5. Millie
CHAPTER 5
Millie
Motherfucker .
It died on me. I tap repeatedly at the blank phone screen, hoping it’ll miraculously burst into colour and present me with the time. Pacing back and forth across the sidewalk, I let out a pathetic whimper that feels dangerously close to the start of a temper tantrum.
The bakery on the corner seems to be the only store with any signs of life, the rest lie dormant, waiting for their respective humans to arrive for the day. Apparently, things are a little more lax in the mountains. Businesses tend to open later in the morning and being on time is more of a guideline than a rule. Mountain Time , they call it. Which sounds about right, given that my driver is nowhere to be seen, and I’m currently stranded in an empty parking lot.
I contemplate leaving my luggage against the bike shelter by the visitor centre, but quickly think better of it. Abandoning all of my worldly possessions in a strange place I’ve never been before hardly seems like one of my smarter choices. I did read that the crime rate is much lower out here, but I’m not going to take my chances. I humph, dragging each of my suitcases to the stoop of the bakery door, one at a time. My forehead is beaded with thick sweat by the time I’m done.
There’s still a chill to the wind despite it being early May. Stepping out of the cold into the bakery feels like a warm hug, goosebumps rise and fall across my arms as my body adjusts to the temperature inside.
I packed a jacket, of course. I just packed it in the very same suitcase that I’m refusing to open until I reach my final destination, for fear of a clothes explosion. I exerted myself so thoroughly trying to zip it shut that I wouldn’t dare risk a second try. For now, I’m stuck with the same sweatpants and cropped half-zip I wore on the journey over, and I’m not quite sure they’re a match for this weather.
I drool as I take in the selection of freshly baked pastries and scones laid out in front of me, hoping one of them might make me feel a little better. Nothing soothes the anxious soul quite like a sweet treat, and there’s plenty to choose from. It’s quite the spread for a town that is apparently void of life this morning.
“Morning!” The words startle me, coming from somewhere beyond the counter.
I push up on my tiptoes looking for their owner. “Hello?”
“Sorry, honey.” An older woman rises, dusting her hands on a flour-covered apron. “I was just finishing up the bun orders for today. We keep them down below so they’re easy to grab.”
I smile and nod. I’m not sure why this information has anything to do with me, but the last thing I want is to appear rude.
“New in town, or passing through?” she quizzes, shifting her attention to decanting a tray of rocky-road slices into a glass serving dome.
“New,” I confirm, then realize I should probably offer something more. If I’m going to live in a close-knit town like this, I’ll need to get used to participating in all of the small talk that goes with it – the thought fills me with dread. “I’m going to be working at Braggan Valley Lodge, I’m just waiting for someone to pick me up.”
She frowns, running her fingers through her short white curls. “Bill’s never late for the bus drop-off.” She glances at the clock with confusion. “Wait here… I’ll give Maura a call.”
I guess it’s true what they say about small towns – everyone really does know everyone.
I listen to the snippets of one half of the conversation unfolding from the back.
“… yes, I was shocked when she said she was waiting… of course, I’ll let her know… not to worry… Frank and I will be up to the lodge when he’s back down… rhubarb pie… give Doug a big kiss for me, bye for now.”
Pushing through the beaded curtain with another baking tray filled with hot croissants, the woman returns. “On route,” she nods. “Now, let’s get you some treats for the road. I’m Stella, by the way.”
“Millie,” I say, returning a tired smile.
“Welcome to the Valley, Millie.” Her voice is raspy, but soft. “You ever need anything while you’re in town just let us know. My husband, Frank, has the hardware store a few blocks over. We know everyone around here, and everyone knows something about something. You’re never alone out here. Sure, we’re rural, but it’s a close-knit community, and we help each other out.”
“That’s good to know,” I reply politely, knowing full well that I hate to ask for help and will likely never take her up on that offer.
“I know that look,” she laughs. “You’ll have to get used to accepting the kindness of strangers. This isn’t the big city anymore.”
“Oh, I…” I didn’t know I was that easy to read. “Well, yes. I guess I will.”
By the time I step back out into the morning, I’ve been loaded up with so many pastries I feel like a pack mule, one arm laden with raspberry donuts and cinnamon bear-claws for the drive, the other balancing a fresh rhubarb pie for Maura & Bill.
It all smells so good.
I eyeball the drop from the bakery to the sidewalk, taking a calculated step down to ground level. Not one of these pastries deserves to spend its day face down on the pavement. I take it slow, not breathing until both of my feet are firmly planted on the ground again.
Phew .
I’m so caught up in my cake-protecting mission that I completely fail to notice the truck that pulled up outside the bakery, or the imposing man leaning against it, until I’m right upon them.
Dark blue eyes rake over me, but not in a way that anyone could find flattering. It’s like he’s sizing me up, taking inventory of each of my flaws. I can’t pinpoint the exact energy he’s giving off, but it’s definitely in the same family as disgust.
I’m sizing him up too, but in a more literal sense. I’ve never been good at judging height, but he’s tall… I close one eye, trying to work out how many footlong subs I could stack up alongside his body from head to toe. At least six, and definitely a few more inches on top of that.
A faded Braggan Valley Lodge logo is etched into his cap. I’m sure Maura said Bill was her husband. I’d imagined an older man, but this guy can’t be much older than me. Aside from the murderous look on his face, he’s objectively attractive. Strong features, a seriously chiselled jaw with just the right amount of stubble, and thighs that fill out his denim jeans perfectly.
Get it, Maura.
I gulp down the attraction, realizing now is not an appropriate time for my ovaries to kick into action.
Plus, this is the husband of my new boss.
I scuttle towards the closest bench, carefully setting down my collection of pastries. With my arms now free to introduce myself, I take a deep breath and turn back towards him.
I expect him to speak first, to introduce himself or ask for my name – but he gives me nothing.
Nothing .
“Hi, I’m Millie Adams.” I extend my hand, trying to break up the awkwardness and reroute my first impression. “You must be Bill?”
His nostrils flare as he makes strides towards my luggage. Taking a suitcase in each hand, he throws them into the bed of the truck as if they weigh nothing at all.
Closing the tailgate, he looks down at my hand with disdain. My arm is stupidly still extended in his direction, words lost on my tongue as he glares at me.
Embarrassment crawls up my skin as his next words prompt hot tears to prick at the back of my eyes.
“Get in the fucking truck, Princess.”