Ep. 24) Heart of the Ridge

1. relationships
2. second-chance love
3. small-town drama
4. emotional storytelling
5. love stories
6. family legacy
7. romantic drama
8. pottery romance
9. Clayhollow
10. Clara Wren
11. Miles Tarrow
12. Lila Sterling
13. Midnight’s Shadow
14. artisan romance
15. community bonds

Shadows Before Midnight
Step into the moonlit forests of New England romance with Lila Sterling’s tales of love, legacy, and supernatural intrigue. From the pines of Maine to the hearths of small-town artisans, each story weaves passion and mystery under the stars.
© 2025 Lila Sterling. All rights reserved. Recorded under the moonlit pines of New England, September 17, 2025.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Heart of the Ridge, Part one by Leela Stirling. Chapter one,
The candle Maker's Return. The train eased into Ridgefield as
dawn brushed the sky with hues of lavender and gold.
Clara Finch stepped onto the platform, her scarf catching the
crisp breeze scented with wax and cedar wood. At thirty one,

(00:21):
she hadn't returned in ten years, not since she'd left
for Portland to pursue a career in graphic design. A
lawyer's letter had summoned her back Finch's Candleworks. Her aunt's
shop was teetering under unpaid debts, and a developer, Victor Lang,
planned to turn it into a boutique hotel. Clara intended
to assess the shop, sell it, and return to her
city life, but the sight of the shop cedar shingled facade,

(00:44):
glowing softly in the morning light, stirred a pang of memory.
This was where her aunt, Marjorie had taught her to
poor wax her hands, giving Clara's to shape light into warmth.
Clara pushed open the shop's door, the bell tinkling faintly. Inside,
shelves held care candles, lavender pillars, cedarward tapers honey votives,
their wicks poised like silent promises. The air hummed with

(01:06):
the faint scent of melted wax, but dust coated the molds,
and a counter was chipped. Clara traced a finger over
honey votive, memories flooding back, Marjorie's warm laugh, the flicker
of wicks, the glow of fresh candles. Now with Marjorie gone,
the shop felt like a fadding light. Clara finch a
voice called, deep and steady, like the hum of a
wax melter. She turned to see a man at a

(01:28):
work bench pouring a cedarward candle. His dark hair was
flecked with wax, and his flannel shirt was smudged with dye.
Her breath caught Ethan Holt, her first love, who'd vanished
from her life at twenty one. Without a word, Ethan,
she said, her voice tight, what are you doing here?
Chapter two? The flickering wick. Ethan set the wax pitcher down,

(01:51):
his gray eyes meeting hers, calm but guarded. Your aunt
kept me on as manager after you left, he said,
wiping die from his hands. I've been keeping the shop running.
Clara's jaw clenched running you left, Ethan. You don't get
to claim this place. Ten years ago, they'd spent summers
pouring candles, dreaming of a future under Ridgefield's starry skis.

(02:13):
His sudden disappearance had dimmed her heart, sending her to
Portland to rebuild. Seeing him here in her aunt's shop
felt like a fresh crack in her resolve. The shop
in trouble, Ethan said, stepping closer, worn molds, unpaid suppliers,
and Victor Lang's circling. I'm trying to hold it together.
I'm here to sell, Clara snapped, but the words felt brittle.

(02:37):
The shop's debts were steep, taxes, repair costs, and the
town council had given her two months to settle them
or lose the property. Victor's hotel loomed, threatening Ridgefield's charm.
Ethan gestured to a flickering wax melter. This needs fixing
to keep production going. I can handle it, if you'll
let me. She wanted to refuse, but the shops stayed

(03:00):
was dire, and Ethan knew its molds and wicks like
his own hands. Fine, she said, her voice cold. Fix
what you can, but this changes nothing. He nodded, grabbing
tools and began working. The hum of the melter filled
the silence as Clara sorted candle dyes, her eyes drifting
to his steady hands. His presence was a spark she

(03:21):
couldn't ignore, reigniting memories she'd buried by dusk. The melter
glowed steadily, and Ethan's gaze softened. Why do you come back, Clara?
He asked for Aunt Marjorie, she said, avoiding his eyes.
This shop was her everything. Chapter three. The town's light
Bridgefield rallied around Clara. The next day, Missus Carver, the baker,

(03:44):
brought jars of lavender essence for candle sense. Her smile warm.
Marjorie would be proud, she said. The florist donated dried
petals for wax in beds, and locals visited. Drawn by
the shop's glowing warmth, Clara started a candle making workshop
for kids, Hopping to build support. The shop buzzed with
chatter and the scent of wax, but Victor Lang's shadow loomed.

