Chapter 1
chapter one
Busy
The gravel pops underneath my tires, the unpaved road narrowing slightly as I drive toward the familiar green cabin at the end. It’s too dark to see at this late hour, but I know the lake stretches out behind it, and I lament the fact that our drive took so much longer than I anticipated. It would have been nice to spend our first evening here sitting on the dock, watching the sunset. Junie loves sunset.
But I push that thought aside. There are going to be many, many sunsets for us to watch now that I’m back in Cedar Point, and I can’t waste too much time worrying about a single missed one. Not when there are so many other things to worry about.
I slow to a stop and put my car in park on the parking pad just outside the cabin then turn it off, plunging myself into darkness, only the faintest hint of moonlight cutting a swath through the large cedar and pine trees scattered around the property. I’ve been here before, but it looks different somehow. Maybe it’s the shadows of the trees, or because I’m just so damn tired. Truthfully, it’s probably because the handful of visits I made when my sister used to live here were just that…visits.
Now, this cabin is my new home.
Our new home. Just the two of us…Junie and me.
My eyes briefly flick to the rearview mirror, to where my daughter sits in her car seat, her sleeping face reflected back at me through another small mirror positioned at her feet. Maybe I can take advantage of the fact that she’s sleeping and try to do some unloading before she wakes up. It’s been a long day for my baby girl, and driving all day with a toddler is not for the weak, that’s for sure.
The fatigue of the long journey finally hits me, and I close my eyes for just a second, wanting to give them a brief rest—though the reality of knowing I still need to get Junie inside and settled as well as do some serious unloading from my car doesn’t make those few seconds all that restful. Not for the first time, I wish I’d taken my mother up on her offer to let us crash at her place tonight. Her words from a few days ago taunt me.
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult? You’re going to be exhausted. Come here and get a good night of sleep. You can unpack everything the day after you get to town.”
Why do I have to make everything so difficult?
My original thought process did make sense. I assumed I’d be arriving in the late afternoon and would have plenty of time to get our stuff unloaded and manage dinner. Then we’d get to spend our first night in town in our new place, just the two of us. I didn’t want any help; I just wanted the evening to ourselves.
Of course, the reality of driving such a long distance was completely different than I pictured. At almost two, my energetic Junie Bee struggled with being in her car seat for so long, which meant significantly more stops than I’d planned so she could get out her wiggles, get food, go to the bathroom. Now, it’s nearing ten o’clock, and any hopes of an early evening of settling into the little green cabin are long dashed.
Snuggling into a made bed—even the twin mattress in my childhood bedroom—sounds infinitely better than lugging in the heavy air mattress that’s shoved somewhere in the back of the car, probably in the least convenient spot because I was rushing this morning and not paying attention to how I was loading up our few possessions. Even so, I promised myself when I decided to move back to Cedar Point, I was coming back to make my own home, not to just return to the roost. Part of that is defining new spaces for myself, new routines, new relationships. It would be too easy to tuck myself into my parents’ house and just let them take care of us. I might be the baby of the family, but I’m not a baby anymore.
Not to mention I have my own baby to take care of now, and part of that is doing as many things on my own as I can. Especially considering all the help that has already been extended my way. My job at Briar’s store. Mom taking care of Junie. Dad getting this rental set up. It all came together because people who love me offered to step in and help, and even though it killed me, I took it. I knew being here would be a better life for my daughter, and no amount of pride is going to get in the way of giving Junie the best that I can.
I need to prove to them—to my parents and my siblings, but also to myself—that I am capable of handling things. That I’m not the same Busy, always getting herself into jams and needing to be rescued from her own choices. It’s why it took me so long to finally come back in the first place, because I had things I needed to prove to myself.
That I could finish my degree, for one. That I could handle being a mother on my own was definitely another.
So, even though it would be easier to go to my parents’ house tonight and sleep in beds there—instead of living on an air mattress for the foreseeable future—I know sticking to my original plan is the better move. Even if it’s the more exhausting one.
