8. Harlow
Harlow
I threw back the last sip of my apple crisp latte. “Tell me about Main Street then.”
Jude nodded thoughtfully, then stood up from his chair, shrugged on his flannel coat, and waited for me to follow him. I guess there was no better way to get to know Autumn Creek than already being right in the middle of it.
“It was fully pedestrianized about forty years ago,” he said as we wandered away from the Town Hall.
My eyes danced from storefront to storefront, tucked into the brick buildings and under awnings.
The displays were filled with fall foliage and local products.
“It’s something Autumn Creek prides itself on—part of our charm. ”
I laughed softly. “Did you rehearse this tour?”
Jude shrugged. “Autumn Creek is important to me. It’s easy to talk about.”
I guess if I found somewhere I liked this much I’d want to tell everyone about it, too. But I did wonder, what made him so attached to this place?
We fell into a comfortable silence for a minute or so as I peered between the trees, finding a small general store with shelves filled with groceries and local goods, a boutique full of cozy sweaters, and a restaurant with lanterns hung in the bay window.
There were a few normal stores like a bank and a pharmacy—well, almost normal—the pharmacy called itself an apothecary, but it at least carried the essentials.
But I also noticed empty storefronts and gaps between businesses.
I turned to Jude. “Is this new?”
He eyed up a For Lease sign in one of the windows. “It’s more common now. The festival isn’t just for fun.” He added the last part gruffly before turning back to the street. “Up past there is the fire station and the library, but we’ll loop back. I’ll show you where to get some food.”
I sped up, trying to keep up with his long strides, and I didn’t ask any more about the struggles Autumn Creek might be having.
He pointed out the local Italian restaurant, Bianchi’s, that sold good wine and would deliver if you asked nicely, which seemed to cheer him up.
He’d gone to school with the second-generation owner, and spoke with awe about their tiramisu.
Still, I couldn’t help but think about how his mood had turned so sour at the sight of empty stores.
By the time we were nearing the Town Hall, talking about when Main Street was built at the turn of the twentieth century, Jude seemed to be completely back to his charming self once again.
“There’s a lot more to town than just Main Street. It’s the people who really make it, not just the buildings.”
“It’s lovely.” I smiled softly. “It’ll photograph beautifully, and hopefully we can get it filled with people.” I turned to look back at where we had just walked. “Maybe some local vendors and market stalls. Even some hay bales for seating—if that isn’t too cheesy.”
I waited for him to chastise my ideas, but he nodded.
“You should see the farmers’ market. It’s outdoors, filling up Main Street from May until November.”
My eyes lit up. “I’ll have to check it out.
” I had been to markets growing up—nighttime food festivals in Malaysia and Borough Market in London—and exploring them had always been one of my favourite activities as my parents moved us around the world.
But the idea of this small-town street filled with stalls sounded like something I’d never experienced before.
Something I’d only seen in corny Hallmark movies. I was a little charmed.
Jude led us to the park surrounding the Town Hall and we sat on a bench.
“It’s on Saturday, we could go.”
I looked away for a moment to hide my small grin. Maybe we were actually getting along now.
“I know it’s a weekend—”
“But it’ll be great inspiration for the festival,” I finished his explanation for him.
“I’ll see you on Saturday then?”
“Saturday,” I replied slowly. “But probably sooner too, at work?”
“Maybe, but it’s harvest season right now, then we’re getting into cider production. The fruit is Colt’s speciality, but the drinks are mine. So the whole team is busy in the fall.”
“So I’m on my own with this for the rest of the week. Do you trust me?”
He paused for a second before saying, “You’ll be fine. Dawn paired us together for a reason.” Then he pulled out his phone from a jacket pocket. “But put your number in, just in case anything goes wrong.”
A laugh shook through me as I typed in my details—Harlow Work, not Harlow Spencer.
“So, why’d you take the job here then?” he asked as he took the phone back.
My hands wrung together in my lap as I considered why I’d moved at all.
It should be easy small talk, but the topic made my nerves jump.