(04:04):
At a town meeting, the developer stood his voice. Smooth
Ridgefield needs progress, hotels, tourists, jobs. Finch's candleworks is outdated.
Clara stood, her heart pounding. This shop is our heart,
not your hotel. The crowd cheered, but Victor's smile was sharp,
promising a fight. Afterward, Ethan found her outside the shop,

(04:25):
the street lights casting a soft glow. You were fierce,
he said, his tone warm. Clara shrugged her guard up.
Why do you leave, Ethan no note nothing? His face tightened.
My sister was in troubled debt's illness. I went to
work factories in Spokane to help her. I wrote to you,
Clara every month. I never got any letters, she said,

(04:46):
her voice breaking. Had her cousin Norah hidden them out
of spite. The revelation hit like a flickering wick, and
she turned away, the shop's lights blurring in her eyes.
Chapter four, The first glow in the shop. Clara poured
a lavender candle, the wax's warmth steady under her fingers.
Ethan watched his hands idle. You've still got it, he said,

(05:08):
a smile in his voice. She dipped a wick, the
glow soft. Aunt Marjorie taught me well. Their eyes met,
and the years seemed to soften. But the shop's debts
pressed harder, and Victor's offer loomed. Clara planned a fundraiser
at the community center. Hopping to rally more support, Ethan helped,
repairing molds and crafting wooden display stands. Their work felt
like a shared rhythm, each moves sparking memories. As they

(05:31):
set up for the fundraiser, their hands brushed and Clara's
pulse quickened. We're not kids anymore, she said, stepping back.
Ethan nodded, but his gaze held a spark. The center
glowed that night with locals bidding on candles, but Victor's
presence cast a chill. My offer's generous, he said. Clara's
resolve hardened. She'd fight for the shop and maybe her heart.

(05:52):
Chapter five, The Fundraiser's Glow. The Ridgefield Community Center shimmered
under canopy of twinkling lights. Its wouldn't beams, casting a
warm glow for the fundraiser. To save Finch's candleworks, Clara
Finch arranged her candles on display tables, lavender pillars, cedarward tapers,
honey votives, each wick poised to catch the light. Ethan Holtz,

(06:13):
handcrafted wooden stands carved with subtle Ridge patterns, showcased her creations.
Their collaboration a testament to their shared past. The room
buzzed with townsfolk, their voices mingling with the soft hum
of a violinist. As bids climbed higher, Clara's heart lifted
with each sail. The funds inching closer to clearing the

(06:34):
shop's debts, but the tax deadline, now just weeks away,
kept her tethered to reality. Ethan moved through the crowd,
offering glasses of honeysweetened cider, his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up,
revealing di streaked forearms. His gray eyes caught us across
the room, a quiet smile sparking a warmth she tried
to suppress. They'd been working side by side for days,

(06:56):
pouring wax, sanding stands, and his steady presence was chipping
away at her resolve to keep him at a distance.
She turned to a bidder, an elderly man who admired
a cedar wood taper. It's like Marjorie's work, he said,
his voice soft. You've got a gift, Clara. Before Clara
could respond, Victor Lang swept in his tailored blazer, stark

(07:18):
against the crowd's cozy sweaters. The room hushed slightly as
he approached. His smile polished Miss Finch, he said, gesturing
to the candles. Impressive turnout. But my company can buy
the shop outright, turn it into a cultural display in
our hotel. You'd be debt free with profit. Clara's stomach twisted.
This shop isn't a museum piece. It's Ridgefield's heart. Her