I sigh, the fatigue weighing even heavier on me now than it was a few minutes ago. Then I shove open my door and step out of the car, the sticky air of the early-summer night clinging to my skin. I shut it gently, glancing briefly in the back to make sure Junie is still sleeping soundly, then head to the front door, tugging out my phone to reread the instructions Lois sent me about the keys.
Key is taped under the pot out front
Sounds about right.
Chuckling to myself, I take the two steps up onto the wraparound porch, spotting the beautiful hydrangea plant in the orange pot next to the front door. Tilting it slightly, I reach under…
But no key.
I glance around, wondering if maybe I’m just looking under the wrong pot. The light on my phone illuminates the area, and I scan for another one before following the porch to the back of the house, facing the lake.
Still nothing.
I pull up Lois’ number and give her a call, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Growling under my breath, I stalk back to my red RAV4 and pull open my door, digging around in the center console until I find two bobby pins. I don’t care if I need to break a window. I’m getting into that house tonight. But I can start with something less dramatic, like picking the lock.
I take a quick look at Junie again, finding her sleeping peacefully, then quietly shut the door and head back to the porch. Dropping down onto my knees, I bend my bobby pins and get to work.
Picking a lock is one of those weird things I learned as a teenager that I’ve actually used a few times in real life. Once my freshman year of college, when I got locked out of my room and didn’t want to pay a fee to have the RA come open the door, then again last year when I accidentally locked myself out of my apartment with Junie on the inside. I was a bit hysterical on that last one, sobbing and imagining my daughter—who couldn’t even crawl yet—somehow getting her hands on a knife or catching the place on fire. It really is wild what horrifying visions the mind of a mother can conjure up.
I hear a click and grin to myself, knowing I’ve moved one of the pins inside the lock into place. I adjust my bobby pin, searching for the next one.
“Can I help you?”
I shriek, the sound of a male voice coming out of nowhere and scaring the absolute shit out of me. Scrambling to my feet, I extend my hand with the bent bobby pin in front of me like I’m brandishing some kind of weapon, my eyes locking on the silhouette of a man standing at the base of the porch’s few steps.
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says, putting both hands up as if to calm me. “Just trying to figure out why you’re breaking into my place.”
I blink a few times, my bobby pin still stretched out before me, and I glance around, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“Breaking into your place? This isn’t your place.”
The guy takes a step up onto the porch but freezes when he sees me take a step back.
“Hey now,” he says, his voice calm and soothing, like he’s trying to reassure a feral cat. “My name’s Reid. I live here. Have for the past three years.”
My brows furrow. “Reid?” I say, my hand falling to my side as I take a step forward. “Reid Cohen?
The cloudy haze of fear finally clears, my eyes straining to see him in the darkness.
“Yeah. Do we…know each other?” Reid asks, chuckling under his breath.
I put my hand to my chest and take a deep breath. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I say, giving myself a moment to breathe. “I’m Busy. Patty and Mark’s daughter.”
My mom and Reid’s aunt Lois have been friends for decades. If he doesn’t remember me, he’ll at least know my parents’ names. Everyone knows the Mitchells. It’s a reality of, one, living in a small town, and two, being a descendent of Cedar Point’s founding family. It’s a cool legacy thing, knowing the people who came before me planted the seeds of what this community has become. But it’s also a little draining, knowing people are almost hyperaware of what you’re doing.
As a kid who enjoyed sneaking around a bit, the last thing I wanted was a ton of eyeballs watching me and reporting back to my parents. Part of me thinks my mom wouldn’t consider me such a troublemaker if people in this town weren’t always narcing on me, but I guess that’s all in the past. Hopefully.
“Busy Mitchell?” Reid takes a step forward, tugging on a small metal hoop on his belt loop, unhooking a set of keys. “Let me just…hold on.”
He steps past me and opens the front door, then reaches in and flips a switch, illuminating a living room that is very much furnished, and a beautiful, shaggy dog stretching and yawning on the couch, tail wagging. With another flip of a switch, Reid turns on the porch light and shuts his front door.
I wince, the muted light still too bright for my eyes, which had grown accustomed to the darkness. Then he turns around to look at me, and I realize I might need another minute to catch my breath.
Reid Cohen is everything I remember him to be.
