Welcome to Redwood, Oregon. 54 kilometers from the city of Calhoun, population 286.
This small, quiet town is home to beautiful waterfalls, quaint cafes, enchanting phenomena like gravity hills and glowing streams, and a girl named Reagan Wallace.
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Cross-legged on the hardwood floor, Jack and Reagan were sat across from each other with a record player in between them and piles and piles of records surrounding them.
"This your Monday?" Jack asked, "Sorting through your father's record collection?"
"Well," She drew out in response, "Not exactly. I mostly just listen."
Jack glanced up at her, pausing from looking over the Nat King Cole disc he held in his hand, and looked impressed.
They've been in the attic since they finished lunch. All the boys were there at some point to admire the music their own fathers have been listening to but by three in the afternoon, Jack and Reagan were the only two souls left on the top floor.
"I think you'll know this song," He said at some point, turning away for a second to pull his guitar from the wall it was resting on before cradling it in his lap.
He then picked up an album that's been resting by his side and handed it to her, "Track 3."
It was then that she realized he was holding a Beatles playlist and it made a shy smile instantly grow on her lips. She pulled the record out and replaced it with the Carpenters album they've been listening to idly. She didn't read the track list but the moment the first few chords played, crackling through the old player's needle, Reagan's eyes widened in amazement.
"You know this song?"
Jack didn't have to answer because his fingers were already playing along to the guitar instrumentals and Reagan felt something leap in her chest.
"There were bells on a hill but I never heard them ringing," The timeless voice of Paul McCartney played through the turntable and Reagan felt like she was twelve again. On weekend afternoons, she'd spend hours on end listening to old vinyl discs in her father's record player that worked two out of three times because she had nothing better to do. The mellow Beatles songs have always been her favorite and having Jack in front of her now changed everything.
She placed her chin over her hand as she watched Jack strumming the strings as if it was second nature, fingers moving over the fret board as if he had every note memorized by heart.
"You're supposed to sing," She whispered and Jack looked up, giving a small smile in return while he rolled his eyes.
"They tell me sweet, fragrant meadows of dawn and dew," He sang along and for a few seconds, Reagan couldn't catch her breath, "There was love all around but I never heard it singing. No I never heard it at all, 'til there was you."
By the time the last chorus was playing, Reagan and Jack were stood by the only window in the room, her arms around his neck and his on her waist while they danced slowly in a small circle. The record was still playing faintly in the background, almost drowned out when they laughed, and Reagan guessed that must be was what it must feel like to be in love.
