Chapter 7
Evie
At the sound of a knock on the door, I popped up from where I must have fallen asleep on the couch. What time is it?
I stumbled to the door, and when I pulled it open, I was blinded by bright sunlight. Okay, I think it’s morning.
“Can I help you?”
The gangly teenager on the porch looked both terrified and a bit bored, if it was possible.
“Delivery,” he said, tossing his head so his floppy brown hair revealed one blue eye.
He held out a brown paper bag with a familiar logo and a cup.
“Cold brew, Vermont style,” he mumbled. “And a pesto egg sandwich.”
My stomach rumbled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a meal.
“I didn’t order delivery.”
“Good,” he said. “Because we don’t deliver.” He had already turned and was walking back toward the sidewalk.
“You can thank my Uncle Jasper,” he hollered, raising one hand as he walked down the street.
I stared at the coffee in my hand, already feeling more awake. As if the caffeine could leach through the plastic cup, straight into my pores.
Jasper. He was working. Did he really have his nephew deliver coffee to me? I shook my head, both delighted and annoyed. It was just so… Jasper.
I was sitting at the kitchen counter, savoring the last few bites of my sandwich, when the doorbell rang again. Jesus. What was with this town and early mornings?
“Good morning!” Ruby trilled, wearing a big smile.
Frankie trailed behind her, her usual scowl in place.
“It’s a beautiful spring day,” my effervescent friend said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I assessed my friends, then peeked around them. Sure enough, the air was brisk, and the day looked pleasant. Apparently, spring was in full effect in Vermont. Huh. I swore it was just winter.
Then again, I hadn’t left the house in…
I peered around at the laundry and the baby gear strewn all over the living room. A week? Maybe two? A month? It was hard to tell.
Frankie pushed into the house and went straight for the laundry pile. Ruby followed her in and ushered me to the bathroom, where she turned on the shower.
“Ruby,” I whined, following her out into the hall. “I can’t go for a walk. Vincent will be ready to eat again in like an hour. I can’t leave the house.”
“Why not? You’ve got the fancy stroller,” Frankie said, her arms full of towels. “And the little meatball is already a month old.”
As if on cue, Vincent cooed from the swing in the living room.
It was true. My baby had arrived a month ago. It had been the longest yet shortest month of my life. He’d aced every checkup, was sleeping for up to four hours a night, and was rocking his tummy time every day.
Was this how the rest of parenthood would be? An endless blur with some moments slowing to a crawl while others passed by in a flash?
“You need a pick-me-up,” Ruby said, smiling brightly. “I’ll rock Vincent while you shower. Then we can all get some fresh air together.”
She was annoying perky and rocking expertly applied winged eyeliner. Makeup. One of many things that had once been a daily part of my life but now felt like ancient history.
“Look at this gorgeous boy,” she cooed, lifting Vincent out of the baby swing that looked like a lunar lander. “It’s only been two days, and you’ve already grown bigger and stronger.”
She cradled him to her chest, her whole being lit up. “Go. Cleanse yourself. We’re good.”
“But.” I scanned the room, which was much cleaner than it had been only minutes ago. The washer was going, and Frankie was now pulling the vacuum out of the hall closet.
“Go,” she growled.
With a nod, I went. How could I turn down the chance to shower in peace? As I assessed myself in the mirror, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I washed my hair. A week ago, maybe?
In addition to being the most perfect baby to ever exist, my son had the unique ability to bend the space time continuum. How was it that he was already a month old? It felt like I’d only just held him for the first time.
After a luxuriously long shower—it was ten minutes, but that was twice as long as any shower I’d taken in weeks—I discovered a clean outfit laid out on my freshly made bed.
Damn, Frankie worked fast.
The moment I was dressed in the leggings, nursing tank, and denim shirt, I began to feel like an actual human being.
As I shuffled back to the bathroom, I took a second to check in on the situation in the living room. Frankie was in the kitchen now, scrubbing down the kitchen countertops, and Ruby stood in front of the couch, gently swaying with Vincent in her arms.
