Chapter 5
Chapter Five
WHITNEY
Vivienne
You guys holding up okay? I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it back tonight.
We’re fine. No need to worry. Running some errands now.
Are you sure you’re comfortable staying with Wyatt? We can figure something out at my place.
You could always call mom.
I appreciate the concern, but it's not happening. We’ll be okay.
Ituck Brinley closer into my side as I close out my texts with Vivienne.
This isn’t the first time she’s tried to get me to talk to our mother.
Probably won’t be the last. She texts me again, but I ignore it in favor of not starting a fight.
Dry leaves crunch beneath my boots as I walk through the town square with Brinley on my hip.
It's creeping towards the beginning of October, and autumn has slowly begun taking over Clover-Hills.
I've always loved how the air permanently smells like rain and mist, and how the sky is darker–as if a cozy filter has been blanketed over the entire town. And then there's the early morning fog–romantic in a way I just can't explain.
The sharp chill that singes the tip of my nose pulls me from fall day-dreaming and reminds me to browse Dusty Layne Boutique before we head back to Wyatt's.
Wyatt was pretty dead set on me taking time to reset before jumping into work. I haven't told him that I already called Ana, who really was more than excited to take Brinley during the days I needed her.
Wyatt will probably be fuming with me over it, but I don’t care. I hate the idea of not earning our keep. The last thing I want is any handouts, least of all from Wyatt Conway.
I'm surprised to find myself so relieved over Ana agreeing to babysit Brinley. Normally, I find myself panicked at the idea of someone that's not me, Vivienne, or Blake caring for her. But Brinley and I adore Ana. I'm positive she couldn't be in more capable hands.
I keep my eyes locked on the Clover-Hills Diner, doing my best to avoid glancing to the right.
I know there’s a crew still cleaning up.
Yellow tape wrapped around the scene. I know if I peek, I’ll see what I’ve already been told.
That it’s demolished. That there’s nothing left but rubble. I’m not ready to see it.
I inherited a modest sum when my father decided to retire early and travel the world, cashing out his life savings. He never wanted to stick around and be a parent, but he always made sure I had what I needed. I think it was more out of obligation rather than love.
At first, I was so pissed that I refused to use the money.
I was so close to donating it or just pulling it out of the bank to dump it into the lake out of spite.
But instead, I kept it. I figured it was the least that I was owed after practically raising myself.
I used every last penny to buy the building.
At the time, I didn’t know what I would do with it, I just knew it would give me a roof over my head.
For about a year, I busted my ass between two jobs, being a waitress and a bartender out of town, and when I saved up enough, I decided to open up a coffee and book shop.
I loved both so deeply, I couldn’t choose between the two.
It was a huge gamble, especially at my age, but it paid off in the end.
It was the first thing I ever did for me.
I blink back the emotion clouding my eyes and forge ahead.
When the bell to the diner chimes overhead, every set of eyes inside swivel in our direction.
Before I can book it back outside, Brinley starts wiggling in my arms like a rabid dog.
I set her down with shaky arms, and opt for holding her hand while we walk to the front counter.
It doesn't evade me how busy it is in here. I'm sure my loss is a huge win for them. And while I'm genuinely happy for their business, I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t sting a little.
Every step across the checkered tiles feels like I’m walking through glass. Like there’s a spotlight and I’m on full display. Eyes track me, and heads dip to converse with their tablemates.
I bet she’s devastated about the shop.
Who do you think is the dad?
What do you think started the fire?
I bet it was a one-night stand gone wrong.
Whisper after whisper fills my ears–so quickly that I can’t tell if they’re real or a fabricated piece of my anxious mind. Or both. A gentle drawl pulls me from my inner turmoil. “Whitney! How are you, my dear?”
“I’m great.” I give Doris a tight-lipped smile. It’s a big, fat, lie. She tilts her head like she knows this, but just places her hands on the counter and leans over to give Brinley her biggest smile.
Doris and her family have owned the Clover-Hills Diner for generations.
She recently took it over with her husband, Clyde, after her parents passed.
They’re like the town’s honorary grandma and grandpa, always looking out for everyone with gentle smiles and warm hearts.
After I had Brinley, they’d often stop by Bell’s on their break just to check in on us.