(07:41):
voice carried, and murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Victor's eyes narrowed, but his smile held heart doesn't pay bills.
My offer's open for now. He glided away, leaving a
chill in his wake. Ethan appeared at Clara's side, his
shoulder brushing hers. He's rattled, he said quietly. You're rallying
the town. His voice steadied her, but their brief touch

(08:04):
sent a spark through her, stirring memories of starlet summers.
She stepped back, focusing on the bids, but his presence
glowed like a candle she couldn't dim. By night's end,
the fundraiser had raised nearly half the needed funds. As
they packed up, Ethan helped stack stands his hands. Careful,
you're doing it, Clara, he said. Marjorie would be proud.

(08:24):
Her throat tightened, the past and present fusing together. Chapter six,
The Starlet Truth. The stars glimmered over Ridgefield. They're light
dancing on the river. Outside Finch's candleworks, Clara sat on
a riverside bench. The fundraiser's success tempered by Victor's offer
and the sting of Ethan's lost letters. Had her cousin
Nora really hidden them out of spite. The thought burned

(08:46):
and she needed answers. The shop's door chimed, and Ethan
stepped out, his breath visible in the cool night air.
Knew you'd be here, he said, sitting beside her, leaving
a careful distance. The river's murmur filled the silace, and
the scent of wax clung to him, grounding her. Why
didn't you try harder, Clara asked, her voice raw. Letters

(09:08):
are one thing, Ethan, but you could have called found me.
He looked at the stars, his jaw tight. I tried,
Clara once, when I was back for a week. Norah said,
you moved on, that you were happy in Portland. I
didn't want to drag you back. His voice was heavy
with regret. Clara's heart sank. Norah always resentful of her

(09:28):
bond with Ethan, had sabotaged them. She lied. Clara whispered
the betrayal sharp. I waited for you, Ethan for months.
I thought you'd forgotten me. His eyes met hers, pained,
I'm sorry. I thought letting you go was right. You
were meant for more than Ridgefield. He reached for her hand,
his touch tentative, warm from handling wax. She didn't pull away,

(09:50):
the contact stirring memories of their hands entwined by the
shop's melters. I wanted you, not Portland, she said, her
voice breaking. The admission hung but between them, fragile as
a wick. I wrote every month, Clara, Ethan said, every
letter was for you. His honesty cracked her defenses, and
she felt the pull of their past like a spark
catching light, But fear held her back. She couldn't risk

(10:12):
her heart again. She stood the stars blurring in her
eyes and walked back to the shop, the weight of
truth and trust glowing within her. Chapter seven, The Wicks Dance.
The shop hummed with activity as Clara and Ethan prepared
for the Ridgefield Festival, their best chance to save Finch's candleworks.
They crafted a candle collection for the festival. Lavender pillars

(10:34):
infused with meadow herbs, cedarwood tapers dyed with natural hues,
honey votives embedded with dried petals. Clara's hands guided the
wax paw the melter's humm a steady rhythm, while Ethan
carved wooden stands, his focus intense. Their work felt like
a dance, each move complimenting the other, but the air

(10:54):
crackled with unspoken tension. As they dipped a wick, a
fleck of wax landed on Clara's sleeve. She laughed, brushing
it off, but Ethan reached out, wiping it gently with
his thumb. Careful, he said, his voice husky. Their faces
inches apart, her pulse raised, and she teased, still clumsy,
breaking the moment, her cheeks flushed. You're perfect, Ethan said,

(11:18):
his smile soft. The words hit her, stirring memories of
late nights pouring candles together, dreaming of a shared future.
She turned to the melter, focusing on the wax, but
her heart pounded. They worked late, the collection taking shape
under the shop's warm lights. Ethan shared stories of his
time in Spokane, grueling factory shifts, lonely nights, and Clara listened,
drawn to his vulnerability. Why do you come back, she asked,

(11:40):
pausing her work for the shop. He said, for Marjorie
and for you, even if I didn't admit it. Then
his honesty warmed her, fraying the walls she'd built, but
fear lingered she couldn't fall again, not with the shop's
fate and her heart at stake. As they polished the candles,
their hands brushed, and Clara felt a spark she couldn't extinguish.

