Chapter 11 #2
“Oh, no, I certainly wasn’t,” I added.
The blonde shook her head and lowered her voice. “Don’t mind her. She’s blind as a bat, deaf as a post, and opinionated as hell. Not everybody has taken to our new digs—least of all her. She’s mad that the county wouldn’t let her get the CDL to drive the bus.”
I tried to imagine the old woman behind the wheel and had to suppress both a laugh and a shudder. “That seems like a sensible line.”
“You have no idea. I’m Bristol, by the way. Are you new in town?”
“I am. Swayze. I thought I’d pop in and find out what your requirements were for a library card.”
Bristol’s brown eyes widened. “You were the renter at McCready’s place.” When my mouth dropped open, she backpedaled. “Sorry, the news and your name have made the rounds. Hell of a bad welcome to town.”
“Wasn’t ideal, but everyone has been really nice and helpful, so at least I landed somewhere with good people.”
“We are that. Generally. Have you got a new address yet?”
So not every single detail of my situation had made the rounds. “I do. No utility bills to prove it, though.”
Bristol waved that off. “That’s easy enough to prove. Just list your landlord.”
“I can do that.” She handed me an iPad, and I began filling out the digital form. “So you mentioned new digs. Was the original library damaged in the flood?”
“Yeah. The building got hit hard. Not completely wiped away, but it needed a ton of remediation. What’s on the bus is what we were able to salvage of the original collections.
The rest of the facility had to be gutted.
Town’s come a long way in the past year, but we’ve been struggling to get sufficient funding for a full rebuild like it deserves, let alone replacement of the books. So, in the meantime, we have the bus.”
This was why I’d come here. Oh, not specifically for the library, but to help in whatever way I could.
As I handed the iPad back, I asked, “I may be new to town, but books are a cause near and dear to my heart. Is there a fundraising committee or something? I’d love to get involved somehow and help. ”
Bristol practically vibrated with excitement. “Yes, absolutely. We’re always looking for more volunteers. We’ve actually got a fundraising committee meeting at El Paisaje—that’s our Mexican restaurant—coming up. We’d love to have you.”
“I’m a graphic designer, so at the very least, I can help with websites or social media materials or flyers to put the word out about things.”
“That would be amazing. Here, let me get your information.”
We swapped our contact info.
“I’ll text you the address and details about the meeting,” Bristol promised.
“Great.”
“Meanwhile, why don’t you browse a bit while I get your account finalized?”
“I’ll be back to do that. Right now, I’m getting to know the town and what’s here.”
“If you haven’t been by the bakery yet, that’s a must stop. Best pastries in the tri-county area.”
I grinned. “That was, for sure, going to be my next stop.”
“Great. Your account info will be emailed to the address you put on the form. I look forward to seeing you again, Swayze.”
“Thanks for that.” I glanced at the back where Miss Alma was squinting in my direction behind coke-bottle glasses. “Nice to meet you, too, Miss Alma.”
“You’ve got what on your shoe?”
Bristol closed her eyes and took a soft inhale. “She said, ‘It’s nice to meet you!’” Out of the corner of her mouth she muttered, “Run while you still can.”
Still softly snickering, I stepped off the bus, feeling better about life. I’d finally taken at least a baby step toward what I’d truly come here to do. That wasn’t nothing.
A bell jangled a few minutes later as I stepped through the door to the bakery.
The interior was a cheerful mix of industrial rustic and buttery yellow walls.
Tables lined the perimeter, with a few more near the glass cases.
A handful of the tables were occupied, and I ignored the weight of eyes on me as I moved closer to examine the muffins, cinnamon rolls, the orange cardamom rolls I’d come for, along with at least four varieties of breads in baskets on the back wall shelves.
Holiday jazz played low over the speakers.
As I stared at the vast array of offerings, a brunette slipped out of the kitchen with a massive tray of cookies as big as my hand.
She slid them into another case that would likely hold sweet treats for later in the day.
Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she flashed a warm smile. “Welcome. What can I get you?”
“Seriously, how does anyone actually decide?”
The brunette laughed. “They don’t. They either buy more than they intend, or they come back later to fuel their carb habit.”
“Consider that orange cardamom roll there my gateway pastry.” I skimmed the displays and spotted an array of teas. “And can I get an English breakfast tea to go?”
“Sure can.” The woman behind the counter began to gather up my order, and my shoulders dropped from where they’d been locked the past week and change. Being able to just get a pastry and tea felt absolutely luxurious, and I intended to enjoy every minute of this sense of normal.
At the telltale sound of a camera shutter, my shoulders twitched up again, and I looked around, expecting to see someone’s phone trained on me. Instead, I spotted a woman frowning at her phone screen before framing the muffin on her plate in the lens.
Not interested in me. No one here knows who I really am. Settle down.
I forced my shoulders to relax again as the woman behind the counter came back with a bag and a cup with a lid on it. “Thanks. This looks amazing.”
“No problem.” She hesitated for a moment. “Can I ask… are you Swayze?”
Oh God.
It was the years of being a public face that kept my expression neutral, when what I really wanted to do was sink through the floor.
“Um, yes.”
The brunette smiled. “I thought you might be. That’s Colter’s jacket. I’m Emmaline Gibson. His sister-in-law.”
“Oh. I—” My brain did a fast recalibration. She didn’t know who I was outside of the reputation I’d already earned in this town as the woman in the fire. “Thanks. I kinda lost track of his relatives.”
Emmaline laughed. “That’s easy to do. There are a lot of us. I’m married to Bodie, his eldest brother.”
“I… don’t think I met him yet.”
“You did not. And hopefully you won’t have cause to, outside of social settings. He’s Chief of Police.”
“Ah.” Whatever criminal charges McCready would be facing, they had nothing to do with me, and I was grateful. I just wanted to move on.
Twitchier than I had been when I came in, I scanned my card for the purchase and picked up the tea and pastry. “Thanks for these. I’m positive I’ll be in again.”
“I look forward to it. Welcome to Gibson Hollow.”