Her feet didn’t ache from ru
What was she even doing here? She looked out the big front window at her view of Main Street. The street itself was quaint and tidy, with trees lining the road. The leaves were just starting to change, mixing yellow and reds in with the green. Gold and purple mums sat outside most doors along the way.
Note to self: Get mums.
The café was flanked by the Bluebell Bookstore and Sullivan’s Pub. A
It was, frankly, adorable. Autumnal, small-town New England at its best. Shouldn’t she feel different here? Away from the frenetic energy of Boston, the traffic, and the crowds? Shouldn’t she be different here?
She was damn well going to try.
She rubbed a hand down her face. Maybe she would also try to tuck in early and actually get some sleep before tomorrow. The café opened at seven sharp, she’d been told repeatedly by Norman. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like her, but she decided to chalk his curt attitude up to general old-man curmudgeonly-ness. Her aunt had trusted him for years, so Jeanie did, too.
But grumpy or not, she was glad Norman had stuck around. He knew all the ins and outs of the café and their two baristas had stayed on as well. Jeanie didn’t know what she was worried about. This place could easily run itself without her. She probably hadn’t even needed to close it for a week, but she’d been so overwhelmed when she arrived. The idea of people actually coming in and wanting their usual morning coffee had nearly sent her ru
She thought of the realtor she’d called from the bare floor of her new apartment above the café. Barbara Sanders. She’d insisted Jeanie call her Barb during their brief conversation. Barb’s picture stared up at her from the business card Jeanie had found slipped beneath the front door. She was polished and coiffed, poised, with a wide perfect smile. Jeanie found herself wanting to put her faith in this Barb, wanting to let Barb solve her problems.
She’d nearly agreed to let her put the café up for sale, but then the image of Marvin’s body slumped over his desk, his face resting on a stack of reports, popped into her head and she hastily told Barb she’d changed her mind; though she’d agreed to let Barb send over the comps for what other businesses in the area had sold for recently and then hung up the phone and ate an enormous salad for good measure.
But now as she sat here looking at the tidy little café, her tidy little café, that she had zero business ru
The space was small, just big enough for a few round tables and chairs and Jeanie tried to imagine it filled with customers. Her heart squeezed with excitement and nerves.
The bay window in the front was the perfect nook for two cozy chairs, worn down with age and use. Jeanie’s apartment above the shop shared the same original hardwood floors, something Barb Sanders had raved about. In the middle of the room stood the L-shaped counter with one side for the register and one side for a few more bar stools. The glass case next to the register was filled with A
Jeanie stared at a particularly large painting across the room from her of a big purple cow. Did the artist get nervous about hanging it? Did she sit at home with a sick feeling in her belly that she wasn’t actually a very good painter at all? Did she worry about what people would think about her colorful farm animals or did she just go for it?
The knock at the back door disrupted her existential crisis and her staring contest with the cow. She hopped down from her stool and went to the back, pulling off her apron as she went. She’d put it on this morning with the hopes that it would make her feel more official. No luck there.
Logan was the last person she expected to see at her door, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a flutter of excitement at finding him there.
‘Hi,’ she said, opening the door wider.
‘Here,’ he said, not bothering with a greeting. He held out his hand and, in his palm, rested a small box.
‘Um ... what...’