Chapter 10 Emma
EMMA
The cold air nips at my cheeks as I step out of Cam’s car onto Main Street. I told him to drop me off at the start of the street so I could walk the way to the bakery and get some fresh air. Pulling my jacket tighter around my body, I start to regret the decision.
Mom used to love the festival, it was her favorite time of year. She would sell authentic Cuban tamales at a small booth. They would sell out within the first hour of opening day, but she would still make us all stay the entire day to support other local businesses and friends in town.
For now, the streets are quiet, save for the occasional car passing by or the chatter of people ducking into shops.
I forgot how peaceful it is here. It’s different from the constant humming noise of the city I’ve grown accustomed to.
It’s daunting to be in such a quiet place, alone with nothing but my thoughts and the feeling of impending doom as I walk along the cobblestone path.
Paper Trails, the town bookstore, comes into view first. Its deep green awning is somewhat frayed at the edges, the way it always has been.
Through the large glass windows, I see the same overstuffed, robin egg colored armchairs and loveseats, the same towering wooden shelves filled to the brim with books, both new and old.
My body subconsciously stops right in front of the door, but I fight the urge to go in.
A flood of memories hit me instead. Alex and I tucked away in the back corner.
That was our spot, surrounded by the smell of books and the soft rustle of pages.
He would ask me to read to him, and listened to every word out of my mouth like his life depended on it.
It was there, one quiet evening, I found myself entirely consumed with him.
I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the way the fading sunlight hit his face perfectly, or the way he had just made me laugh after a particularly rough day of grief.
My back was pressed against a shelf. Alex was standing inches away from me, one hand leaning against the shelf behind me, as our eyes locked.
We both wanted it to happen, but for a couple seconds neither one of us moved.
I finally leaned in first. Alex didn’t pull away.
His other hand hesitated before tilting my chin up further.
His lips met mine, and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.
The kiss was soft and warm, and everything I didn’t realize I needed until it was happening.
I convinced myself it hadn’t meant anything, that it had just been two teenagers caught up in a moment.
But it was so much more than that.
Everything we shared and went through after that moment was proof.
I swallow down the heartbreak of what we had and what we lost, forcing my legs to keep walking.
My gaze shifts to the antique store a few steps ahead.
Mom used to bring me here on Sundays. It was our “girl time” while the boys did whatever boys do when they’re home alone.
A solitary jingle from a brass bell above the door still announces every guests’ entry.
I can hear her voice in my head, soft and gentle, as she marveled at delicate porcelain teacups or ran her fingers over an old wooden china cabinet.
I never understood her fascination with such old and worn things back then.
Now, I wish I could step inside and run my fingers over those same old things, just to feel closer to her.
A few doors down is Table 47, Cam’s restaurant.
The windows are slightly fogged up from the warmth inside.
Through them I can see a couple sitting near the front, sharing a plate of something familiar.
I consider stopping in, simply to breathe in the comfort of food that smells like home. But I keep walking.
Then, before I can stop myself, I’m standing directly in front of The Old Mill.
The bar stands at the edge of town. The exterior is lined with dark bricks, giving it a rugged charm.
There’s a wooden sign hanging above the door, weathered but sturdy, with bold, gold lettering against a black background.
A sign reading “Open” flashes in bright neon colors next to the entry.
This bar has looked exactly the same for the decades it's been open, except for the roses.
Every business in downtown Windhaven has blue hydrangeas, the town flower, out front.
It’s practically a requirement. This bar has always had hydrangeas, too.
Now, deep red roses climb up the posts, up along the brick exterior and the window sills.
Wild, untamed beauty. They stick out like a sore thumb. The only red in a sea of blue.
I’m not sure if the roses are a coincidence anymore. Not after also seeing the rose tattoo on Alex’s neck.
As if on cue, the front door swings open and laughter spills onto the street.
Through the open doorway, behind the bar, I see him.
The sleeves of a black button down are pushed up, forearms flexing as he reaches for a bottle on the shelf.
He glances up, and even in the dim light, his eyes find mine, holding my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.
Then, because he is who he is, Alex gives a mischievous smirk, as if catching me doing something I’m not supposed to be doing.
As if the smirk itself wasn’t bad enough, he follows it with a wink.
I’m surprised my ICD doesn’t shock me because I swear my heart stopped beating.
I turn on my heel so fast that I almost trip over my own feet.
By the time I cross the street and make it to the bakery, my heart is hammering for entirely different reasons than before. Taking deep breaths to hopefully lower my heart rate, I look around at the place.
Batter & Butter is the definition of cozy.
Its white-painted brick exterior is decorated with twinkling fairy lights and a chalkboard sign propped outside, boasting today’s specials in a loopy handwriting.
