Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Lucy
“Never realized how different it smells in Los Angeles. Like contract negotiations and concrete. It smells like home here.” I readjust my phone against my ear as I stroll down the sidewalk in ‘downtown’ Stillwater Bay, heat curling around my ankles like a clingy cat.
“Sea salt, cinnamon rolls, a dash of emotional baggage… I didn’t realize how much I missed it. ”
Trish, my roommate back in Los Angeles, snorts on the other end. “Sounds delightful.”
Stillwater hasn’t changed much since I left.
Quaint shops painted in cheerful pastels.
Potted plants spilling with bougainvillea and hibiscus.
A breeze stirs the air, thick with salt from the bay and something sweet from Holiday Coffee & Cake.
Through the window, I catch a glimpse of Simon Holiday scowling at his espresso machine like it just insulted his mother.
His wife, Violet, wields a frosting spatula like a magic wand behind the bakery case.
They grew up here, went to school with my parents, and have been Stillwater Bay icons since they opened their bakery.
I swear their marriage runs on caffeine and romantic gestures.
“I don’t know what you’re doing back in that Podunk place,” Trish mutters. “Florida is… well, it’s Florida. It’s a meme for a reason, Lu.”
Trish is intense. And wildly talented. And sometimes a little… stabby. She’s got so many walls built up around her, someone must’ve really wrecked her trust. No one gets in. Not fully. But there’s a good heart under the chainmail, so I try to show up with kindness, even when she’s prickly.
“I haven’t seen Stella and Gabby in, what?
Four years?” I dodge a stray bicycle and wave at an older man sweeping his shop front.
“They wanted to celebrate me finally landing this job. Martha’s bridal shower is this weekend, Stella’s planning it, so it all lined up.
Felt too good to ignore so, boom! Here I am. ”
“You know what they say when things are too good to be true.”
It’s pointless to argue on the days Trish is this cynical, so I simply change the subject. “Maybe after I tell my parents my news, Dad’ll finally admit I was right to bet on myself.”
Not likely, but hope’s stubborn.
Trish snorts. “Don’t hold your breath waiting on fatherly pride.”
“I’ll settle for not getting another lecture about my wasted potential.”
“You’re spending a lot of energy just to prove a point.”
“It’s not just about proving a point.” I pull in a breath and smile at the familiar whiff of salt and sunscreen.
“I’m about to be on tour with Sandro René for over a year.
Constant traveling, killer rehearsal schedule, no time to slow down and do things on my time, to really see and experience the present moment.
The drive was… I don’t know… medicine. My last chance at slow and quiet and easy before life takes on chaos energy.
And I’ve missed my people. Like ache-in-my-chest missed them. ”
Silence on the other end. I can practically hear Trish’s eyes rolling.
“The drive is almost as long as the visit,” she finally mutters. “Seems like a waste of time and money to me, especially since you said you were never very close with this Martha person in the first place, and your parents drive you crazy on a good day.”
“Hey, Trish?” I say, sweetly. “Said with love, but you’re starting to sound a lot like my dad right now, and he’s—”
“A grumpy old man who cares more about money than seeing his daughter live out her dreams.” She exhales sharply. “I really do channel that asshole sometimes, don’t I?”
“You and I both know there’s more to life than money. Or we wouldn’t do what we do.”
“I don’t know…” Trish sighs and it’s laced with thinly veiled jealousy. “That gig you landed pays stupid good money.”
“Once it starts paying.” I pause in my stroll to read a flyer taped to a lamp post listing all the upcoming events in town.
Too bad I won't be here long enough to see any of them. I used to love the Town Square festivities. “It kind of freaks me out that I spent so much money on this trip, and quit both my part time jobs, when those big, fat, manna from heaven paychecks won’t start raining down for another few weeks.”
“You’ll be fine. The money’s coming. And I’m sorry for being so judgmental. I think you’re the only thing keeping me from fully morphing into a cranky old man. Thanks, Lu.”
I smile, pressing my phone tighter to my ear. “Anytime.”
“Alright. Enjoy the week. For real. Old man vibes be damned.”
I end the call and step into Holiday Coffee & Cake.
The smell hits me first—fresh-ground beans and warm vanilla icing.
A couple of retirees are laughing at a corner table, their plates streaked with frosting.
The chalkboard menu above the counter boasts Today’s Special: Bunny Trail Latte + Strawberry Rhubarb Croissant, the words doodled in someone’s careful print.
Violet and Simon greet me like a long-lost daughter, which, after all the time I spent here with Stella and Gabby in high school, I suppose I almost am.
A few minutes later, coffee in hand, I step back into the heat, the sun beating down on my bare shoulders.
I text Stella—Ten minutes out! Can’t wait to hug your face!
—then cross the street toward the parking lot.
A breeze lifts off the Gulf, rustling palm fronds and tugging at the hem of my dress.
I pass a street sign with Stillwater Bay’s little heron and palm tree decal.
Seeing it tugs something deep in my chest. Not sadness.
Just a kind of tender ache. A homesick sort of happiness.
I should visit more… if it wasn’t so hard to be around Dad.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a car coming into view.
The crosswalk signal blinks: WALK.
The car slows.
I step forward.
The car speeds up.
Wait—
A blur of movement—the driver’s eyes lifting from her phone, too late.
I lurch back. My ankle twists hard on the curb. Coffee arcs through the air. My hip slams the pavement. Pain detonates in my leg. Then my head cracks against the streetlight and—