(12:01):
Chapter eight, the town's rally. The next morning, Ridgefield buzzed
with purpose. Clara and Ethan organized an open house at
the shop, inviting the town to see its value. Artisan's
demonstrated candle making, kids poured votives, and Missus Carver brought
honey scones. The community's support was a warm glow, but
Victor Lang's smear campaign cast a shadow. Fliers claimed the

(12:24):
shop's melters were a fire hazard. Clara's anger flared, but
Ethan's calm presence steadied her. We'll prove them wrong, he said,
his hand brushing hers as they set up displays. The
open house drew a crowd with townsfolk marveling at Clara's
candles and Ethan's stands. A petition to declare the shop
a historic site gained signatures, and the mayor promised to

(12:47):
push it through. Victor arrived, his presence a cold draft.
This is quaint, he said, his tone sharp. But my
hotel will bring progress. Your delaying the inevitable. Clara stood tall.
This shop is our future, not your profit. The crowd cheered,
and Ethan's proud smile warmed her. As the day ended,
they stood in the shop, adjusting a candle display. Their

(13:09):
hands met, and for a moment Clara didn't pull away.
The air felt charged, their faces close, but a child's
giggle broke the spell. Clara stepped back, her heart racing.
The festival was days away, their last chance to save
the shop and maybe their love. Chapter nine, The Ridgefield Festival.
The Ridgefield Festival transformed the town into a radiant haven,

(13:31):
its meadows aglow with lanterns, the scent of cedar wood
and warm wax mingling in the crisp air, and the
hummer fiddles weaving through the night. Finch's candleworks stood as
the festival's heart. Its doors flung open, shelves glowing with
Clara Finch's creations, lavender pillars, cedarwood tapers, honey votives, each
wick poised to light the way. Ethan Holt's handcrafted wooden

(13:54):
stands carved with ridge motifs showcased her work their collaboration.
A beetakon of Hope townsfolk and visitors from neighboring towns
crowded the shop, bidding on candles and donating to save
it from Victor Lang's boutique hotel plans. Clara's heart swelled
with each sail, the funds nearing the amount needed to

(14:15):
clear the shop's debts. With the tax deadline just days away,
Clara adjusted a honey votive, its glow catching the lantern light,
her fingers lingering on the smooth wax. Ethan moved beside her,
his flannel shirt dusted with dye, his gray eyes bright
with pride. This place is alive again, he said, his
voice warm. You did this, Clara. His words kindled a

(14:39):
spark in her, but the pressure of the deadline kept
her grounded. Victor Lang appeared at the shop's entrance, his
tailored blazer stark against the festival's rustic charm. He approached,
his smile sharp, Miss Finch, he said, eyeing the candles
a valiant effort. But my hotel will bring jobs, progress,
Sell now, and I'll feature your candles in our lobby.

(15:01):
Clara's resolve hardened. This shop is Ridgefield's soul, not your showcase.
Her voice rang out, and the crowd murmured support. Ethan
stepped closer, his presence steady. She's right, he said, this
town chooses its heart over your profit. Victor's eyes narrowed,
but he left without a word, his footsteps fadding into
the festival's hum. As dusk fell, the mayor took the stage,

(15:25):
her voice clear, thanks to your generosity, Finch's Candleworks has
raised enough to clear its debts, and our petition has
made it a historic sight. The crowd erupted in cheers,
and Clara's eyes strung with relief. Ethan's hand found hers,
his touch a quiet promise. They joined the festival's dance,
their steps close under the lanterns, the music weaving their

(15:45):
past and present into a single radiant moment. Chapter ten,
The letters revealed the festival's triumph lingered in Clara's mind
as she climbed the shop's attic stairs. The next evening,
a lantern casting shadows on the dusty bes Ethan's confession
about the letters he'd sent hidden by her cousin Norah,
had left her restless, needing proof. Dust swirled in the

(16:07):
lantern's light. As she sifted through her aunt Marjorie's belongings
in a wooden box tucked behind old wax molds, she
found them. A bundle of envelopes, edges yellowed, addressed to
her in Ethan's steady handwriting. Her heart pounded as she
opened one, the paper crinkling Clara, I'm sorry I left.
My sister's troubles took me away, but you're my light.