As I walk inside, the air is warm, smelling of coffee grounds, sugar, and freshly baked bread.
Small wooden tables are scattered throughout the space, each adorned with a tiny vase of colorful wildflowers.
The main attraction—a big glass display case—is filled with golden croissants, glistening fruit tarts, and intricately decorated cupcakes, each one a tiny masterpiece.
Soft chatter and the sounds of espresso machines and milk frothers fill the silence.
I imagine this is what heaven looks and smells like.
Looking around, I find Liv already seated at a small table for two near the back, stirring her coffee and waving me over with an enthusiastic grin.
“There you are,” she says as I plop down across from her, sliding a coffee cup in my direction. “Took you look enough. I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
“I stopped to have an existential crisis outside the bookstore, thanks for asking.”
Liv snorts, as if knowing exactly what I mean by that.
A beautiful woman wearing a pink apron walks up to the table and sets down plates with pastries in front of us. Liv gestures to here. “Em, meet Sophia. She’s the mastermind behind all of this. Soph, this is Emiliana Diaz, the one I’ve been telling you about.”
Sophia has warm, chocolate brown eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and beautiful tan skin with what looks like a natural highlight glow.
Her light brown, naturally curly hair is pulled back into a low ponytail with several ringlets falling down around her face.
Her smile is big and kind, displaying all of her pearly white teeth.
She’s the effortless kind of beauty that makes me instantly jealous.
As if she just climbed out of bed, threw her hair back and lathered some moisturizer before walking out the door. I like her immediately.
“You can call me Soph. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sophia says, extending a flour-dusted hand. “Liv talks about you all the time.”
“Lies,” Liv mutters. “Don’t believe a word she says.”
I shake her hand, grinning. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I devoured the chocolate croissant Liv brought me the other day. It was truly the best I’ve ever had… and that’s saying something.”
“I’m honored.” Sophia blushes and then says, “Well, I have to get back to work, but I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning for set up.”
She walks away and I turn my head back to Liv with a questioning look.
“I kind of, maybe, definitely volunteered us both to help Soph out at the festival bakery booth for opening day.”
I groan. “Liv.”
“Too-late, no take-backs.”
She must sense my reluctance. “It’ll be fun, Em. Just a few hours. All-you-can-eat pastries." Her eyes widen, as if waiting for my response.
I sigh, taking a sip of the coffee in front of me. “Alright, I’ll help. But only because I can’t say no to more of these.” I lift up a croissant before bringing it to my mouth.
My mind drifts off to the elephant in the room.
Liv doesn’t know about my heart failure diagnosis yet.
When I told her I was moving back to Windhaven, I excluded that information, only saying I wanted to be closer to my family.
That kind of diagnosis is not something I wanted to tell her over the phone.
Liv is the type of person to react extremely dramatically and alter her entire life for people she loves.
She probably would’ve moved to New York if I had told her and that’s not something I wanted to happen.
I don’t want my diagnosis to affect anyone more than it needs to.
It’s always been hard for me to admit any sort of weakness.
The last thing I want now is for people to treat me differently or pity me because of my heart.
But knowing that it’ll eventually get worse and that she will be even more upset if she finds out in any other way than me telling her, I know now is my chance.
I can’t keep avoiding the conversation simply because I’m not ready to face the truth myself.
I stiffen in my chair. “Liv, I—”
She raises an eyebrow, a concerned look painting her face. “What?”
I look down, tracing the rum of the coffee cup with my finger.
“Spit it out. What’s going on?” she asks.
I take a breath. “I’m getting worse.”
Any last bit of enthusiasm disappears from her instantly. “What do you mean?”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out before I lose my nerve. “Heart failure. I was diagnosed back in New York. That’s why I moved back.”
“No.” The color drains from her face. A look of shock or horror or fear appears, not sure which. Maybe all three.
“I’m okay,” I rush to say, even though we both know that can’t be true. “Well, not okay, but I’m handling it.”
She stares at me. Her jaw is hanging wide open and her eyes are glassy with unshed tears at the corners. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner? Like right when you found out?! Fuck, Em!”
Guilt settles heavy in my chest. “I didn’t want to worry you. And I honestly wasn’t ready to talk about it much back then. It didn’t feel real, and honestly, it still doesn’t.”
She lets out a slow breath, shaking her head. “You’re literally the worst.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Liv’s eyes narrow. “I knew there was something weird about you moving back here after all this time. And you didn’t tell me yesterday either? Bitch.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Don’t you dare keep anything else from me, okay?”
I squeeze back her hand. “Deal.”
“Have you told Alex?”
“No. And I don’t plan on it.” I quickly hurl back.
“You don’t think he deserves to know, Em?”
“No.”