Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
WELCOME TO MAPLE CROSSING
The greeting was engraved into the arch of an old-timey wooden covered bridge.
A frozen creek ran underneath the structure, its weathered sides dusted with fresh snow.
Andrea’s white-knuckle grip loosened on the steering wheel, and she eased off the gas pedal.
The scene through the windshield looked like a postcard, and though the forty-mile drive thus far had not felt relaxing in any way, shape, or form, she took a moment to enjoy her surroundings as she eased onto the bridge.
Andrea had been raised in Central Oregon, which saw its fair share of snow, so it wasn’t that she was altogether unfamiliar with driving in such conditions, but she’d been living happily as a city witch in Los Angeles for the better part of the last decade, and the winters of her late teens and early twenties felt very far away.
Any lingering muscle memory of driving on slick roads seemed nonexistent.
Still, she’d made it. There were only a few miles left to go, according to the GPS of her rented SUV.
Relax, she told herself, even as she braced for ice as the tires rolled over the old wooden planks. You’re on vacation now. People relax on vacation. It’s literally the point.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder, and Andrea took her eyes off the road just long enough to see Martina’s name on the screen.
With a sigh, she reached down and silenced the call, sending it straight to voicemail.
She’d contend with her editor’s latest passive-aggressive message once she was parked.
Preferably after she’d procured a bottle of wine.
Thanks to a flight delay and a mix-up at the rental car counter, she’d spent over twelve hours on planes and in airports, and therefore decided she had earned the right to pretend her deadline didn’t exist for at least the next few hours.
Without further incident or distraction, Andrea finished crossing the bridge and followed the snowy two-lane road around a bend, where the town of Maple Crossing unfolded like a scene from inside a vintage snow globe.
The main street stretched before her, lined with charming Alpine-style buildings that looked like they’d been transported from a Bavarian village.
Timber-framed structures with steep, snow-laden roofs created a picturesque streetscape, their dark wooden beams creating geometric patterns against cream- and sage-colored walls.
Ornate carved balconies jutted from second stories draped with garlands and twinkling lights that reflected off the icicles hanging from the eaves.
Hand-carved wooden signs hung from wrought-iron brackets: “Harrison’s Hardware,” “Maple Crossing General Store,” “The Book Worm,” and “Mountain View Antiques.” A charming establishment called The Sleepy Sheep Inn anchored one corner, its timber facade painted a deep forest green, with flower boxes beneath every window featuring wintry greenery and red artificial poinsettias.
The town square sat at the heart of it all, dominated by an enormous Christmas tree that had to be at least twenty feet tall, all wrapped in white lights, red and gold ribbons, and what must have been hundreds of glittering ornaments.
Beside it, a cream-painted wooden gazebo wore swags of garland like a festive crown, and overhead, strings of lights crisscrossed to create a magical canopy.
Andrea slowed her car to a crawl, enchanted by the scene. Shop windows glowed warmly, displaying everything from hand-knitted sweaters to ski gear to baked goods. A few people in winter coats moved along the sidewalks, their voices carrying the cheerful cadence of neighbors greeting each other.
Crumpet bounced around excitedly in the back seat, seeming to be just as eager to feast his eyes on their new surroundings. “What do you think, boy?” Andrea asked as she flicked a glance toward the rearview mirror to watch him race back and forth between the two windows.
It didn’t take Andrea long to find the address Marren had messaged to her that morning.
After formalizing the swap on the rental site, they took their chat to text messages and hammered out the details.
Marren had arranged to leave her house key with a friend who ran the local coffeehouse, and instructed Andrea to pick it up from her, rather than leave it under the welcome mat or flower pot on the porch.
Andrea doubted the crime rate was high in a place like Maple Crossing, but she didn’t mind the extra stop.
If anything, a piping hot latte would be the perfect treat after such a long day.
Andrea pulled into one of the diagonal parking spaces in front of Rooster’s Crow Coffeehouse and smiled at the painted rooster on the quaint shop’s display window. The feathered beast wore a knitted cap and matching scarf, and somehow had one wing wrapped around a coffee cup.
“All right,” she said as she parked and cut the engine. She cast another glance toward the back seat as Crumpet placed his two front paws on the center armrest. “Stay here and no barking. If you’re good, I’ll bring you a pup cup.”
