Chapter 9 Stickers and Strangers
Stickers and Strangers
Kate
I'm halfway through my shopping when I realize I forgot the one thing I actually came back for.
Almond milk.
I stare at the items already in my arms. Flour. Sugar. Coffee. Pasta. Fresh vegetables. A set of dish towels because the ones at the cabin look like they survived an apocalypse.
But no almond milk.
Which means no iced latte tomorrow morning. Which means I'll be a functional disaster until I can caffeinate properly.
I check my phone. Two o'clock. The general store is open until six.
I could drive. But the afternoon is warm and sunny, the storm having left everything feeling fresh and clean. And if I'm being honest, I'm not ready to stay in the cabin yet. Back to Grayson's brooding silence and the charged air between us.
I haven’t seen him anywhere. He’s not in the kitchen. Not in the living room. Maybe he’s outside chopping wood. Maybe he’s in his room. Or maybe he’s gone.
I grab my purse and head out again, taking the same wooded trail back toward town. The one that curves past the lake.
Sunlight flickers through the trees as the trail curves past the lake. Birds call from the branches.
I pass through a meadow. Mountains rise in the distance, snow-capped peaks against a brilliant blue sky.
I stop and take a picture.
Being exiled to Maple Glen doesn't feel like punishment anymore.
It feels peaceful. Almost healing.
I take a deep breath and keep walking.
—
Patel's General Store sits right next door to Sweet Crumbs Bakery—a cheerful blue building with flower boxes in the windows and a hand-painted sign: If We Don't Have It, You Don't Need It.
I push open the door. A bell chimes.
"Welcome!" A woman in her fifties looks up from behind the counter, warm brown eyes crinkling with her smile. A colorful scarf wrapped around her head. A name tag that says Mrs. Patel.
"You must be Kate!" She comes around the counter. "Dorothy mentioned you stopped by the bakery earlier."
Of course she did.
"That's me. News travels fast around here."
"Faster than you'd think." Mrs. Patel's smile is knowing but kind. "Small town. We all know each other's business. Blessing and a curse."
A man browsing the hardware aisle looks up and waves. "Welcome to Maple Glen!"
"Thank you," I call back, slightly overwhelmed by the warmth of it.
I grab a basket and make my way through the aisles. Almond milk. Scented candles. A small succulent in a ceramic pot. A soft teal throw blanket. A colorful rug I can't resist.
At the counter, a little boy—maybe five years old—stands on his tiptoes trying to see the display of stickers.
"Can I help you find something, sweetheart?" Mrs. Patel asks him.
"Dinosaurs," he says seriously. "I need T-Rex stickers."
I crouch down beside him, scanning the rack. "What about these?" I point to a sheet of colorful dinosaurs, a large T-Rex front and center.
His eyes go wide. "Yes! Those are perfect!"
His mother walks over, a baby on her hip. "Thank you. He's been obsessed for months."
"Dinosaurs are an excellent obsession," I tell him. "Good taste, kid."
He beams at me.
"You're new in town," the woman says. "I'm Sarah. This is Josh and baby Emma."
"Kate." I shake her hand. "Just arrived a couple of days ago."
"For the solar project, right? Dorothy mentioned you're organizing files for Evervolt."
"That's right. Meeting with clients this week. Starting with the Whitmores tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh, we signed up last year," Sarah says. "Best decision we ever made."
Josh tugs my sleeve. "Do you like dinosaurs?"
"I do," I tell him solemnly. "Especially the ones with the long necks."
"Brachiosaurus!" he shouts, delighted.
We chat for another ten minutes. Sarah gives me her banana bread recipe. Mrs. Patel shares tips for keeping succulents alive. Josh shows me his dinosaur collection on his mom's phone.
It's easy. Natural. The kind of conversation that just flows.
"You should join our community group on Facebook," Sarah says. "Recipes, events, town news. Everything."
"Sure," I say. "Why not?"
She adds me right there at the counter. "There. You're officially one of us."
Mrs. Patel rings up my items, still chatting about the upcoming harvest festival and the apple cider from Henderson's orchard.
