Chapter 1 #2
I can’t see Mia, but I know she’s beaming. Calling her a beast is her version of a compliment.
“Sorry I’m late!” Avery says, walking through the kitchen doorway holding Mia’s hand. “I had to stop at the new Buc-ee’s and I got lost at the taffy wall.”
“You got to stop at Buc-ee’s?” Mom says, eyeing me. “Next time I’m riding with you, Ave. This one wouldn’t stop for anything.”
“I would have,” I defend. “I just wanted to beat the movers here.”
Shep takes that as his cue to head back out to the moving van. “We’ll get to work,” he says.
We spend the day working around the movers. The beds and furniture are placed, and everywhere you look, boxes are stacked or open, or empty and collapsed.
“I need pizza,” Avery announces. “Feed us.”
“I planned to,” I tell her. “I’ll go on a run. What do you want?”
“Anything but chicken,” she says. “Chicken does not belong on pizza.”
“I thought that was pineapple,” I tease.
“Ask the owner what their best seller is,” Mom says. “That’ll be the one.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my keys off the island. “One best seller and one half cheese, half pepperoni. And I'll grab one for the movers while I’m at it. I’ll be right back.”
In my van, I search maps for pizza places near me. The two top listings are Gino’s Pizza and the Pizza Den. I’m a sucker for places with Italian names, so I’m about to head to Gino’s.
One glance at myself in my rearview mirror has me picking the Pizza Den. I look like a woman who drove across the state and spent the day riffling through boxes. My wavy brown hair is sticking out from my ponytail in unruly wisps.
I pull up in front of a row of shops on one of the side streets just off the main downtown. I park the van in front of the shop. The smell when I open the door makes my stomach growl.
Several people are standing around the counter waiting for to-go orders. A woman is paying at the register. A few other families or groups of friends are eating at the booths along the walls and the tables near the front window.
A man steps up to grab seven boxes of pizza from the employee behind the counter. He’s tall and built, with broad shoulders, strong arms, and a body that demands attention. He’s all muscles and hard edges.
I clear my throat and glance up at the overhead menu, waiting my turn to place my order.
My eyes drift back to the man with tousled light-brown hair and a dusting of stubble softening his otherwise chiseled jaw.
His expression is confident and calm, not stern, but definitely not warm.
His eyes, though. They look like they’re seeing everything—even things that aren’t here and now.
“That’s the whole order, Greyson,” the worker at the counter says to the man. Greyson. The name fits him. “And Dustin asked for garlic knots.” The worker places a smaller box on top of the stack of pizza boxes.
Greyson lifts the stack with one hand, balancing them on his arm. In a deep, serious voice, he says, “Thanks, Tommy.”
I’m standing near the door, so I step out of the way to let Greyson pass.
He stops short a few feet away from me when our eyes meet.
His gaze narrows, his brow drawing in. Then, as if shaking off a thought, his face goes neutral and he walks by me, glancing over at me one more time before heading out the door.
A tingle runs up my spine when our eyes connect, and he looks away.
I watch him walk to a Jeep, setting the boxes in the back seat. He has the kind of face that makes him feel familiar—sort of like how Waterford invoked memories of Maryville the first time I saw it. He reminds me of someone. I just can’t remember who.
I’m exhausted and starving. It’s entirely possible that everything feels and looks familiar at this point. Besides, it’s Tennessee. If you’ve seen one small, historic town, you’ve seen them all. That’s true, isn’t it?
Still, something prickles across my skin. I rub my hands down my forearms.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” the worker behind the counter asks.
“Oh. Yes. Um …” I step up to the register. “What’s your best seller?”
“Besides cheese and pepperoni?” the kid asks. “I’d say that’ll be our Nashville hot chicken pizza.”
I chuckle. Of course it’s chicken.
“Well, give me one pepperoni, one half cheese, half pepperoni … and one of The Works.”
“You got it. Name for the order?”
“Hallie.”
“New to Waterford?” he asks. “Or just visiting?”
“First day in town.”
“Well, then. First pizza’s on the house.”
“Oh. You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah. I do. Or my manager will get on me. Welcome to Waterford, Miss Hallie.”
I arrive back home carrying three pizza boxes and a complimentary box of cinnamon sugar twists the worker threw in at the last minute. I offered to pay for them and he said I ought not look a gift horse in the mouth, so I just stuffed a ten in the tip jar.
“Pizza!” Mia shouts when I step through the front door. Moving paper is still secured to the floor in the living room and down the hallway.
I hand a pizza over to Shep.
“Thank you. We’re ’bout finished here,” he tells me. “Just a few more boxes.”
“Thank you so much,” I tell him.
We devour the pizza in record time, stashing the rest in the fridge. The movers drive away. Mia watches them from the front bay window in Nana’s bedroom. The guest room. It’s a guest room. Not my mom’s.
“Time for your first night in your new home,” I say to Mia. “Let’s brush teeth.”
“And read a story?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, even though my eyes tug with exhaustion.
Keeping her routine in place trumps my need for sleep.
Once Mia is tucked into bed, her pajamas on and her favorite stuffed bear in her arms, I sit on the edge of her bed, holding Ramona and Beezus. She can read chapter books to herself by now, but we’ve kept our habit of nightly reading anyway.
“Mommy?” Mia’s voice is drowsy and slurred.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“When do we sign up for baseball?”
“Avery’s taking you this week on one of the days I’ll be at work.”
“Don’t let her forget.”
“Never.”
“What will you do at the fire station for a whole day?” she yawns and looks at me through half-lidded eyes.
“I’ll do equipment checks and write a bunch of things down. Then, if there are emergencies or fires, I’ll go with the rest of the crew to put the fire out or to help people.”
“Are you scared?” Her eyes widen just the slightest.
“I’m not scared,” I assure her. “I know how to be really careful. That’s what I learned when I went through training. And a fire crew looks out for one another. I’ll be very safe.” I brush a lock of wavy brown hair off Mia’s forehead and trail my finger down her cheek. “Are you scared?”
“About you being a fire girl?”
I chuckle softly. “A firewoman. And, yes. Does it scare you?”
“No. Because you’re careful. But … I am scared about school.”
“First days can be scary,” I agree. “But you’re going to do great. And I’ll come home on my break to see you after school so you can tell me all about it, okay?”
Mia nods. “Okay.”
“And you don’t have to be brave all day—just brave enough to walk in. Your teacher will be looking out for you and I’ll be right here when you get home.”
She smiles a soft smile. “Beezus, please.”
“Okay. Let’s read and then you can have sweet dreams of friends you’ll make and home runs you’ll hit on your new team. We’re both about to have an adventure.”
She smiles wider. “I love adventures.”
“I know you do. You’re my brave, adventurous girl. And you even take adventures when they scare you a little. That’s the best kind of brave.”
I talk a big talk. It’s what moms do. My stomach swirls with thoughts of my first day.
I crack the book open and start reading at the spot where we left off last night. You just have to be brave enough to walk in. I echo the wisdom I just fed my daughter, trying to convince myself it’s that simple.