1. Welcome to Willow Valley
ONE
WELCOME TO WILLOW VALLEY
? There She Goes by The La's
CLIO
Present Day
Aunt Penny walked past me on the street today, except that would be impossible because Penny died two years ago.
For a moment, it was her—with that bright smile and those deep laugh lines around her eyes that told of the wisdom and joy she brought to everyone who knew her.
She still had her white hair pulled back in a clip, the way it was before she lost it all to the cancer that stole her from us far too soon.
When I looked over my shoulder, she was gone, replaced by a stranger. I smiled kindly and continued on to the coffee shop where my friend Quinn works, scanning the sidewalk for pennies along the way, but I never find them when I need them most.
I pull open the door to Branch Out. The scent of dark roast combined with something earthy flooded my senses.
“Hey, Clio,” Quinn says, pulling her chestnut curls into a bun on the top of her head. “Usual order?”
“Yeah. Can I get that with a banana muffin?”
“Of course.” She reaches into the pastry case with a piece of parchment and drops the muffin into a small paper bag, rolling the top closed.
“What time is your break?” I ask, taking it from her outstretched hand.
She glances at the clock on the wall. “Five minutes.”
“I was going to walk to the park, hang out while Lexi coaches soccer, if you want to keep me company.”
“I don’t know…” Quinn chews on her bottom lip, pulling a paper cup from the top of the stack.
“Bring your headphones. If it gets to be too much, you don’t have to stay.”
Quinn was the very first person to welcome me when I moved to Willow Valley, and we became fast friends.
Well, sort of. I kind of forced my friendship on her.
She’s sweet as pie, if a little hesitant to open up.
I recognize myself in her—or at least the girl I was when I first moved to North Carolina to live with Aunt Penny.
She presses a few buttons on the fancy espresso machine, then hands me the large oat milk latte. After grabbing her tote bag from under the counter, she unties her apron and turns to her coworker. “I’m taking my lunch break. Be back in an hour.”
A blast of summer heat robs me of oxygen as we step out onto the sidewalk, and I’m instantly sticky from head to toe. I can’t wait for fall when I don’t sweat through my clothes, arriving at my destination damp and red as a ripened tomato.
As I bring my coffee to my lips, Quinn’s phone lights up with a notification from a dating app.
“How’s that going?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath. “You know that saying? There’s plenty of fish in the sea? Well, the sea is putrid, and the fish are rotting.”
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of me. “You’ll find someone. Just be patient.”
“Duh. Who wouldn’t want to date a fat, autistic barista with a musical theatre obsession?” She wrinkles her nose. “Sorry. There goes my filter again.”
I nudge her with my elbow, sending her stumbling sideways. “Shut up, Quinny. You’re a catch.”
She rolls her eyes. “What about you? Got any hot dates on the horizon?”
I nibble on my bottom lip and shake my head, ignoring the way my thoughts conjure up a vision of blue eyes, blonde hair, and bulging tattooed biceps. “Nope.”
“You haven’t been on a single date since you moved here, and it’s not for lack of offers.”
I shrug. What is there to say? I haven’t been on a date in years, and it’s been even longer than that since I’ve been touched.
Held. Kissed. My body aches for it, but my heart is terrified of the possibility.
I’ve avoided intimate relationships my entire adult life because I don’t know how to give myself to someone, to trust them with my body or heart.
I do fine relying on my instincts and sensibilities—and rechargeable vibrators.
“I’m too busy to date. School starts back up next week, and Lexi’s about to be a sophomore.”
“Lexi’s a big girl,” Quinn says in a gentle voice. “She’s driving now. You don’t need to babysit her. You should be going out and having fun. Get laid.”
“Are you getting laid?” I say accusingly.
“Well, no, but I’m not you. I have all the sex appeal of a stray cat.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lean my head against hers. “You’re beautiful. Besides, I have a soft spot for strays.”
“If you keep complimenting me like this, I might fall in love with you.”
“Somebody should. I’m delightful.”
Voices and laughter drift on the slight breeze. As we turn the corner onto Elm Street, the park comes into view, and my gaze lands on the back of a man I could recognize in my sleep: Noah Weston.
My stomach clenches at the sight of the gorgeous brunette walking next to him.
She’s wearing all black with tattoos down her legs and arms, laughing and holding hands with a curly-haired little boy in a superhero cape.