He whined, but didn’t try to make a break for it as she shimmied out of the driver’s side, and she figured that was as much as she could ask for. Crumpet was as cute as a Beanie Baby, but officially an obedience school dropout. The staff at his doggy daycare lovingly referred to him as Tarzan.
The bell above the door chimed as Andrea stepped inside the coffeehouse, and the scent of espresso and cinnamon instantly enveloped her like a warm hug.
The space was well lit and populated with comfy chairs and even a full loveseat near the back, alongside a shabby-chic bookshelf that held used books and a stack of various board games.
It was exactly the kind of cozy, independent place that would have been swallowed up by a Starbucks within six months back in LA.
Andrea took a moment to glance over the handwritten menu board while the woman behind the counter finished serving the customer ahead of her—an elderly man who was chatting about his grandson’s upcoming wedding.
The barista had short dark curls, warm brown skin, and an infectious laugh that seemed to fill the space.
“Well, you tell them good luck for me,” the woman told the man as she slipped a plastic lid and protective sleeve onto a cup. “A New Year’s Eve wedding sounds like good luck to me!”
“Will do, Maya! Although you’ll probably be seeing me before then!” the man replied with a raspy chuckle before he turned and shuffled past Andrea.
The bell chimed as Andrea stepped forward.
“Good afternoon, darlin’,” the woman said, backtracking to wipe down the steamer wand with a wet rag. “What can I get started for you?”
“I would love a hazelnut latte, with one pump of vanilla. Oat milk, if you have it. Half-caff.”
“I sure do!” The woman sprang into action. Andrea placed her in her late forties, perhaps her early fifties. “Anything else for you today?”
“Are you Maya Saunders?” Andrea asked as she dug into her purse. “I’m supposed to pick up a set of keys she left here for me. My name is Andrea Wickham.”
The woman’s face lit up with recognition and warmth. “Oh! You’re the house swap! Of course! Yes, I’m Maya.” She extended her hand with genuine enthusiasm. “Marren said you were coming all the way from Los Angeles. What a change of scenery this must be!”
“It’s definitely different,” Andrea admitted, glancing out the window at the snow-covered street. “Beautiful, though. This whole town is like something from a postcard.”
“Well, I hope you’ll love it here as much as we do,” Maya said, her smile warm and authentic as she turned to prepare Andrea’s latte. “Let me get your drink started, and then I’ll grab those keys for you.”
“Thank you.” Andrea gravitated to the window to check on Crumpet, and found him seated in the driver’s seat, as though waiting to be handed the keys.
Not on your life, bub, she thought, giving the dog a shooing motion. Not that Crumpet obeyed.
With a quiet sigh under her breath, she turned away from the window and walked back to the front counter. “Is this your shop, then?”
“It is!” Maya replied, beaming with pride as she poured oat milk into a silver pitcher. “Well, me and my husband, Benson. We opened the place eight years ago, although it feels like far longer. In a good way, of course!”
Andrea smiled. “That’s wonderful. I own my own bakery, back in LA.”
“That’s right! Marren mentioned you were a pastry chef.
” Maya turned and handed Andrea the cup.
“If you get bored, you’re more than welcome to come here and give me some tips!
” she added with a laugh and a quick sidelong glance at the display case where a few muffins and cookies lingered.
“I can make a mean flat white, but when it comes to desserts, I have to outsource.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Andrea replied before taking a sip of her latte. Her eyes widened and she lowered the cup. “Mmm! This is incredible! Do you buy from a local roaster?”
“Oh, very local,” Maya replied with a chuckle. “We roast our own beans. That’s Benson’s passion, you see. I lost the use of my garage to all his gadgets and supplies, but it’s worth it.”
“I tend to agree!” Andrea’s smile widened. “Safe to say, you’ll be seeing me again.”
Maya beamed with pride as she opened the register drawer and plucked a keyring from alongside the tray of sorted coins. “You’re welcome anytime. Now, here are those keys,” she said, passing the keys to Andrea.
The bell chimed and Maya’s attention shifted to the newcomer, her smile immediately brightening as her eyes glowed with warm light. “Well, now, it’s a bit late to be seeing you, Wes.”