The sight, blessedly, caused a decent amount of my anxiety to drain away.
In the bathroom, I dried my hair and slapped on a thick layer of moisturizer and even a little mascara.
When I was finished, I found Vincent dressed in a new outfit, probably courtesy of Ruby, and a magically clean house.
“You guys are machines,” I said, taking the place in.
Frankie stretched, letting out a yawn. “I wanted to hit the baseboards too, but I’m not myself today. I was up late installing security cameras at Basil’s store.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s extra paranoid after what happened at the Maple Festival.”
She snagged the throw blanket from where it was bunched on one end of the couch and quickly folded it.
“His rivalry with Lola is a bit unhinged,” she teased, “but she’s not going to murder him over a little gouda.”
I giggled. Basil owned Curd Your Enthusiasm, an artisanal cheese shop. He took great pride in his locally sourced delicacies and had cultivated a never-ending and ruthless rivalry with Lola Prentice, who had opened her own shop, Cheddar Off Dead, across the street.
Feeling more awake than I had in I didn’t know how long, I reached for my son. “I’ll top him off before we go.”
Ruby buried her face in his neck and blew a raspberry, then handed him over. “I’ll pack the diaper bag.”
“I’ve already given the stroller a tune-up,” Frankie said. “The suspension was a bit off.”
I bit back a laugh. Damn, my friends were the best.
“Let’s move out,” Ruby said when I finished feeding Vincent. “A walk and a little sunlight will do you good. We can run errands and grab lunch, and while we’re out, you can speak to humans.”
I huffed. “I speak to you guys.”
And Jasper. Though I didn’t say it out loud.
He texted constantly to check on Vincent, and every time he stopped by to visit, he tried his best to chat with me.
I couldn’t deny him time with his son, but his presence unnerved me.
It undercut my confidence as a mother. I should be enough for Vincent. I didn’t need help.
I buckled my little guy in his stroller, adjusted his hat so it shaded his face, and pulled the canopy over him. Then we set off.
I’d bought my house because of the proximity to town and the neighborhood’s homey feel. This kind of community was one I’d never had back in New York, and every day, I fell more in love with it.
We took our time walking around the town green, taking in the spring flowers and the festive historical signage that had recently been added.
The downtown area looked like it belonged in a snow globe.
The streets were lined with wide brick sidewalks and flanked by maple trees strung with twinkle lights that stayed up all year, glowing like fireflies at dusk.
And the storefronts boasted sturdy brick facades and historic charm.
Every couple of minutes, someone would stop to coo at Vincent.
Ned Shaw, the postman, leaned out of his truck to wave, and Stacy, the florist, had the door to the shop propped open so the scent of fresh-cut lilacs drifted into the street.
Maplewood was gorgeous, but it wasn’t just the cobblestone sidewalks or the revolutionary war cannon on the town green that made the town so memorable.
It was this intangible charm. This place had its own rhythm.
The people here prized history but openly embraced quirks.
Gossip ran faster than the river that poured over Lover’s Leap Falls, but so did kindness and concern.
From the warring cheese shops to the cramped bookstore and the old-fashioned apothecary, I never tired of exploring this place. The waves, smiles, and greetings from people who seemed genuinely happy to see me out and about didn’t hurt either.
New England was bursting with charming towns, but the feelings one experienced in Maplewood were what brought the tourists back year after year. And what made it such a magical place to live.
Across the street, the large door of the fire station was open, and the big red engine sat inside, polished so it gleamed, a piece of town pride for all to admire. Inside, a couple of men bustled around, dressed in their navy blue MFD T-shirts.
Was Jasper on duty today? My heart flipped at the thought.
I touched my clean hair and fought back a cringe. Because when he’d dropped by yesterday to see Vincent, I hadn’t looked nearly as presentable.
Oh well. I pushed the thought away. Why did I even care?
“Coffee first.” Frankie led us down Maple Street, heading toward Bean There, Sipped That.
I waited outside with Vincent in his stroller.
The place was packed, and this thing was as big as a mid-sized SUV.