Sometimes they’d come bearing breakfast, other times a donut or two.
Always something fresh, and always enough for both me and Brinley.
I don’t think they ever had children of their own, but they pour all that love into the people around them. Especially the little ones.
It’s as heartwarming as it is heartbreaking.
“Remind me, Hun.” Doris adds. “How old is she now?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Boy, how time flies.” Doris taps her fingers against the counter. “She’s getting so big.”
I sigh, looking down at Brinley and giving her hand a small squeeze. “Tell me about it.”
I look back up, scanning the old chalkboard menu. I already know what I want–it’s more so to give my eyes something else to do. My stomach makes an embarrassingly loud growl, and I realize this is the first thing I’ve had all day. “I’ll just take a–”
“Coffee and maple donut?” Clyde comes up behind her, placing a white paper bag and cardboard cup on the counter between us.
My face softens at the small gesture. “You two know me too well.” I go to reach into my purse, but Doris is quicker. She reaches out to place a gentle hand on mine. “On the house, dear. And if you peek in that bag, there may or may not be an extra treat for Miss Brinley.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. “Oh, Doris. We couldn’t–”
“Nonsense.” The older lady cuts me off. “It’s the least we can do.”
She gives me a pitying glance, and I force a smile onto my face. Clyde places a tender hand on her shoulder, mirroring her expression. I scoop Brinley back up, handing her the paper bag so I can hold my coffee. Propping her on my hip, I ask, “Can you say ‘thank you’?”
She clutches the bag to her chest, and her thanks sounds a lot more like “Tinks” but it makes Doris and Clyde smile nonetheless.
We bid farewell with small waves. Just as I turn around to the front exit, I nearly bump into someone.
I mutter an apology and side-step, but his voice has me tilting my head up to meet his gaze.
“Edmundo,” I say, more question than statement, the name rolling off my tongue before I can stop it.
Edumndo, or Eddie, as he likes to be called, sat right next to me in Mr. Stanford’s math class.
We’ve known each other since the 8th grade.
Eddie was the kind of kid that always stopped to talk to you, even if it was for something as miniscule as a pencil.
He was adorable in school. But as a man…
I think I would remember if he had that kind of face.
Eddie and the rest of the fire department frequent Bell’s.
I’ve probably made his coffee over a dozen times–how the hell have I never noticed what a pretty smile he has?
Or how his tan skin is gorgeous, and the freckles dotting the edges of his brown eyes make them that much more charming.
He was there this morning, but I couldn't see past the fact he was a boulder standing between me and everything I’ve ever worked for.
“Whitney,” he says back in greeting. “How are you holding up?”
I blink away Eddie's freckles. I might scream if one more person asks me that. A small part of me is starting to think it was a terrible idea to leave the house. But not only is Eddie stupidly hot–I know he also means well. So I just nod. “As well as I can be. You?”
“Better, now.” He shoves a hand in one of his pockets, a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head, waiting for him to continue.
Eddie crosses his arms and gives me a little shrug, “Maybe we could grab coffee or breakfast sometime?”
“Like a–a date?” I blurt, wishing I could bang my head against the wall at my words. I refrain from glancing down at myself. Messy bun, bare face, and a fresh stain on the sweatpants that aren’t even mine. I’m not surprised he didn’t need to question whether or not Brinley’s dad was around.
“Yeah. Like a date.” His eyes light up, and he runs a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to conceal a laugh. “Here, why don’t I just write my number down, and you can think it over? Text me if you want to, but no pressure.”
I stand there like a statue, unsure what to say. He reaches around me, pulling a pen from his back pocket and scribbling on a napkin from the nearby table. He hands it to me, fingers brushing mine as I take it. “Thanks.” I outwardly cringe at my response.
Thanks? Thanks? That’s what you say?
Eddie chuckles. “I’ll see you around, Whitney.” He gives a small wave to Brinley, which she gives a goofy grin in return, nuzzling her face into my neck.
I haven’t been asked on a date… well, since before Brinley was born. I’d never even considered it. Realizing I’m still standing in the middle of the diner while Eddie makes his way back to his table, I beeline for the diner's doors.
Brinley’s wails continue to pierce the air as I rock her back and forth—doing anything, anything to calm her down.