Page 6
I set my overnight bag on the bed and begin unpacking the essentials—toiletries, pajamas, a change of clothes for tomorrow. It feels strange to have so little with me when the restof my life sits in boxes inside my broken-down car at a stranger's auto shop.
A stranger with amber eyes and careful hands. A stranger who found me a key when he could have just directed me to a motel.
I need to stop. He's just doing his job.
But it felt like more than that. The way he checked the house and explained everything. The gruff concern when he told me to lock up.
I shake my head, annoyed with myself. I've been in town for less than three hours and I'm already weaving fantasies about the first man I meet? Pathetic. Besides, a guy like that—with his chiseled jawline and those forearms—probably has women lining up around the block.
Not that I'd be his type anyway. Men like Riley go for sleek, confident women. Not soft, uncertain ones with too many curves and too much baggage.
Unpacked, I head back downstairs to investigate the kitchen. The refrigerator is empty except for a box of baking soda. The pantry holds a few staples—salt, pepper, flour, sugar. Mrs. Abernathy has at least provided the basics.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since a sad gas station sandwich at noon. But I have no car, no food, and no idea if anywhere delivers to this address.
As if in answer to my thoughts, I notice a piece of paper on the counter that I missed earlier. It's a welcome note from Mrs. Abernathy, letting me know she's stocked coffee and tea in the cupboard and that my nearest food options are Madeline’s Diner (open 24/7) and Gino's Pizza (delivers until 10 PM).
I almost laugh at this small kindness. Maybe small towns do have their advantages. I call in an order for a small pizza, giving my address and adding,
"I just moved in today, so I might need to guide your delivery person."
"You're at Edith's rental?" asks the woman on the phone. "Blue cottage?"
"Yes," I say, surprised.
"No problem, honey. My son's delivering tonight, and he knows exactly where you are. Twenty minutes."
She hangs up before I can respond, leaving me staring at my phone. I guess Riley wasn't exaggerating about everyone knowing everyone here.
While I wait for my food, I continue exploring. The living room bookshelf holds an eclectic mix—gardening guides, murder mysteries, a few romance novels with cracked spines. I run my fingers along them, wondering about the previous tenants. Did they find what they were looking for in Cedar Falls? Did they leave by choice?
The delivery arrives in exactly twenty minutes—a teenage boy with a friendly smile who refuses to take my money.
"Mrs. Abernathy said you might call and already covered it," he explains. "Welcome to Cedar Falls!"
I'm so taken aback that I just thank him and close the door. Standing in my kitchen with a free pizza, courtesy of a woman I haven't even met yet, I feel a strange mix of emotions. Gratitude, certainly. But also a wariness born from experience—kindness often comes with expectations attached.
What will Mrs. Abernathy expect from me? What will this town expect?
I eat at the small kitchen table, flipping through a local information packet I found in a drawer. Cedar Falls was founded in 1873 as a logging community. The waterfall it's named for is three miles north. The annual Founder's Day Festival—apparently what they're celebrating this weekend—features a parade, baking contests, historical reenactments, and a dance.
It all sounds almost unbearably quaint. The kind of thing I would have mocked in my previous life.
But my previous life led me here, didn't it? To this quiet cottage in this tiny town where strangers buy you pizza and grumpy mechanics help you find spare keys.
After eating, I wash up and get ready for bed. The cottage creaks and settles around me, unfamiliar sounds that make me jumpy at first. But the bed is surprisingly comfortable, and exhaustion from the drive and the stress of breaking down quickly pulls me under.
My last conscious thought is of Riley—the way his presence seemed to fill the cottage, how his voice rumbled low when he explained about the furnace. How his eyes never quite met mine for more than a second at a time.
I wonder what his story is. And whether I'll ever get to hear it.
Next Day
I wake to sunlight streaming through the east-facing windows and the disorienting feeling of not knowing where I am. Then it comes back—Cedar Falls, the cottage, my broken-down car.
Riley.