The warmth of this town surprises me.
I expected isolation. The cold shoulder that comes with being an outsider.
Instead, I feel welcomed. Like I've been here months instead of days.
For a moment, I forget this was supposed to be a punishment.
—
I leave the store with my bags, waving goodbye, still smiling.
I make it about ten feet down the sidewalk when a woman with silver hair and kind eyes stops me.
"You must be Kate," she says warmly.
"I am." I'm getting used to being recognized.
"I'm Linda. I run the library. Dorothy told us all about you."
Of course she did.
"It's lovely to meet you," I say.
Linda's eyes twinkle. "You and Grayson make such a cute couple."
I freeze mid-step.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"You two," she repeats, like it's obvious. "Such a perfect match. He's been alone up there too long."
"We're not—" I stumble. "It's a work arrangement. Temporary."
Linda just winks. "Of course, dear. Whatever you say."
She walks away, still smiling.
I stand on the sidewalk, completely baffled.
I shake my head and keep walking. But now I notice things I didn't before. The way people glance at me and smile. The knowing looks. The whispered conversations that stop when I get close.
Something is going on.
And I have a sinking feeling I'm the last one to know.
—
By the time I get back to the cabin, the sun is starting to set. The sky is painted pink and orange, the mountains silhouetted against the fading light.
I spent most of the afternoon outside. I walked through town, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat by the lake. I watched the water move in slow ripples and let the quiet settle in. It felt peaceful. Simple. Easy to breathe.
I plug in my phone the moment I get inside.
While it charges, I open Facebook out of habit—thinking I might check in with friends back in the city.
But the first thing I see stops me cold.
Dorothy Everly tagged you in a post.
I click on it.
A photo of Sweet Crumbs Bakery. The caption reads:
What a wonderful morning! Met the lovely Kate Morgan, who's visiting our town and staying with our dear Grayson Hart. It's been too long since Grayson had someone special in his life. Wishing them both all the happiness! ?? #MapleGlen #YoungLove #AboutTime
I stare at my phone.
Sixty-two likes. Thirty-nine comments.
I scroll through them, my face burning hotter with every line.
They make such a cute couple.
Finally! Grayson deserves happiness!
Can't wait to meet her at the harvest festival!
Wedding bells? ??
Such a sweet love story!
I nearly drop my phone.
No. No, no, no.
I open the community group Sarah added me to earlier.
More posts. Someone shared Mrs. Everly's photo with the caption: Love is in the air in Maple Glen!
Another post shows a blurry photo from the day I first arrived at Grayson’s cabin —Grayson and me standing outside the cabin. Caption: Our favorite hermit finally found his match!
My hands are shaking.
The gossip isn't just talk anymore. It's public. It's documented. It has hashtags.
The front door opens.
I spin around, phone still clutched in my hand.
Grayson walks in wearing a worn gray sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms, hair slightly damp. He freezes the moment he sees my face.
"What's wrong?"
I hold up my phone. "The entire town thinks we're dating."
He sets his work gloves on the counter slowly. Carefully. Like he's buying time.
"I know," he says.
"You know?" My voice cracks. "You knew and you didn't say anything?"
"I found out a few hours ago. I was going to tell you—"
"The whole town, Grayson. They're posting pictures. Making comments. Someone is already talking about the harvest festival."
He winces. "I saw the post."
"And you said nothing?"
"You were in town. I figured you'd hear about it."
I stare at him, incredulous.
"That's your response? You figured I'd hear about it?"
"It's small-town gossip. It'll blow over."
"Blow over? Grayson, they think we're in love. They think this is some kind of romantic story."
"It's not that bad—"
"Not that bad?" I wave my phone at him. "Mrs. Everly called us Maple Glen's Cutest Couple. There are people in the comments talking about wedding bells."
His jaw tightens. "Okay. That's... excessive."
"You think?"
We stare at each other across the kitchen. The last of the sunset light streams through the window, turning everything warm gold.
And I realize, with sinking certainty, that this is so much bigger than either of us anticipated.
The town has written our story.
Now we have to figure out what to do about it.