They look like a picture-perfect family—not that I have any inclination what such a thing would be like.
“Oh, I get it,” Quinn says amusedly. “You’re hot for landlord, but is he hot for teacher?”
I let out a ragged sigh. “I am not into that dickhead. Sure, he’s good-looking, but that doesn’t make up for… everything else about him.”
When I met Noah, I mistook his coldness for stoicism.
Turns out, he’s just an asshole. It was my mistake for thinking a man offering me a place to live, no questions asked, might actually be a decent human being.
These days, I take great pride in my ability to rattle him.
Antagonizing Noah is a skill I’ve carefully honed over the last year living across the hall.
“Don’t lie to me, Clio Marsden. I might be shit with social cues, but I know you well enough to know when you’re lying through your teeth.”
Ignoring her astute assessment, I ask, “Who’s that walking with him?”
“That’s his sister Emma, and I think the little boy is their nephew, August. He hasn’t been around in at least two years.”
“Why not?”
“Not sure. Janet would know. You should ask her.”
“Janet always knows,” we say in unison.
A glint of something shiny catches in my peripheral vision. On the sidewalk, a few paces to my right, is a bright copper penny, nearly untouched by time. A pang of longing resounds near my patchwork heart as I bend to pick it up, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger.
I close my eyes, letting Aunt Penny’s voice carry me away. “Find a penny, pick it up. All day long, you’ll have good luck.”
I slide it into my pocket for safekeeping, swallowing down the unwanted sadness.
God, I miss her.
After Penny passed, I renewed the search for my sister—the only family I had left in the world.
I found her working at the library in Willow Valley.
Before I knew it, I had sold everything I owned save for a few of my most prized possessions, including the only home I’d known since I was sixteen years old, and started over in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky.
For the most part, Callie and I have reconciled, but we both have wounds only time can heal.
Lexi waves excitedly as I come to a stop outside the soccer fields.
I wave back and blow her a kiss. She’s my pride and joy, and I’m so unbelievably proud of the kind, thoughtful girl she’s grown into.
There was a time when I was worried I might not be cut out to be a mom.
I was young and naive. Still a baby by most standards.
How was I supposed to raise a kid? Then I met Penny, and she set all of my worries at ease.
“All you have to do is love her, Cici. The rest will work itself out.”
I take a long drink from my paper cup, letting the flavors mingle on my tongue. “You coming to the town meeting tonight?”
Quinn sighs. “It’s mandatory, unfortunately. Gramps said he’s counting on my vote for something.”
“Isn’t it against some kind of bylaw to make your family members vote in your favor?”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but you know I’d do anything for him. He’s my favorite person in the whole world.”
Milton Catalano, known affectionately around town as Gramps, is Quinn’s grandfather.
He’s the mayor of Willow Valley, though that position is largely considered honorary.
Everything is run by a committee of three council members.
There’s a monthly meeting, and the town votes on new resolutions, requiring 55 percent in favor to pass.
The greater Willow Valley area is home to roughly 600 people, with only 400 or so living in Willow Valley proper.
Many of our older residents live on the outskirts of town on old farms or at the mobile home village near the border between here and Starling Falls.
Truth be told, I wasn’t sure where I’d fit in when I moved here, but barely a year later, Willow Valley feels like home.
“I should get back to the shop,” Quinn says, glancing around the park. “This place is way too people-y.”
I pull her in for a one-armed hug before setting her free again. “Meet you there after work? We can walk to the meeting together.”
“Bring snacks. I heard something’s going down tonight.”
I steeple my hands and tap my fingers together like a cartoon villain. “Sounds like the perfect excuse for popcorn.”
NOAH
This has been the week from hell, and it just keeps getting hotter.
On Monday, a late-summer storm cut the power to the studio for three hours, and I had to cancel my afternoon appointment. On Tuesday, I had another run-in with my tenant about changing the bathroom tile to something with more personality—her words, not mine.
And yesterday, in the middle of my morning coffee, I got a call that my twin brother, Jonah, had been arrested, and he appointed me as his four-year-old son’s guardian. I haven’t seen or heard from Jonah in three years, and now I’m in charge of a four-year-old.
If that wasn’t enough, this morning, Ben Catalano gave me an ominous warning that I should attend this month’s town meeting, so I’m bracing for the worst.