Long have I enjoyed the subtle beauty of a Colonial. The simple boxy outline, vintage-red brick, framed by beautiful white pillars. Candles in the windows.

This is my view from the bottom of this crooked lane, as I stare up at the white light-trimmed outline of Holly House Inn and yearn for the warmth behind its glowing windows. I traipse carefully up the incline, sidestepping patches of melty snow. I'm so focused on watching my feet that I don't even notice until I'm already walking headfirst into a person!

"Oh! I'm so–" I stop short, dangerously close to toppling over.

"It's 'kay, miss." A voice says.

Arms are steadying me.

It takes me a second to regroup, to discover the (dare I say beautiful) man in front of me, his wide sturdy arms still supporting most of my weight. It takes another second to recognize his hoody, which quickly helps me place him as the man picking up takeout from Pine Star Diner.

"Are you alright?" He asks.

"Yes, I am," I say, frenzied and doing my best to regain my composure. "I didn't want to wipe out, so I was watching the ground, but then I–"

"Almost wiped us both out?" He asks, his thick accent discernable even through his laughter. His accent is everything.

"You could say that," I laugh back.

I can only see his face by 1800s-era lamplight, but I'm almost certain he is smiling. I'm also almost certain he is every bit as handsome and highlander as he sounds. Oh, also he is at least 8-feet tall.

"You were in the diner earlier tonight, weren't you?" Mysterious dark-street man asks.

"I was," I answer. "Like ten minutes ago."

A car passes somewhere behind me, flooding the Hollow and Main intersection with light. I catch a glimpse of this stranger and of course, all previous suspicions are confirmed.

Sharvi would die right now at the glory of this man. Handsome in an obvious and ambiguous kind of way. Check. Enigmatic in the dark. Check. Walking around saving damsels in distress. Check. Exotic accent worthy of Bridgerton. Check.

Inspiration for a main character. Check.

"Where are you headed now this time of night?"

His voice brings me back to reality. And the reality is that I'm standing very alone and very in the dark with an absolute stranger who –let's face it –may be hot but may also murder me.

I click the side of my phone. "It's 7 PM."

"So it is," he says, head nodding to the giant analog clock erect on the town mall. "What's your name? Since you nearly ran me down, I feel I'm owed a name."

"Do you?" I ask, pondering.

I look around nonchalantly, noticing how empty the streets are. Again, with the potential alleyway Jack the Ripper scenario. And yet...

"I do," he says, nodding. "I'll go first if that helps."

"Sure," I shrug, coy.

"Lochlann. Or Loch. I know, I know. Not what you were expecting," he says, laughing.

"Almost exactly what I was expecting," I laugh. "I'm Evie."

"So where are you going in such a hurry, Evie?"

"The Inn."

"New in town?" Loch asks. His eyes lock on mine and he seems genuinely engaged.

"Yes –Well –No, I guess not. It's –I'm new again," I fumble over my explanation.

"New again," he echoes. "That sounds like a story waiting to be told."

"What about you?" I ask defensively. "Born here?"

Loch laughs at my obvious jest.

"Moved here, actually. Almost one year ago. I'm staying on a cozy little farm out of town."

"'Course," I nod. He seems like a farm type of man. "Well, I should get going."

"Right. I'm sorry. Can I help you? I can roll your case," Loch asks, eyeing my ivory hardshell. 

"I've got it, really. But thank you!" I smile.

"Enjoy your stay in Pine Valley," Loch says. His deep voice wraps my ears in velvet.

"Enjoy your –farm."

Oh, God, Evie.

We part ways, and I find myself feeling all sorts of things. I'm not sure which emotion is taking the lead. All I know is my path suddenly seems very empty and I cannot get this smile off my face!

I replay the little serendipitous encounter as I come up on the inn. I reach the white-painted front door to Holly House. As I push the door in, I'm engulfed by warmth that smells like cinnamon-coated leaves.

The lobby –if you can call it that –is a quaint, circular room with a stone front desk and one hanging lamp that's doing its best to fill the room. A room on the left has two couches with mismatched cushions positioned in front of a wide fireplace. Flames crackle merrily inside it.

"Hello?"

I call out, wondering exactly where everyone –anyone –is, considering Ellen's earlier proclamation that this place would be packed.

"Yeh must be Eve."

A rosy cheeked man, a head shorter than me (and that's saying something), appears from a crack in the wall behind the desk that I didn't see before.

"Evie. Yes, that's me," I say.

I situate my rolly bag next to me and pull open my purse to fish out my wallet. Something about the kerosine lamp makes me think this place may not take my Apple Pay.

"Welcome, welcome. I'm Charlie," he says.

He rummages behind the desk. "We saved the last room for you once Ellen called. Hope it'll do yeh just fine."

"I am sure it will be great."

Charlie leads me up the narrow staircase and to a room all the way at the end of the hall. It's small and toasty, with sloping ceilings and one double-wide window across from the bed. The room is cluttered in a cozy sort of way; book stacks, half-burned candles, pillows, and lamps line the walls.

It's every autumnal book girlie's dream.

I take a long, hot shower to cleanse myself of this travel day. It's hard to believe just this morning I was chatting with Sharvi about wizards in disguise.

Lochlann.

My laptop and notes are sprawled out in front of me over the patch-quilt bed spread. A mug of tea is all but finished on the bedside table. I finally connected to Wi-Fi (you can't convince me it's not a dial-up modem) and texted Sharvi and resisted the urge to stalk Loch. I fight myself to stop replaying our convo; it's easy once I remind myself Loch has most likely already forgotten the clumsy girl who accosted him on a cobbled lane. Easier still when I remind myself I'll never see him again.

Still, I cannot battle my own intrusive thoughts for long. Resigned, I close my eyes to see what vision takes form. All my mindscape seems capable of painting is a moor.

It's still early when my mind succumbs to sleep, unable to stave off all the whimsical fancies any longer...