Chapter 7
Kayla
Locking my apartment door behind me, the smell of cinnamon and sugar makes my stomach growl. The one downside to living above the coffee shop is that all my money seems to be going to pastries nowadays. The coffee sucks here, but the treats are heavenly.
“Morning, Sugar,” Luanne calls from behind the counter, already halfway through wiping down the glass case. Her gray hair is piled high in a bun that defies gravity, and today her name tag reads The Scone Queen.
“Hi. How are you this morning, Luanne?” I ask, stepping up to the counter. The older woman is down here every morning, ready to greet me. Sometimes I wonder if she sleeps here.
“Oh, I’m doing alright,” she smiles pleasantly.
“Billy’s trying to up my rent again, so I’m thinking of taking him to the higher-ups.
” The higher-ups? Like the cops? “I already pay him way too much.” Her bun wobbles on top of her head as she shakes her head.
“And what he’s doing to you just ain’t right either, Sugar. ”
“It’s okay,” I brush her off, not wanting to get into it. “Not many other options.” Last time Luanne got going about Billy, I’d ended up standing here for 20 minutes, five people waiting in line behind me.
Unfortunately, our landlord, Billy, is a little bit of a money-hungry cheapskate. He’s the type of person you would see on TLC for sharing bath water.
“Well, still. He’s a pain in our ass.” She declares, but she effectively ends the conversation. “What can I do for ya?”
“I’ll get a coffee, and one of those cinnamon twist sticks, please.”
“Sure thing, Sugar.” As Luanna bustles around behind the glass display of treats, I stuff a ten-dollar bill into her tip jar. It’s the only way she’ll let me pay. Luanne is an amazing baker and an amazing woman, but she’s a shitty businesswoman.
“What are your plans for your weekend?” She asks, stuffing an extra twist into the paper bag and passing it to me. “Are you on your way to Colter’s place?”
“Why would I be on my way to Colter’s place?”
“Well, aren’t you two seeing each other?”
“What? Luanne, where did you get that idea?” I look at her incredulously, wondering if I should call a doctor. She must be having a stroke.
“Well, everyone knows you were at his place on Tuesday night.”
“Everyone knows?” That must be an exaggeration.
“Sure. Sue told Hal, who told Carol, who told Penny, who told Granger, who told me, and well, I told everyone who came in. Gossip gets more tips.”
“I was tutoring Ben, Luanne,” I sigh, rubbing at my face.
I know the books and movies say that small towns like to gossip, and everyone knows everyone, but I didn’t think they were factually accurate, though.
I thought the whole point of books and movies was to create fantasy worlds. Now I’m flipping living in one.
“Huh. Well, that’s certainly less exciting.”
“Mind setting the record straight with your avid listeners today?” I don’t want this getting back to Harry. The last thing I need is for him to think that his new teacher is using her job to hook up with single dads at the school.
“Eh, I suppose. Won’t get me as good of tips as telling everyone about Delia sneaking out of Kyle’s living room window this morning, but maybe I can sneak both in.”
Huh. Good gossip does earn good tips. “What do I owe you?” I ask Luanne, stuffing a couple more dollars into her jar.
“On the house, Sugar. Now, you have a good day doing whatever secretive things you’ve got going on.”
“I’m just running some errands, Luanne. Nothing secretive is going on.”
“We’ll see what the town has to say when the day's done,” she shrugs and then walks into the back kitchen without so much as a goodbye.
Alrighty then.
My first stop is at the feed store, because apparently that’s the only place that sells curtains and curtain rods in town. There’s a weathered bench outside and a chalkboard sign that reads Chick Days coming soon! Order now! Ask for Hal. Don't ask about the goose.
Naturally, now I want to ask about the goose.
Inside, it smells like hay and sawdust, and the man behind the counter, probably Hal, nods at me like we’re old friends.
“You Colter’s girl?”
I blink. “No. But I’m tutoring his son.”
He grunts like that explains everything. “Well, welcome to Castlebrook. He’s a good man, you know. His son, too.”
“I can tell.” I hope my smile conveys that I’m being honest, and not just buttering the old man up.
“You’re lucky to have Ben in your class, you know? He’s smart.” His voice softens a little. “Needs someone to notice.”
“He’s definitely giving me a run for my money,” I agree, hands clenching the strap that crosses my chest. “Hey, you got any curtains?”
“Sure, they’re at the back with the salt licks.”
