2. Harlow
Harlow
Just over an hour from Ottawa, I turned off the highway and lowered the music I’d had blaring to tune out my thoughts. I needed to focus as the roads grew thinner and I navigated toward the small town I’d never even heard of before accepting a job there.
Commuting hadn’t been part of my ideal plan. But the job was advertised as hybrid, with one day per week in office, and it was only a two-month contract. I was their marketing coordinator until the end of October, there to boost tourism in this little Ottawa Valley town.
A realization hit me as I gripped the steering wheel of the small rental car. I didn’t need to worry about driving this far anymore. I wasn’t going to be living in downtown Ottawa.
If I had known there was no rush to come here, I might have waited to find a more convenient job. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have moved here at all. My mind wandered to all the remote destinations I could be using to escape from heartbreak, instead of this unassuming town.
Still, I’d probably just keep searching, hopping around to somewhere new and not finding anywhere I felt at home, like I always had. Homesick for a place that didn’t even exist.
But what good were what-ifs? Right now, I just needed to find somewhere to stay.
Had I completely messed up, showing up here without a place rented? Probably. But my map showed there was a bed and breakfast for a reasonable price on the edge of town. I could surely stay there while I got myself settled. Maybe I’d even find a short-term rental in the next couple of days.
The road wound through a thick forest, and traces of life began to appear on the side of the road.
A sign pointing up a long driveway signalling Firewood for Sale, another for Maze and Pumpkins.
Between the trees, I spotted some charming houses with siding exteriors and some older brick buildings.
There was farmland too, cleared for corn, cows, and horses.
One minute away, according to my navigation, I spotted the quaint brick Georgian-style B and B surrounded by fields. Symmetrical and looming over the flattened land, there were no cars parked beside it.
My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I stopped by the side of the road, just where the driveway cut through the grass. There was a hanging wooden sign painted with the word Closed. Nothing more.
“Fuck,” I hissed through my teeth and hit my hands against the wheel. “Are you serious?”
No reply, obviously. Just a creak of wood in the wind.
Right. I needed caffeine and a plan, or I was going to have more of a breakdown than was already inevitable. I mumbled under my breath about the importance of keeping websites updated as I turned to my navigation once more, although with less trust this time, and typed in “cafe.”
Five minutes away. I blew out a sharp breath.
I could hold it together for that long. Especially if I turned my mind to work to distract myself. As always, it was a much easier topic than my personal life.
All of this wasn’t the kind of career change I had pictured.
I’d thought about a role in the public sector, or maybe a start-up, something new after years of working at public relations agencies.
I’d honestly been surprised when the Autumn Creek Town Council had called me back for a second round of interviews.
After all, I thought they’d want someone who knew the town inside and out. A local.
Still, something about the position appealed to me.
Maybe it was a deep dissatisfaction inside of me that yearned for a comforting Hallmark small-town fantasy. Or maybe it was Dawn, the town’s mayor, who had just been so kind during the whole process.
In my last call with the council, after I’d accepted the offer, Dawn wasn’t the one who I spoke to.
Instead, there was a man on the other side of the screen, one whose camera wouldn’t turn on but had a distractingly deep and husky voice—probably something he put on for phone calls.
But even without a video, I could sense how animated he was when he digressed about the history of Autumn Creek, the small businesses, and the people living there.
Finally, he’d told me that Dawn was excited to have someone with a different perspective joining the council.
She wanted to breathe new life into the team.
Apparently, I was the perfect fit, which was nice to hear.
And there it was, the Town Hall, which I’d already stared at through a computer screen. It was really too cute to be an office building, sitting just off Main Street, with red brick walls, a white steeple, and tall, arched windows. It must have once been a church.
Short stone barriers blocked the road ahead, keeping the central downtown street just for pedestrians, so I turned to find parking. I wanted to leap out of this car as soon as I could; it felt too full of emotions and too many tears. And I’d only had it since midday.
As I pulled into a bay and finally jumped out, a man called out a greeting as he walked past. I huddled closer to the car, reaching for my keys, but he wandered by with a smile, not looking twice. Still, my eyes darted around, looking for danger.
There was nothing to see, just a few people putting their groceries away and sunlight hitting red brick walls. Maybe I’d spent too long in big cities, but I couldn’t help but have my guard up.
I needed to remind myself that this wasn’t London or Vancouver. This was a small town.
An arrow painted on the bricks pointed through a gap between buildings, and I followed it, still slightly on edge. My brows rose as Main Street opened up in front of me.
It was charming. Picturesque, even.
I mean, I’d stalked this place online. I had seen the beautiful photos. But I had worked in marketing long enough to know that you could make just about anything look attractive with the right angles and editing.
This was not a trick of the camera.
The street was paved and pedestrianized, bordered by a row of historic buildings on either side. All low rise with awnings, some with painted brick and others choosing to keep the original facade.
I crossed the street quickly, following the promise of caffeine. And thank god, there was a chalk-painted sign sitting outside—it was actually open. Sweater Weather Books & Brews was written in cursive with a mug drawn beneath, steam wafting from the top. Exactly what I needed.