I check my phone: 7:23 AM. If I hurry, I can shower, dress, and walk to his shop by opening time—an easy stroll on a beautiful morning.
A stranger with amber eyes and careful hands. A stranger who found me a key when he could have just directed me to a motel.
I need to stop. He's just doing his job.
But it felt like more than that. The way he checked the house and explained everything. The gruff concern when he told me to lock up.
I shake my head, annoyed with myself. I've been in town for less than three hours and I'm already weaving fantasies about the first man I meet? Pathetic. Besides, a guy like that—with his chiseled jawline and those forearms—probably has women lining up around the block.
Not that I'd be his type anyway. Men like Riley go for sleek, confident women. Not soft, uncertain ones with too many curves and too much baggage.
Unpacked, I head back downstairs to investigate the kitchen. The refrigerator is empty except for a box of baking soda. The pantry holds a few staples—salt, pepper, flour, sugar. Mrs. Abernathy has at least provided the basics.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven't eaten since a sad gas station sandwich at noon. But I have no car, no food, and no idea if anywhere delivers to this address.
As if in answer to my thoughts, I notice a piece of paper on the counter that I missed earlier. It's a welcome note from Mrs. Abernathy, letting me know she's stocked coffee and tea in the cupboard and that my nearest food options are Madeline’s Diner (open 24/7) and Gino's Pizza (delivers until 10 PM).
I almost laugh at this small kindness. Maybe small towns do have their advantages. I call in an order for a small pizza, giving my address and adding,
"I just moved in today, so I might need to guide your delivery person."
"You're at Edith's rental?" asks the woman on the phone. "Blue cottage?"
"Yes," I say, surprised.
"No problem, honey. My son's delivering tonight, and he knows exactly where you are. Twenty minutes."
She hangs up before I can respond, leaving me staring at my phone. I guess Riley wasn't exaggerating about everyone knowing everyone here.
While I wait for my food, I continue exploring. The living room bookshelf holds an eclectic mix—gardening guides, murder mysteries, a few romance novels with cracked spines. I run my fingers along them, wondering about the previous tenants. Did they find what they were looking for in Cedar Falls? Did they leave by choice?
The delivery arrives in exactly twenty minutes—a teenage boy with a friendly smile who refuses to take my money.
"Mrs. Abernathy said you might call and already covered it," he explains. "Welcome to Cedar Falls!"
I'm so taken aback that I just thank him and close the door. Standing in my kitchen with a free pizza, courtesy of a woman I haven't even met yet, I feel a strange mix of emotions. Gratitude, certainly. But also a wariness born from experience—kindness often comes with expectations attached.
What will Mrs. Abernathy expect from me? What will this town expect?
I eat at the small kitchen table, flipping through a local information packet I found in a drawer. Cedar Falls was founded in 1873 as a logging community. The waterfall it's named for is three miles north. The annual Founder's Day Festival—apparently what they're celebrating this weekend—features a parade, baking contests, historical reenactments, and a dance.
It all sounds almost unbearably quaint. The kind of thing I would have mocked in my previous life.
But my previous life led me here, didn't it? To this quiet cottage in this tiny town where strangers buy you pizza and grumpy mechanics help you find spare keys.
After eating, I wash up and get ready for bed. The cottage creaks and settles around me, unfamiliar sounds that make me jumpy at first. But the bed is surprisingly comfortable, and exhaustion from the drive and the stress of breaking down quickly pulls me under.
My last conscious thought is of Riley—the way his presence seemed to fill the cottage, how his voice rumbled low when he explained about the furnace. How his eyes never quite met mine for more than a second at a time.
I wonder what his story is. And whether I'll ever get to hear it.
Next Day
I wake to sunlight streaming through the east-facing windows and the disorienting feeling of not knowing where I am. Then it comes back—Cedar Falls, the cottage, my broken-down car.
Riley.
I check my phone: 7:23 AM. If I hurry, I can shower, dress, and walk to his shop by opening time—an easy stroll on a beautiful morning.