Tall, muscular, handsome. All-consuming, with his strong jawline covered in stubble and broad shoulders. He has a mustache now and his hair is just slightly longer and messier than I remember, but absolutely works for him.
I feel like I’ve been yanked into the past, to that summer when I was eleven years old. My friends and me giggling as we watched him sit atop the lifeguard tower at Cedar Point Summer Camp, slinking past his dad’s shop on Main Street hoping to spot him inside. My crush on Reid slammed into me like a freight train that summer, and even though I forced myself to eventually move on, I can still feel the echoing pangs of those teenage emotions.
“Wow. I feel like I haven’t seen you in…” He pauses. “How long has it been?”
“Five years,” I say, remembering the last time I saw him with surprising clarity.
He was driving around in that truck that was older than dirt but was somehow cool because he was driving it. He rolled to a stop at the intersection in front of Ugly Mug, and I stood there like a lovesick fool, just admiring him with a kind of glazed expression you can only manage when you’re a teenager.
His wife was in the passenger seat.
“No, it has to have been longer than that.”
He furrows his brow, and I’m almost positive he’s trying to conjure up any kind of real memory of me. The truth is, my adolescent daydreams aside, I’m pretty sure our only interactions were a few hellos stretched over many, many years.
Shaking my head, I swat a hand at the air between us. “It doesn’t matter.”
Then I take a second to look around again, my confusion surging back to the forefront. Only then do I spot a few things I missed before: a pair of worn steel-toe boots in the corner, the mat in front of the door that has clearly seen better days, and the multiple potted plants scattered around.
“Do you…live here? Really?”
How tired am I?
“I do. Have for a few years.”
My shoulders droop, wondering how that’s possible.
“But…I could have sworn…” I start, my brain scrambling as I try to make sense of it. “Lois said the place would be empty by yesterday.”
Reid’s head tilts to the side. “She did?”
I nod.
“I’m supposed to be renting this cabin from her.”
He tucks his hands into his jeans, shrugging lightly like the world isn’t about to fall apart. “Well, I’m sure there’s just some kind of misunderstanding that can be sorted out with a phone call.”
“She didn’t answer.” I tug my phone out of my back pocket and open up the text she sent yesterday. “Current tenants have moved out, blah blah blah, getting it cleaned and I’ll have the cleaners leave the key under the pot.”
“Wait, are you renting the green cabin?”
“This is the green cabin.”
Reid gives me a gentle smile then hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “This is the blue cabin.”
“What?”
I look again at the walls, certain he’s wrong and…sure enough, they’re blue.
At the realization that I really was breaking into his home, I laugh. Probably a little too long and a little more loudly than is warranted, but I blame the exhaustion of the long day and the reality that I was apparently on the verge of a B&E.
“I’m so sorry, I…” I rub my face with my hands, my laugh fading away. “It’s just been a really long day.”
I let out a lengthy sigh, wishing for the umpteenth time I’d just swallowed my ego and stayed at my mom’s.
“Hey, you’re alright. No harm, no foul. It’s an easy mistake to make in the dark.” Reid takes another step forward, pointing past where I’m parked. “The green cabin is just on the other side of that tree line. My aunt and uncle planted those a few years ago to give the cabins a bit more privacy. That’s probably why you didn’t see it.”
Or at least I think that’s what he said. His sudden proximity has me very aware of him, and I breathe in deeply, taking in the scent of him. It’s something clean and masculine I wish I could bottle up and spray on my pillow.
Clearing my throat and trying to push that very embarrassing thought aside, I take a step away and nod.
“Thanks. Sorry again.”
Reid gives me a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it. It happens.”
I roll my eyes. “People say ‘it happens’ a lot, but I really wish things would stop happening to me.” I wave my hands out wide. “If the universe could spread it around a little more, that would be great.”
He leans against the door jamb and crosses his arms, assessing me but not saying anything else.
Okay. Time to go.
“Alright well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, neighbor.” I step down off of his porch. “Do me a favor will you? Maybe don’t share the fact that you caught me trying to pick your lock?”
His lips tilt up on the side. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“Thanks. Not sure my already stellar reputation would survive it.” I take a step back, knowing I need to head over to the correct cabin and get settled in. “Night, Reid.”