(16:29):
I love you always will. Please write back. Each letter
echoed the same love, regret, hope. Tears blurred her vision
as she read the words, melting ten years of pain.
Norah's betrayal cut deep, but Ethan's truth was a warm spark,
rekindling her trust. She found him by the river. The
waters rush a soft backdrop to the night I found them,

(16:51):
she said, holding up the letters, her voice trembling. Ethan's
eyes widened and he stepped closer, his breath catching What
did they say? He asked, his voice low, that you
loved me. She said, her throat tight, that you never forgot.
She handed him a letter, and he read it silently,
his jaw clenching. Norah told me you moved on, he said.

(17:13):
I thought I was doing right by letting you go.
She lied. Clara whispered, I waited for you. The admission
hung between them, heavy with lost years. Ethan reached for
her hand, his touch warm and steady. I'm here now, Clara,
I'm not leaving again. She didn't pull away, letting his
words shape her doubts, her heart glowing toward forgiveness. Chapter eleven,

(17:35):
The Heart's Glow. The shop hummed with quiet energy as
Clara and Ethan crafted candles for a community market. The
melter's hum a steady rhythm. The hands moved in sink,
pouring wax and dipping wicks, the air thick with the
scent of lavender and cedar wood. Clara's fingers brushed Ethan
as they adjusted a lavender pillar, and a spark shot
through her Warm and undeniable. I was so angry, she admitted,

(17:59):
pausing her But I missed you, Ethan every day. He
set a mold down, his gray eyes soft but intense.
I missed you too. Every night in Spokane. I saw
you in the candles I poured. He stepped closer, the
space between them shrinking. I love you, Clara. I never stopped.
Her breath, caught the weight of ten years, fatting under

(18:20):
his gaze. She wanted to guard her heart, but his
truth burned through her doubts. They walked to the riverbank,
the oak trees branches swaying in the breeze under their canopy.
Clara kissed him, her lips meeting his with a warmth
that felt like home. His arms wrapped around her, steady
and sure, and the rivers rush echoed their pulse. I
love you too, she whispered, the words of flame binding them.

(18:43):
They sat by the water, planning the shop's future, workshops, markets,
a hub for Ridgefields artisans. Ethan's hands stayed in hers,
a vow of partnership. For the first time, Clara saw
not just the shop's survival, but a life with him,
radiant and strong. Chapter twelve, The Ridge's Heart. Weeks later,

(19:03):
Finch's candleworks thrived as Ridgefield's Heart, its shelves alive with
Clara's creations, lavender pillars, cedarward tapers, honey votives displayed on
Ethan's carved stands. The shop buzzed with activity, children pouring votives,
locals crafting gifts. The town council had cemented its status
as a historic site safe from Victor Lang's plans, and

(19:25):
visitors flocked from neighbouring towns to see the reborn space.
Clara stood in the shop watching a boy light his
first candle, his smile mirroring Marjorie. The site warmed her.
Her aunt's legacy was alive. Ethan joined her, his flannel
shirt dusted with dye, his smile soft. It's beautiful, isn't it,
he said, his arm brushing hers. She leaned into him,

(19:48):
nodding better than I dreamed. They walked to a riverside oak,
its branches heavy with starlight. Together, they poured a joint
candle on a portable workbench, the hands getting the wax
into a piece swirled with ridge hues. Each wick felt
like a promise, their love glowing in every line. As
the moon rose, casting a silver glow over the shop.
Clara turned to Ethan, What now, she asked, her voice soft.

(20:11):
He took her hand, his smile warm, we keep shining together.
Ridgefield embraced them not just a town, but a vow
of for ever their lover light that held it all together.