And, as a perk, staying outside meant I could avoid bumping into Jenn Lawrence, the owner and Jasper’s oldest sister.
She was a lovely person, but this situation was too awkward to tackle at the present moment.
Plus, I’d already had my coffee courtesy of Jasper and a surly teenager.
“Look how handsome you are,” I cooed to Vincent as I tucked his blanket around him. He was happily riding around, seeming to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. God, this kid was already a Vermonter.
I was admiring the windows of Basil’s cheese shop when, like a demon summoned from hell, Bitsy Bramble appeared before me on the sidewalk, dressed in a sweater and pearls as always. She’d probably been lying in wait in a sewer grate somewhere like a pearl-clutching Pennywise.
“Well, if it isn’t Maplewood’s newest resident,” she trilled, peering at Vincent in his stroller like a critic at an art gallery opening.
She studied him and then gave me a disapproving glare. “He does look like a Lawrence.”
My hackles rose. Was she questioning the paternity of my son? She shouldn’t even know anything about us. I’d never actually spoken to the woman, but the small-town gossip mill had surely been at work.
Bitsy was of an indeterminate mature age.
She was spry in a way that suggested youth, but her gray bob, lined face, and permanent judgmental scowl suggested she’d soon be a resident of the local nursing home.
She was the unchallenged don of the Maple Street Mafia, the group of elderly ladies who ran this town and most of the small businesses on Maple Street.
I should have known better than to wander into their territory so soon.
“Between us,” she said, her eyes glittering, “Jasper Lawrence is not known for his… follow-through. Wild as a march hare, that boy.” She tsked. “He drove his father’s tractor right through Mrs. Manning’s hedge. Just yesterday, Olive Foster and I were talking about—”
Jaw clenching, I pulled my shoulders back. “He’s a present and wonderful father.”
“Of course, of course,” she murmured. “Those Lawrence men settle down eventually. Well, sometimes. Just don’t get your hopes up, dear. They may be tall and handsome, but reliable?” She tossed her hands up.
My grip tightened on the handle of the stroller. If I wasn’t concerned about hurting Vincent, I’d ram her with it. Roll right over the toes of her orthotic sneakers. Thanks to Frankie’s all terrain tires, this thing could do some real damage.
“Bitsy,” Ruby snapped. She was holding open the door for Frankie, who was juggling coffee cups and paper bags.
“Don’t you have a committee meeting to run?” Ruby asked, hands on her hips, belly protruding.
“Or a spell to cast?” Frankie added with a sneer.
Bitsy straightened up, adjusting her purse on her arm. “I have been appallingly busy. With what happened at the Maple Festival”—her gray eyebrows shot up, one hand fiddling with her pearls—“this town is a powder keg. Got to keep on top of things. Dig into what really happened.”
I blinked at her, a puff of air escaping me. This little old lady thought she was going to solve a murder? I supposed if anyone could, it would be Bitsy.
“I won’t keep you,” she said, peering down at Vincent again. “I’ll just let the ladies at the historical society know that this little bundle of joy has arrived. Have a blessed day.” With that, she swanned off, leaving behind a cloud of floral perfume and a rock settling in my gut.
I watched her retreating purple form, my pulse still thudding in my ears. Not because of the confrontation with the town busybody, but because of what had slipped out of my mouth.
He’s a present and wonderful father.
The phrase had escaped me, hot and fierce, without my permission.
Jasper really was a good dad.
He really was present. He showed up as often as I would let him, attended to every diaper disaster he could, and carried Vincent around like he was made of spun glass.
I hadn’t expected Bitsy to take a swing at him, but my instincts kicked in, and I was ready to swing back even harder. It was unsettling. But he was my son’s father. And I would not let Vincent grow up in a town where people talked shit about his dad.
“Harpy in pearls,” Ruby said.
“Demon in cashmere.” Frankie handed me a paper bag and took over stroller duties. “Pan au Chocolat,” she explained as I peeked in the bag, practically drooling over the heavenly concoction. “You deserve it.”