9. Kate #2
Before I can respond, another voice chimes in — soft but welcoming. “You’re Kate, right?”
I turn to find a woman with warm brown eyes and an easy smile standing beside Emily, her hands full of snack packs.
“I’m Rachel,” she introduces, extending a hand that’s dusted with crumbs from an open bag of chips. “Tyler’s wife. I handled the lease on your cottage for Noah — he’s hopeless with computers.”
“Tyler is my brother,” Emily chips in when she notices my confusion.
A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Of course, Noah. Of course, that checks out.
“Thank you, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” I say, meaning it more than I expected. “It’s a beautiful place.”
Rachel waves me off like it was nothing. “It’s even better once you settle in. This town has a way of growing on you.”
I know, right? The people in town, too. I add silently to myself.
As we fall into the rhythm of arranging juice boxes and snack bags, the conversation flows around me; light, unhurried, and easy.
They tell me about a knitting circle that meets every other Tuesday at the local bookstore, a book club that runs on more wine than literature, and the way the whole town shuts down for the annual Harbor Festival.
It’s the first time since moving here that I’ve felt... included. Like maybe, hopefully, this place could feel like home.
And then, as if the universe knows I’ve grown a little too comfortable, Rachel’s voice shifts.
“So,” she starts, her tone casual but laced with curiosity, “Noah.”
The name alone sends a flicker of heat crawling up the back of my neck. I busy myself with aligning the snack packs, pretending not to notice the weight of both women’s attention.
“What about him?” I ask, keeping my voice light and neutral.
“How has it been living next door to him?” Rachel asks.
“He helped us out with the storm last night.” I somehow have a feeling Emily would have mentioned that to Rachel anyway.
“He likes to help out around town,” Rachel replies, but I don’t miss the twinkle in her eyes.
Emily’s smile quirks the smallest bit, “He seems... different today.”
I shrug, too practiced at feigning innocence. “I wouldn’t know.”
But Rachel, she’s sharper than that. She nudges my arm gently, lowering her voice enough to sound conspiratorial. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you arrived.”
My breath catches, unguarded, and before I can stop myself, I glance toward the field.
And there he is.
Noah, standing near the first base line, glove in hand, pretending to watch the kids. But his eyes-those blue, steady eyes-are locked on me. Not in passing. Not by accident. Like the entire world could crumble around us, and he still won’t look away.
Only when I catch him and our eyes meet and hold does he finally shift, slow and unhurried, gaze drifting back to the field like he hadn’t just branded himself into the center of my chest.
The moment lingers too long, long enough for the air to feel heavier.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Rachel hums under her breath, a note of amusement threading through her voice.
Before I can piece together a reply, someone bumps into me, and I feel the shift in the air, like the drop in summer before a summer storm.
“You shouldn’t stand in the way,” A new voice slides between us. Cool. Clipped. Dusted with something brittle that doesn’t quite mask the bite. “Well, aren’t you dressed to impress for T-ball?”
I turn, startled by the interruption, and my gaze collides with a woman I’ve never seen before. She stands a few feet away, arms crossed tight across her chest, posture set like stone. She isn’t much older than me, early thirties, maybe…but her face is hardened by something deeper than time.
Her hair, sun-bleached at the ends and curled loosely around her shoulders, appears like it hasn’t seen the inside of a salon in months, and her makeup, though expertly done, can’t quite soften the sharpness in her features.
Her eyes, a striking shade of stormy gray, rake over me, slowly lingering a fraction too long on my clothes. I glance down self-consciously at my simple dress and sandals that I wore to teach in, suddenly unsure if I’d overdressed for a kids' T-ball practice.
“Trying to catch someone’s eye?” the woman adds, one brow arched, the corner of her mouth tipping up into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
The question hits its mark, leaving a prickling flush creeping up my neck. I open my mouth, fumbling for something polite, anything, but Emily shifts beside me, her body language subtly sharpening.
“Tara,” Rachel murmurs, the name soft but edged with warning.
Tara. So that’s her name.
Rachel’s easy warmth cools a little as she straightens, and Emily’s smile flattens into something unreadable.
“Don’t mind her,” Rachel says gently, brushing a crumb off the table as if Tara’s presence is nothing more than a piece of lint. “Some people around here don’t handle change very well.”
Tara doesn’t flinch at the jab. If anything, her smirk deepens, eyes still on me, like she’s testing for cracks. But before I can say anything, Emily leans in under her breath, just for me.
“She’s got a thing for Noah. Always has.”
I blink, startled, and something about the tension suddenly slots into place.
“She grew up here,” Emily continues in a soft voice, keeping her smile pinned firmly in place for the sake of appearances. “Let’s just say... seeing you must’ve thrown her off her game.”
Rachel nods, confirming it with the smallest tilt of her head. “Don’t take it personally. Tara’s bark is worse than her bite. It’s just…well, you walked in, and I’d bet she saw competition before she saw a neighbor.”
I swallow hard, unsure what to say, but I don't have time to process the tangled weight of it all before Tara lets out a dry little laugh, like she’s already written me off as unworthy, and saunters away without another word.
The moment she’s gone, Emily loops her arm gently through mine. “Ignore her,” she says with easy confidence. “She’s been in this town her whole life and still hasn’t figured out how to play nice.”
But even as I nod, even as the kids come barreling over with flushed faces and sweaty hair, Parker’s voice rising clear and bright in the rush of their chatter, I can still feel the sting of Tara’s words, lingering like a bruise under the surface.
And no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the question.
Why did it feel like she saw right through me, too?