends a spark of something deeper through me, and I glance down at her, catching the soft curve of her lips, the way her hair catches the sunlight.

“So,” I tilt my head down toward hers. “You ever made out in this park?”

She looks up at me, her lips twitching into a smile. “No,” she says, her voice soft. “I haven’t.”

“Really?” I tease, letting my fingers trail lightly over her shoulder. “What a wasted opportunity.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon in broad daylight.”

“Good thing I don’t care,” I say, leaning in and capturing her lips with mine.

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