“Great, thanks!” I don’t ask him what a salt lick is, but I find the curtains next to these things that look like dice for giants.
Next, I find the bookstore Page Turners & Trail Maps. It’s half romance paperbacks, half laminated hiking guides. The floor creaks when I step inside, and the girl behind the counter looks up from her sketchpad, pink hair falling over one eye.
“Oh, hi. You’re Colt’s girl, right?”
“No,” I huff. “I’m not.”
She nods, unperturbed by the exasperation in my voice. “Alright.”
“I’m here to pick up a parcel that came in? For Kayla Carson.”
“I thought you said you weren’t Colt’s girl?” Her eyes narrow on me. “You trying to steal her package?”
“I’m not Colt's girl. I’m Ben’s tutor. That’s why I was at his house.
Feel free to tell everyone, please.” I’m ashamed to say I sound a little whiny as I say it.
If I had known Luanne was being serious about this rumor stuff, I might have stayed home all day instead.
It’s safe at home, sequestered away from these gossip mongers.
“Huh. I give it a week.”
“You give what a week?” I ask, watching as the teenager disappears behind a huge counter that looks like something out of an old bank.
“I give it a week before the rumor becomes a reality.” She pops back up, UPS package in hand. “I swear, it’s something about this town. If the rumors start, then it’s only a matter of time before it comes true. Like a wishing well.”
That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.
“While I appreciate the lore, I don’t think it’s in the cards for me. Colter is my student’s father. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“That’s what Mr. Alvarez said when he first moved here. Then he married the music teacher one year later. Not too long after his rumor started.”
“Thank you for the package,” I smile politely, just wanting to get out of here. I don’t need to know about Harry and his wife. I didn’t know anything about my principal back in Chicago, not even her first name, and it worked out just fine for me.
“Nice meeting you, Kayla.”
“You too.” I never did get her name.
By the time I leave the bookstore, it’s already past noon, and the town’s starting to hum.
A farmer’s market has popped up at the end of Main Street, spanning the length of the one-way road out of town, all folding tables and homemade signs.
I weave through the crowd, picking up a jar of spicy peach jam, a bracelet made out of purple beads and old bullet casings, and another coffee from a vendor who hands me a loyalty punch card for a coffee shop in Malta.
I toss the coffee and the loyalty card in the garbage a few booths down.
I eat lunch on the bench outside the bakery. A turkey sandwich that tastes like Faith’s homemade sourdough, but better. A woman in her sixties waves as she walks by. I don’t know her, but she says my name like she knows me.
A few minutes later, a kid zooms past on a scooter, then crashes into a flower planter, hops up like nothing happened, and yells, “Sorry, Miss Carson!” before speeding off again. I have no idea who he is, but he obviously knows me.
The air smells like sun-warmed pavement and wildflowers. Somewhere nearby, someone’s playing country music too loud. A pickup rumbles down the street with two dogs in the backseat, one of them barking at nothing.
The overwhelming feeling of being seen settles into my bones, and I’m not sure whether or not I like it or hate it.
For someone who spent their whole life thriving on being unseen and unheard, it’s unsettling to suddenly be at the center of attention for a whole town—even if the town is only a couple of hundred people.
I just hope that by tomorrow, I can settle back into the background, where I belong.
On Sunday, I drive into Malta to pick up a few things for my classroom.
The outdated resources Mrs. Cannon left behind won’t cut it for much longer, which means I need to find some teacher workbooks and fun activities for the kids.
Unfortunately, there aren’t many options for that in Castlebrook, unless I want to teach math using a box of paperclips and sheer willpower.
I hit the bookstore, the dollar store, and a place called Classroom Crackers that looks sketchy but has an amazing bin of discounted flashcards and stickers. By the time I lug everything back to my car, I’m already dreaming of iced tea and an early bedtime.
My zealous mood to get home and relax might contribute slightly to my speed, and I take off down the highway back to Castlebrook, going well over the speed limit.
The trees grow denser as I drive, and the atmosphere somehow becomes quieter.
It’s like the wilderness knows that Castlebrook is small and peaceful, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of larger towns, and it wants to protect that.
It’s about halfway home, surrounded by the protective forest, that my poor car starts making some terrible noises.
Steam blows from under the hood, and for a moment, I wonder if I can safely push it just a little bit farther, just until I get home.
And then maturity and common sense kick in, and I realize there’s no way I’m getting her home without a tow truck.