Chapter 4
The sunny afternoon tempted Sara and she decided to walk into town before going home.
The crisp winter air turned her cheeks pink as she walked past snow-covered gardens and cozy cottages with smoke curling from their chimneys.
The brick storefronts along Main Street were still decked out for the holidays with a wide variety of decorations adorning the windows and the old-fashioned streetlamps.
The delicious scents emerging from a coffee shop and bakery tempted her, but then she spotted a thrift store across the street.
The window display featured a mannequin in a spectacular vintage gown, surrounded by antique books and curious knickknacks.
The sign above the door read “Second Chance” in elegant script.
Unable to resist, she crossed the street. A bell chimed as she pushed open the door, and she was immediately enveloped in the warm scent of lavender and beeswax.
“Welcome!” A voice emerged from somewhere behind a towering rack of vintage dresses. “Be right with you, just wrestling with a particularly stubborn petticoat—”
There was a crash, a muffled curse, and then a pretty brunette emerged, slightly disheveled but beaming. She was about Sara’s age and wearing a vintage red and white polka-dotted dress that accentuated her curvy figure perfectly.
“I love your dress,” she said.
“Why, thank you. Are you looking for something similar?”
“I’m tempted, but my children can be hard on clothes.”
“Children? Ah, you must be the new kindergarten teacher. I’m Posy and this is my store.”
“You know about me?”
Posy’s smile widened at her undoubtedly shocked expression.
“This is Fairhaven Falls. We started talking about you the moment your moving truck crossed the town line.” The other woman gave her an enthusiastic handshake. “Sara, isn’t it? You’ve taken over Belle Waverly’s class.”
“That’s me.” She smiled, charmed despite herself. “I wanted to check out some of the local shops and get a feel for the town.”
“I’m a relative newcomer myself, but it’s a wonderful place to live. Would you like to look around? Let me know if you have any questions about the store—or the town.”
She laughed and nodded, eagerly exploring the vintage clothing along with a charming miscellany of gently used items. Posy happily filled her in on the story behind many of them.
The vintage dress in the window had belonged to a silent film star who’d retired to Fairhaven Falls in the 1940s.
The antique mirror in the corner was rumored to show your true self, though Posy admitted it mostly just showed your reflection with better lighting.
The collection of teacups near the register had been donated by a genie who was very particular about proper tea service.
“A genie?” she asked, trying to hide her skepticism.
Posy shrugged. “That’s what I was told. At this point, I just roll with it.”
“This town is…” She hesitated, searching for the right word.
“Peculiar? Impossible? Absolutely bonkers?”
“I was going to say ‘wonderful.’”
Posy’s expression softened. “It’s that, too. Fairhaven Falls has a way of collecting people who need somewhere to belong. We’re all a bit odd here, but that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
They chatted for another hour, Posy plying her with tea and gossip about various town residents.
She learned that the mayor was a minotaur, that the local coven danced naked under the full moon every month, and that the grumpy rabbit Other who owned the Moonlight Tavern was something of a local legend.
“Ah yes, Ben Holloway.” Posy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “He’s your neighbor, isn’t he?”
“How did you—”
“Small town, remember.” The other woman leaned forward conspiratorially. “He used to be quite famous, you know. He had that band—what was it called? Something with teeth. The Gnashing? The Grinding? No, no—The Bite.”
Her mouth dropped open. “The Bite? As in, the rock band?”
They’d been big while she was in college, but she’d been too busy studying and working two jobs to pay her tuition to pay much attention. Her grumpy neighbor with his twitching ears and perpetual scowl had been a rock star?
“Why did he quit?”
“No one knows.” Posy shrugged. “He showed up here about six years ago, bought the tavern, and hasn’t picked up a guitar since. At least, not that we know about.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s happier now. People come to Fairhaven Falls for all sorts of reasons, but they stay because they find what they’re looking for. Even if it’s not what they expected. Have you met him yet?”
“Unfortunately.” Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory. “I was scattering bunny food in my garden.”
“Bunny food? Why?”