A bell chimed as I opened the door, and I immediately spied a hand-drawn map of the town pinned to a corkboard on the wall beside me. The barista stood up from cleaning her bright orange espresso machine behind the wooden bar.
“Hi,” she called out with a smile, looking me up and down once. “Welcome to Sweater Weather, what can I get you?”
“Do you do chai lattes?” My voice came out flatter than I intended, even as I looked around in awe.
The walls of the cafe, if you could even call it that when it was half bookstore, were exposed brick before morphing into floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Every piece of wood, including the bar and the tables, was a rich brown maple.
“Definitely!” She tossed her wavy cinnamon-brown hair over her shoulder as she sauntered toward the register.
“An oat chai, dirty, please.”
Her eyes bounced over me once again, and I caught my reflection in the window. My brown irises looked dull and muddy, and what was normally the whites of my eyes were red and bloodshot from crying. Not to mention that my ponytail was even messier than before.
“Filthy.” She nodded. “Anything else?”
I surveyed the array of baked goods under the glass display. That must have been the source of the delicious, sweet smell that hit me as soon as I walked in. Damn, I thought that was a candle. Coffee, cake, and books. They should bottle that scent and sell it.
“The apple strudel, please.”
She rang me up, and I wandered to an armchair in the corner.
I peered farther back into the store, past the bakery display and new releases table, and found books in stacks, piled artfully next to the shelves.
It was beautiful and almost too cozy to wallow in.
But that didn’t stop me from dropping my head into my hands.
Then a mug with cinnamon dusting landed on the table, followed by a plate of glistening apples covered in pastry. That perked me up a bit.
“Thanks.” I shot the woman a tight-lipped smile. “By the way, do you know if the hotel nearby will be opening soon? The hours online said it was, but…”
“The Creek Inn?” she asked as I trailed off. “That’s probably closed for the season. We don’t get many visitors here unless it’s during the summer.”
“Oh.” As if I had any luck to begin with today.
“You need it for tonight?” Her brows furrowed over her green eyes.
“Yeah.” I choked up. “But it’s okay—I’m okay. Thanks for bringing this over.”
I took a sip of the dirty chai to try to end the conversation. It was sweet, spicy, and foamy, but it still didn’t fix my problems. I took a mouthful of apple pastry as my eyes watered.
I could sleep in my car. I had coats I could lay out, and this town seemed safe enough. Surely, it would just be like camping.
But tears began falling again, and I wiped them away with a napkin.
I haven’t even been camping before.
Unfortunately, the barista hadn’t backed off enough to miss my meltdown. She pulled out a chair opposite me and reached out a hand. “I’m Kasey.”
I was busy sobbing into the small piece of paper, so she let her hand fall and gave me a second.
“Harlow,” I finally replied as I cleaned my face. “And I’m not usually this much of a mess. I’m just no good for conversation today.”
She shot me another sympathetic smile and kicked her cowboy boots up onto the coffee table. Her legs were lightly freckle-dusted and tanned, like she’d spent the summer outside. Unlike mine, which looked pale and dull today. I certainly hadn’t left my office enough to get any sun.
“I can see that.” Kasey leaned back into her chair. “But why are you here without a place to stay?”
I let out a sniffle. “I start a job here tomorrow.”
She raised a brow at me. “I thought you said you weren’t usually a mess?”
“Well, I actually moved to Ottawa this morning.” Kasey’s eyes widened as I continued. “Then I saw my boyfriend cheating on me, so I left and ran out here.”
“What a dick,” she muttered, and I nodded in return.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go right now, but I’ve got a job to do, so…” I smothered my words with a sip of chai.
Kasey leaned her head back in thought. “I might be able to help.”
“Really?”
“We have a spare room on our farm. Usually for seasonal workers, but it’s empty this year. If you’re going to be working in Autumn Creek, then you’re part of the community. I’m happy to help you get set up.”
“Oh my god! You’re a lifesaver.” My hands were now wiping away tears of a different kind. “I can pay you what I was going to be paying in Ottawa, let me just get your details—”
“No worries.” She shrugged. “It’s usually free accommodation anyway.”
My eyes almost shot out of my head, “Kasey! I can’t do that.”
She took her feet off the table and pulled a pen from her apron, leaning down to write on a napkin that I had yet to scrunch up. “You are part of Autumn Creek now, like I said. I’m happy to help. Just as long as you stop crying in my cafe.” She said the last part with a joking grin.
“Of course.” My voice was shaky as she slid the instructions across the table. “Thank you.”
She got up and patted me on the shoulder as she walked by. And for a moment I just sat there, stunned and silent. I dug back into the pastry with a quiet groan, but didn’t have time to savour it. I wanted to get to that farm and finally rest, maybe even just sleep for the rest of the day.
It had been long and filled with the familiar feelings of upheaval that I was trying to escape.
I brought my plate back to the bar. “Thank you again.”
“No problem.” Kasey got back to cleaning her espresso machine. “Oh, but before you go, where are you going to be working?”
“I’m the town council’s new marketing coordinator.”
Her eyes lit up with a gleam. “That’s great.” She grinned. “Stop by tomorrow. You won’t be far away at all.”
I matched her smile, and it came more easily than I expected. “See you then.”