The move wasn’t for Marcus, but it also wasn’t not for him.
I had wanted a change—something new that would click everything into place—and I had hoped this was it.
And then there was the whole running away from a breakup situation.
But I wasn’t about to spill all that to Jude Bramley.
So I just said, “The contract fit with my schedule and I wanted to shift directions. It all seemed to work out.”
I didn’t add how my move had happened so quickly because I didn’t have much holding me down.
I was born in Vancouver, so I had a Canadian passport, Marcus offered a place to live, and I didn’t have too much stuff in London.
My apartment had been pre-furnished, and what didn’t fit in a suitcase or few boxes that I’d sent over in a container, I’d left with my Grandma or donated.
A short-term job like this had been perfect to gain some experience as I got settled and applied for other jobs closer to Ottawa.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple in the end.
“But why Autumn Creek?” His light hazel eyes pinned me in place.
“Like I said, for the job.” My words came out a bit too quickly. I absolutely did not want to start wallowing about my breakup with my new co-worker. I wished the topic would just wash away, and I sounded so half-hearted as I added, “It’s complicated.”
“You said you took the job because of the move.” His gaze narrowed on me. “It doesn’t really make sense, Harlow.”
My breath hitched, taken aback by him. This man.
“Why does it need to make sense to you?” My lips pressed together tightly as I stared back at him.
Just like that, I could see the cogs turning in his head. Whatever beliefs he had about me continued to solidify, despite how we’d connected and worked together today.
I got up from the bench, putting some much needed distance between us. “I’m going for lunch. See you Saturday.” And my boots stomped through a few fallen leaves as I walked away.
Even if we were working well together, he was still uptight and self important. Maybe we weren’t even getting along as amicably as I thought.
“Saturday,” he agreed while I was still in ear shot. “Or around the farm.”
“Yeah, the farm.” I sighed under my breath.
A great reminder that I was living under that man’s literal roof, no matter how much he disliked me.
I made my way back to Bianchi’s, easily following the smell of tomato and garlic that wafted out of their slightly cracked windows. I paused outside, leaning back against the brick wall.
My stability felt like it was crumbling around me.
I was usually focused with a one-track mind on work, but I had followed his nagging feeling deep within me recently. My therapist back in London had called it an instinctive need for protection and security after a disruptive childhood. I called it homesickness.
And it had led me here, as I searched for anywhere I might belong.
But I hadn’t fit in with Marcus’s life in Ottawa.
And now I was alone in a new place, feeling just as unsettled as I had in London, Toronto, and anywhere else I had lived before this.
I only had myself to blame for feeling lost. I should have cut ties with Marcus and our superficial relationship years ago. Yet I’d clung on.
My current plans didn’t include staying in Autumn Creek.
Maybe after this contract I’d spend some time soul searching, trying to find the right place where I’d fit in.
Somewhere where I’d belong. But right now, I just needed to start working on my next step.
So I pulled out my phone and typed in a number from a long thread of emails.
“Hello, Let’s Get Moving. How can I help?”
“Hi, I have a shipment coming from the UK to Ottawa, Ontario, arriving soon, hopefully.” I let out a nervous laugh while the woman on the other end of the phone stayed quiet. “I was just wondering if it would be possible to change the delivery address?”
“What’s your reference number?”
I read it out as she typed in the background.
Only a few seconds passed before she smacked her lips together. “No can do. That’s already en route.”
“Oh.” I sighed, leaning against the bricks. “I’ve had a change of plans and my previous address won’t work.”
“There’s nothing I can do. The address is already submitted.
You should be getting a call in about two weeks with the arrival time.
You can meet it at the current delivery address and pick it up from outside the building.
” She went on to tell me things I had already seen in the contract.
Honestly, I should have just sold all of my furniture, but Marcus had insisted the English decor would fill the gaps in his apartment.
I thanked the woman and hung up, slouching into the brick wall a little more. I’d have to deal with the boxes when they arrived. There was nothing I could change right now.
At least, I could try to cheer up with some lasagna.