The UnLucky Ghost Tour
786 Words
On December 27th, Elara decided it was time to show Rowan the "real" Maple Creek—the version that existed before she became a ghost in transit.
"I want to show you the foundations of Elara Winters," she said as they stepped out of the guesthouse.
"Lead the way, Captain," Rowan said, offering his arm.
They walked through the historic district, where the buildings were made of the same heavy stone as the guesthouse. Elara pointed to a small, weathered brick building with a faded sign.
"That was my first 'studio,'" she said. "It was actually just a closet in the back of the local paper's office. I spent six months taking photos of prize-winning pumpkins and high school basketball games."
"A humble beginning for a woman with such a sharp eye," Rowan noted, pausing to look at the architecture. "The masonry is beautiful here. It’s got history."
"That’s the high school," she pointed across the street. "I spent four years there trying to be invisible. I was the girl with the camera, always behind the lens so I didn't have to be in the frame."
"I would have looked for you," Rowan said quietly. "Even then."
They stopped at The Rusty Spoon, a diner where the booths were cracked vinyl and the jukebox still played 45s.
"Two coffees and two slices of apple pie," Elara told the waitress, a woman named Marge who had been there since the dawn of time.
"Back again, Elara? And who’s the hunk?" Marge asked, popping her gum.
"This is Rowan. He’s an architect from the city."
"Well, Rowan, hope you’ve got a big appetite. Our pie is heavier than a brick wall."
"I like solid structures, Marge," Rowan winked.
As they ate, the conversation turned more personal.
"Why haven't you been back for a year?" Rowan asked, stirring his coffee.
"Because I didn't know who I was here," Elara admitted. "I was always 'the unlucky one' or 'the one who left.' Coming back felt like admitting defeat. I didn't want to see Mark, and I didn't want to see the looks on my family’s faces when I told them I was still just... drifting."
"You weren't drifting, Elara. You were surveying the land," Rowan said, reaching across the table to take her hand. "You had to see the world to realize what kind of house you wanted to build."
"And what if I want to build it here?" she asked, the question surprising even her.
Rowan didn't blink. "Then we find a lot with a good view and we start digging. I know a guy who’s pretty good with blueprints."
They spent the afternoon at the old stone bridge over the creek, the place where Elara had taken her very first professional photograph. The water was frozen solid, a ribbon of white cutting through the gray woods.
"I used to sit here and dream of leaving," she said, leaning against the cold stone railing. "I thought if I could just get far enough away, my luck would change."
"And now?"
"Now I think luck is just a matter of who you're standing next to when the wind blows."
Rowan pulled her into a kiss, the cold air between them disappearing in a flash of heat.
"I'm not going anywhere, Elara," he whispered against her lips. "Not today, not tomorrow."
"You still don't have a suitcase," she teased.
"I’ll buy another flannel," he laughed.
They walked back through the town as the streetlamps flickered on, the gold light reflecting off the snow. Elara felt a sense of peace she hadn't known in a decade. The town didn't feel like a trap anymore; it felt like a home.
"I have a confession," Rowan said as they reached the SUV.
"What's that?"
"I think I’m starting to like 'The Middle of Nowhere.'"
"Careful, Rowan. Keep talking like that and you'll end up on the town council."
"As long as you're the official photographer, I’ll take the job."
As they drove back to the guesthouse, the world felt perfect. But as Elara looked out at the passing trees, she noticed a black car following them at a distance—a car she hadn't seen in town before.
"Rowan? Do you know that car?"
Rowan glanced in the rearview mirror, his jaw tightening for a split second before he smoothed his expression. "Probably just a tourist, Elara. Don't worry about it."
But Elara noticed he didn't let go of her hand for the rest of the drive.
- Writer
