Page 62 of The Love Leap

“At least you’re still here,” I mumble down at my combat boots. They feel like the only link left to who I was before everything went haywire.

“Did ye say something?” An old man’s gruff voice breaks through my thoughts.

I flush with embarrassment as he eyes me curiously. “No... Just talking to myself,” I admit sheepishly before adding under my breath, “It’s been one hell of a day.”

He grunts in agreement but doesn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation.

“Does it always feel like a powder keg ready to blow around here?” I toss out, aiming for nonchalance. “You know, with the whole Campbell versus MacDowell saga?”

The man huffs out a laugh, sizing me up with a quick sidelong glance.

“Ye’re definitely not local,” he observes without any trace of malice. “But here’s a tip for ye, lass: steer clear of the hometown politics. It’s one gnarly mess, and those who get entangled rarely emerge unscathed.”

As I finish my fries in the dimly lit tavern, I try to figure out where to go next. My eyes wander down to Wolf’s feet, where he sports flashy neon green sneakers that scream high-end, usually spotted on athletic superstars. Quite the contradiction to his otherwise rugged persona.

What could this mean? Honestly, who freakin’ knows? My Shoe Theory is flawed, I’ve lost Cal, and I feel like I’ve tumbled headfirst intoStranger Things’Upside Down.

I tune into the conversation at the next table. Two women there paint a somber image of Aven Valley that’s as foreign to me as Mars.

“It’s just unbelievable,” whispers one woman, her voice trembling like an autumn leaf clinging to its branch. She stares into her pint as if searching for answers in its amber depths. “Another heartless concrete beast has sprouted up on what was once MacDowell land.”

Her friend, a woman whose face tells tales of years spent under the Highland sun, nods gravely. “Mayor Zeke Campbell couldn’t care less about us or our history,” she grumbles with an edge sharp enough to cut glass. She lowers her voice conspiratorially, “Just like his brother Wolf over there.”

“My great-granny used to say how different things were when she was young,” murmurs the first woman. “The place had... life.”

The second woman nods, her gaze wandering offsomewhere far away. “I recently found an old history book with photos of their annual village fair,” she shares, frowning at some spectral injustice. “Seemed like everyone was having a blast.”

“True,” echoes the first woman, her voice heavy with longing and loss. “But those days are long gone now... I dinnae think they’re comin’ back.”

Their words hang between us like a thick fog over the Firth. This new Aven Valley is not my cup of tea.

The women’s bubble of nostalgia is abruptly popped by the entrance of Wolf Campbell, pulling up a chair, uninvited, at their table. His broad frame, flattened nose, and venomous stare scream bad news. He exudes an air of entitlement that makes my skin crawl, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the drama unfolding in front of me.

“Well, ladies,” Wolf drawls, a smug grin plastered across his face like he’s won the lottery. “I couldn’t help but overhear yer little trip down memory lane.”

The women stiffen like they’ve been flash-frozen, their expressions turning as icy as the wind howling outside. “Mr. Campbell,” responds the first woman, her voice tight with barely restrained fury.

Wolf chuckles in response to their palpable hostility. “Now, now…what Zeke’s done here is not all doom and gloom,” he drawls dismissively, reclining in his chair with an air of smug indifference. “Progress is necessary for any town to survive.” His words are met bya silence so profound it practically ricochets off the walls.

My fists ball under the table. I’m seething. This man and his brother are ripping apart Aven Valley’s heritage brick by brick and they dare to label it progress?

Wolf swivels towards me, a devilish glint in his eyes as if he senses my inner turmoil. Maybe he’s just relishing his moment in the spotlight. He winks conspiratorially—I nearly choke on my drink.

“Oh dear,” Wolf coos mockingly while patting his chest with faux concern. “Did I startle ye?”

I shoot him a glare through tear-filled eyes but bite back any retort—hurling my drink at him would probably be too satisfying for him.

“I’m just sayin’…” Wolf continues unabashedly ignoring my silent protest and pivoting back towards the women at his table. “We can either embrace change or be left behind.”

His words reverberate around the hushed pub like a death knell tolling for everything this town once embodied. Community spirit and respect for history are being shoved aside by greed and apathy.

A surge of melancholy sweeps over me. It’s not just about the physical transformation of this quaint little town anymore; it’s about the people here losing their identity, their sense of belonging.

The two women won’t look at Wolf. They stareblankly at their untouched drinks, their faces etched with despair that mirrors my own feelings.

It sounds like Gregor Campbell and his clan didn’t just take over Aven Valley, they’ve morphed it into something alien and unrecognizable. My heart plummets. This isn’t just about Cal and me anymore. The whole town is under siege.

Stepping back onto the cobblestone streets, the setting sun casts long shadows, painting a picture of foreboding. This isn’t my Aven Valley anymore, and I’m at a loss to navigate its treacherous terrain.

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