“Because Flora told me to!”
“Flora?” Posy’s eyes widened. “Oh, girl, you are in trouble now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Flora means well but she is—”
“Amazing? Wonderful? The best thing since sliced bread? Not that I approve of sliced bread, but you get my meaning.”
Sara jumped as Flora swept into the store like a miniature tornado, but Posy seemed more resigned than surprised. “I should have known.”
“Whatever do you mean, dear?” Flora blinked wide, innocent eyes at Posy but the other woman just shook her head.
“Why did you tell me to put out bunny food?” Sara demanded.
Flora gave her an unrepentant grin. “It worked, didn’t it? A bunny showed up.”
“An angry bunny. He thought I was insulting him.”
“Pish, posh. He’ll get over it.” Flora picked up a vintage hat with a large purple feather and placed it at a jaunty angle over her curls. “You need to give him a chance, dear. I have a good feeling about this. And once you go bunny, you’ll never go back.”
Posy groaned as heat flooded Sara’s face, and Flora cackled.
“We should get together sometime,” Posy suggested, quickly changing the subject. “There’s a book club that meets at the library every week. You should come to our next meeting on Wednesday.”
“I’d love that,” she said, grateful for the lifeline.
“Bring your brownies,” Flora suggested, and Posy grinned.
“Definitely bring the brownies.”
She left the shop with a vintage cardigan, a promise to text Posy for the details of the meeting, and a determination to stay out of Flora’s matchmaking schemes.
She still couldn’t quite believe that her grumpy neighbor had been a rock star.
She tried to picture him on a stage, a guitar in his hands, screaming lyrics into a microphone, and failed completely.
The Ben she’d met seemed like he’d rather chew off his own foot than perform in front of a crowd.
The walk home took her past the street leading down to Ben’s tavern by the river. She paused and studied it for a moment—warm light glowing through the windows, the sound of music and laughter drifting through the closed door. It looked unexpectedly inviting, but she kept walking.
Her cottage came into view as she rounded the corner, and she stopped short.
Her driveway had been shoveled. Not just the driveway—the path to her front door, the walkway leading to the street, even the little flagstone path that wound around to her back garden.
All of it cleared of snow and salted against ice.
The task had been on her mental list of things to do, but someone had beaten her to it. Could it have been Ben?
His house was dark, with no lights in the windows and no smoke from the chimney. His truck was gone from the driveway. No doubt he was at work.
Don’t read anything into it, she told herself firmly. He’s just being neighborly. It’s a small town. People help each other.
But she couldn’t quite shake the warm feeling that settled in her stomach as she walked up her freshly cleared path and let herself into her cozy little cottage.
After the excitement of her first day, she expected to fall asleep easily but sleep wouldn’t come.
She tried counting sheep, counting backwards from a hundred, and reading the most boring book she owned, but nothing worked. Her mind kept spinning, replaying the day’s events in an endless loop. The children’s faces. Tricia’s kind words. Posy’s stories.
Ben’s scowl.
She groaned and kicked off her covers, giving up the pretense of rest. The clock on her nightstand read 1:47 AM. The house was quiet except for the settling of old wood and the distant sound of wind.
A glass of warm milk, she decided.
She padded into the kitchen in her pajamas but before she could open the refrigerator door, she heard music. A guitar, and a low, rich voice. The kind of voice that crawled inside your chest and made itself at home.
She crossed over to the window before she could second guess herself and saw Ben sitting in his living room, a battered acoustic guitar cradled in his lap.
His eyes were closed, his head tilted back as his fingers moved across the strings, and he was singing an old song about the loneliness of being on the road.
The words washed over her like water, and unexpected tears pricked her eyes.
He played like someone who’d forgotten anyone might be listening, like the music was a private conversation between him and the instrument in his hands. There was no performance in it, just raw, honest emotion pouring out into the quiet night.
She stood at her kitchen window and listened, completely mesmerized, until the final chord faded into silence.
He sat motionless for a moment, head still tilted back, eyes still closed.
Then he opened his eyes and looked directly at her.