37. Bailey
Bailey
It was the Sunday after the wedding, and I was up early, my sneakers crunching against the pavement, determined to beat the church crowd.
There was something I needed to do before the watchful eyes of Bexley Grove fell on me.
I made the short walk from the inn to Main, taking in the bits of this town I never wanted to take for granted.
The house on the corner that was painted pink with a bright yellow door, and a dog that never stopped yapping.
The park where teenagers hung out all day during the summer before Mrs. Everly came out and started waving her cane at them.
Bexley Grove was perfectly imperfect, and everyone still loved each other.
That was a concept I was sure my parents would never understand.
Mistakes here didn’t make you unlovable or shunned.
They made you authentic. Human. And for the first time in my life, I was ready to embrace being Bailey, flaws and all.
I approached a small brick office, a For Sale sign crookedly hanging from the door. Noah hadn’t exaggerated. The space was small, but maybe it could be mine.
The windows were huge, catching the soft morning light in a way that made the whole front feel more inviting than it had any right to be.
I imagined what it would be like in different seasons—summer sun spilling across the glass, fall leaves collecting along the sill, winter frost tracing the edges like lace.
A delivery truck passed behind me, tires humming against the road, and I realized I had stopped walking entirely. I stepped closer.
The glass reflected me faintly, layered over the empty interior behind it.
Dusty floorboards and blank walls just itching to be designed on.
My fingers lifted before I fully thought about it, grazing the window like I could already feel the hum of a life inside it.
The idea of working here every day made something warm bloom in my chest.
I could already see it too clearly. My name above the door in simple lettering, a whiteboard filled with scribbles of event designs and place settings, half-finished timelines, and sticky notes that made sense only to me.
I could see Noah leaning in the doorway during lunch like he belonged there, too, stealing me away for a break I probably didn’t need but would always take, and whisking me away to The Rusty Spoon for the BLT I adored.
I swallowed. I could see it all so clearly, it almost felt like a memory instead of imagination.
I pressed my palms gently against my cheeks, grounding myself.
Was I actually doing this? The question didn’t feel like fear exactly.
More like standing at the edge of something that wouldn’t let me step back once I stepped forward.
My thoughts drifted to Noah’s voice the last time we talked about it.
About doing the thing even when it felt too big. Especially then.
Opening my own business might be the scariest thing I would ever do, and that was exactly why I knew I needed to do it.
I wasn’t quite ready to head back to the inn. I was enjoying my stroll too much to deal with the wedding party’s morning-after chaos, so I headed to Tessa’s instead.
It was early, so only a few patrons occupied the cozy coffee shop, and I spotted Tessa immediately. She looked up the second I walked in and came over and pulled me into a hug, almost as if she’d been expecting me. I hesitated for half a second before my arms came up around her, returning it.
“I heard about what happened during the wedding,” she said.
Of course she had. It would never cease to amaze me how quickly news traveled around here.
“It sounds more dramatic than it actually was,” I said with a grimace.
“Camille said your parents were first-class assholes.”
Oh.
I let out a small breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. “That’s one way to put it.”
Tessa grinned like she was satisfied with that answer and immediately reached for my hand. “Let me treat you to a cinnamon muffin before they’re all sold out for the day.”
We moved to a small couch in the corner, tucked just far enough away from the counter that it felt like we had our own little pocket of the world. Tessa with her latte, me with a muffin that was still warm and must have had crack laced in it.
“You and Camille are close?” I asked.
“My very own surrogate mom,” she said proudly. “Let’s just say she was instrumental in me keeping my sanity during my high school years. A lot of late-night grilled cheeses.”
“And you’re the same age as Eli, right?”
She let out a breath and took another sip of her drink. “Yep, I’m the same age as Eli.”
There was something there, something she wasn’t telling me, but I sensed that it could wait. Sunday mornings were for cinnamon muffins, not life-changing secrets. I brushed invisible crumbs off my shorts before turning to face her.
“Noah offered to help me buy a space on Main and run my own events company.”
I held my breath, waiting for her response, waiting for her to tell me this was a bad idea or how I couldn’t cut it here.
Tessa didn’t hesitate. She beamed back at me.
“I can’t believe that I get to be neighbors with the esteemed Bailey Collins. Do you have a name in mind? Could I be your first—”
At that moment, I knew my decision was made. I was exactly where I was supposed to be.