He nods his head. “Night, Busy.”
Giving him a small wave, I make quick work of hopping off his porch and heading over to my car. When I get settled back in the front seat and look in my rearview mirror, I see him still standing there, leaning against the door, his hands tucked into his front pockets.
I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, trying to let go of…all of that. He was far kinder than I deserved, far kinder than I would have been if I’d found someone picking the lock on my cabin door, whether I knew them or not.
God, Reid Cohen. Of all the people to be living next door to, it has to be him? The man who consumed my thoughts when I was a preteen noticing boys for the first time?
I shift my car into drive and roll down the gravel road until I spot the parking pad in front of the green cabin and come to a stop. I guess it won’t be so bad to have Reid as a neighbor. Maybe we can be the types to exchange sugar and all that. My weary brain attempts to crack a joke about us maybe sharing more than one type of sugar, but I do my best to banish the thought. That is definitely not what I need right now.
This time, when I step up onto the porch, I find the key immediately and make quick work of getting inside and inspecting the place. It looks and feels almost exactly like I remember it from when Briar and Abby lived here a few years back. Same old hardwood floors and dated kitchen. Same slightly woody smell that surely comes from the cedar beams that cut across the length of the living room ceiling.
It’s a tiny spot—probably only 1,000 square feet in total—but it’s perfect for me and my rugrat. There’s a primary bedroom with a private bath and a second much smaller bedroom and another separate bathroom in the hallway. I glance into each of the bedrooms, finding them clean and empty with the same wooden floors. Thankfully, the ceiling fans are already on and the screened windows are open wide.
Most of the spots around town don’t have air conditioning, save for some of the newer builds or people who put in window units. I know the temps are just going to keep going up over the next few months until the summer heat finally breaks in September—Briar warned me about the heat in this cabin before I signed the lease—but I can’t afford anything more than what this place currently offers. So…ceiling fans and cool evening showers and sleeping mostly naked will surely be the remedy. Tonight, we should be just fine.
Junie stirs as I hoist her out of her car seat a while later, but it’s clear she’s still mostly asleep.
“Shhhh, it’s okay, baby,” I whisper.
She glances around, but her eyes are still heavy, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I carry her inside then get her settled on the air mattress I’ve gotten all set up for us in my room. She rolls right over, her mouth open, completely dead to the world.
I let out a sigh of relief then slip out of the room and close the door behind me. I don’t doubt she’ll be up at some point in the night, but for now, I’m grateful she’s as exhausted as I am.
I glance in the direction of the front door, knowing I should try to get the rest of the car unloaded. Instead, I head to the kitchen, eager to return to the bottle of wine I saw sitting on the counter when I first walked in. It’s a twist-off, thank god, and I tilt it back, taking a long, long drink. Then I tug open the card that was sitting next to the bottle with a bouquet of tiny sunflowers.
Welcome home, Busy and Junie! Excited to see you. Let us know how we can help get you settled in. Love, Briar and Andy.
My lips turn up. Out of everyone, my oldest sister has been the most supportive about my decisions over the past few years. About school. About Jay. About motherhood. She sent money even though I told her not to and flew down to LA to take care of Junie during finals at the end of each semester so I could focus on my schoolwork. She’s been a godsend, and I honestly don’t know where I’d be without her.
I take another swig from the bottle and tuck the note back in next to the bouquet, then I step outside onto the back deck that overlooks the lake. The glowing moon shines bright, reflecting off the water and casting shadows on the ground. I can’t wait to see this view again in the morning.
I leave the light off and take a seat on the steps that lead down to the shore, tilting my head back to look at the night sky, feeling small and tired and wondering not for the first time what the hell I’m doing. I have no idea what’s to come from this new beginning, no clue if I’m really making the right choices—for myself, but more importantly, for Junie. All I know for sure is raising her near her grandparents and aunts and uncles, in the town that always felt so safe and welcoming, didn’t feel like the wrong choice.
And maybe that’s all you can do when it comes to being a mom: make as many not-wrong choices as you can and hope everything turns out okay.