Heavy Winds
One summer evening, rain poured steadily onto the quiet streets outside Wilkin’s Bar. The flickering light above the old payphone cast a soft glow through the mist, while the occasional car rolled by, its tires whispering against the wet pavement. Inside, the gentle rhythm of salsa music floated through the air, wrapping the room in warmth and memory.
Havier stood behind the bar, polishing glasses with care, savoring the calm that came with the late shift. Wilkin’s wasn’t like other bars—it held a kind of hush, tucked away in the sleepy town of Cave Spring, Georgia, just a breath away from Atlanta. It was the kind of place where stories lingered in the walls and time slowed down.
Then, the door swung open. A woman stepped in, soaked from head to toe, her umbrella bent from the storm. She was radiant, even drenched. Something about her presence made the room feel brighter. Havier’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, everything else faded.
“Come in quickly,” he said, his voice gentle, almost breathless. “I’ll get you a towel, Ms…” He paused, caught in the quiet spell between them.
Drenched from the rain she looked up, mascara dripping from her eyes,
“Thank you.” she paused, waiting for him to speak his name.
Soaked from the downpour, she looked up, mascara tracing soft rivers down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice delicate, lingering, waiting for him to fill the silence with his name.
“Thank you, Mr…?” “Havier,” he replied, almost breathless, before slipping into the backroom to find a towel, still caught in the quiet awe of her presence.
Her hair, damp and tousled, shimmered in soft brown waves. Her skin reminded him of butterscotch, warm, golden, inviting and her eyes, vivid and green, held a depth that made him forget the storm outside. She was petite, no taller than five feet, yet her presence filled the room. The summer dress she wore clung gently to her curves, and her toes, painted a serene shade of blue, peeked out from her sandals.
When he returned, she was perched on a stool, her jacket draped beside her. She giggled softly as he handed her the navy blue towel, a sound that warmed the air more than the tea ever could.
“I wrung out my jacket in the sink as best I could,” she said, brushing damp strands from her face. “This rain’s been relentless lately, hasn’t it?”
Havier returned to his place behind the bar, his gaze soft. “Would you like a warm cup of tea, I’m sorry I didn’t get your name? Or maybe something with a little more kick?” he offered, already heading toward the kitchen.
“ Jemma, A nice cup of tea sounds perfect. Thank you, Havier.” she replied with a smile.
He couldn’t help but wonder what brought someone so striking, so quietly magnetic, into a quiet bar on a stormy night?
As if reading his thoughts, she folded her arms and rubbed her elbows, trying to shake off the chill. “You’re probably wondering how I ended up here,” she said with a gentle smile.
With his back still turned, Havier grinned. “I didn’t want to intrude, but I’ll admit I was curious.”
He poured hot water into a mug, watching the tea bloom into rich amber. A few sugar packets joined the saucer, and he placed it gently in front of her.
“My car broke down about twenty minutes from here,” she explained, her voice calm. “I figured I’d take my chances and see if I could find help in town.”
She smiled again, and in that moment, the storm outside felt a little less heavy.
“Thank you, Havier… you’ve been so gracious,” she murmured, her voice soft with appreciation. She brought the tea to her lips, letting the warmth seep into her, melting away the tension that had clung to her since the storm began. A gentle sigh escaped her as she settled into the stool, her shoulders relaxing, her spirit beginning to unwind. Havier watched her with quiet satisfaction, glad to have offered comfort in such a simple way.
As memories of his father tinkering in their old garage flickered through his mind, he leaned forward with a thoughtful offer. “I’ll be closing up in about an hour,” he said gently. “I’d be glad to take a look at your car—maybe it’s something I can fix.”
Jemma’s eyes lit up with relief. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around his hands with tender sincerity. The moment their skin touched, a current of energy surged through him, catching him off guard. He met her gaze—those deep emerald eyes shimmering with gratitude and something more. In that instant, he saw not just a stranger, but a kindred spirit. A woman with stories etched into her soul, yearning for connection, for adventure. And somehow, in the quiet hum of the bar, surrounded by rain and memory, the universe felt just a little closer.
“¡Ay Dios mío! Thank you, truly,” she said with a light laugh, her voice laced with relief and gratitude. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I’m not from around here just drifting through towns, exploring for stories. I’m a freelance writer on a journey. And let’s be honest, what’s an adventure without a little car trouble to spice things up?”
Havier chuckled softly, her humor catching him off guard in the most pleasant way. He reached for her hand, holding it gently, never breaking eye contact. His voice was low and kind.
“No trouble at all. A writer on a quest, and you’ve landed here in Georgia…” He smiled, stepping back slightly from the bar. “It’s a beautiful state. Full of hidden gems and quiet places to explore.”
He glanced around the room, then added with warmth, “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Jemma. Let me start tidying up for closing, and afterward, I’ll take a look at your car. What kind is it?”
“Toyota Camry,” She says right before she takes another delightful sip of the tea. Havier heads towards the back and right before he enters he says,
“Ah, the Camry, now that’s familiar territory,” Havier said with a confident grin before disappearing into the back. Fifteen minutes later, he returned to find Jemma with her jacket draped over her shoulders, her blue dress nearly dry. The storm had softened to a gentle mist, casting a quiet calming vibe over the night.
Just then, the coo-coo-clock above the bar let out its midnight chime, echoing through the room. Jemma jumped slightly at the sound, then laughed softly, her smile blooming like a memory stirred.
“Oh… I hadn’t even noticed the coo-coo-clock on the wall. How beautiful,” Jemma said, her eyes softening with nostalgia. “My grandmother had one just like it passed down through generations in our family. She used to tell me the most enchanting stories… said the chime of the clock was her tether, a gentle reminder to return from the spirit realm.”
She paused, her voice growing more tender. “According to her, when she astrally traveled, she was connected by a silver cord that stretched across skies and continents, faster than light itself. She’d journey through the clouds to find her soulmate, who was away at war. They learned to meet in the quietest hours of the night, soul to soul, beyond the veil of the physical world.”
Jemma’s gaze lingered on the clock as it ticked. “But they couldn’t stay long. Every moment in that realm was a risk. If the silver cord ever broke… it meant death. The coo-coo-clock gave them just one hour. That chime was their lifeline. Whenever I hear it now, it brings me back to her home, to magic, to love.”
As they strolled quietly down the misty road, Havier found himself deeply moved by the stories Jemma had shared. Her words lingered in his mind like echoes from another time. He’d heard tales like hers before. His grandfather used to speak of astral projection, of slipping beyond the veil and connecting with distant souls. He’d always said it ran in their blood, a gift passed down through generations. Havier had spent years learning, practicing, yearning to master the art of soul travel himself.
Curiosity stirred within him. As they approached her car, parked just off the curb, he turned to her gently. “Did your grandmother ever teach you how to do it?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
Jemma nodded, “She was often busy, but in her quiet moments, she showed me how to reach that space, how to let go and journey with the soul.”
Havier looked ahead at the road, the mist curling into fog at their feet. A part of him longed to know if she had truly embraced the gift, if she too could walk the spirit realm as he had. Something about her presence made him believe she could.
