2
Camila
The hat stares at me from the bed with a scowl.
I swear, if that piece of felt could talk, it’d be giving me an earful.
I’ve been spinning around like a top for fifteen minutes, peeking out the window every few minutes to see if anyone shows up near the house.
But no such luck. The only movement out there comes from the workers, who are moving around the property as if today were just another day in their blessed routine.
Although, come to think of it, it really is, isn’t it?
I couldn’t exactly expect the whole of Australia to come to a standstill for Camila Bennet’s glorious and triumphant return.
“Get off your high horse, sweetie.”
“What utter nonsense,” I think out loud, snorting at myself.
I shake my head and fix my gaze on the boxes of scientific equipment piling up to the right of the entrance.
Mind you, always to the right—the left side gives me hives.
There’s one stubborn box that doesn’t fit into the tower the guys have built; I move it carefully until it forms a perfect column worthy of an architecture award.
“That’s better.” I bring my hands to the back of my neck and start pacing around the room with my elbows out, as if I were doing the chicken dance to release tension.
But even that doesn’t stop my heart from pounding in my chest.
“I need coffee. Urgently. Or a horse tranquilizer. Whatever’s closest at hand.”
Actually, pumping caffeine into my nervous system right now is a terrible idea, but the ritual and the little hum of the coffee maker have an almost hypnotic effect on me.
I set out to raid the kitchen cabinets, one by one, only to discover they’re emptier than my list of dates from the last two years.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. I slam the last cabinet shut and lean against the small countertop.
I have to admit that the kitchen, though basic, is pretty chic for being out in the middle of nowhere.
I guess this combination of rustic charm and pretentiousness is why Birdsong Hills has become so famous in Australia.
It’s not like I’ve been stalking their social media like a psychopath—heaven forbid—but news travels fast… and so does my curiosity.
I pull out my phone, look up Ricky’s number, and dial it before common sense stops me.
“My kitchen is emptier than the Outback—there’s not even enough to make a measly cup of coffee,” I blurt out point-blank as soon as he picks up, without giving him a chance to even catch his breath.
Yeah, I admit it, sometimes I’m unbearably bossy, and I shouldn’t be surprised if people think I’m an ogre.
“Weren’t you guys notified of our arrival days in advance? ”
“Well… We only had one of the cabins booked; we didn’t know more people were coming,” the poor kid defends himself.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from firing off one of my usual snide remarks.
Let’s see, how do you think people study supercells and atmospheric anomalies?
With an anemometer and a little bit of enthusiasm?
At that moment, I remember the wise advice of my last psychologist—that saint who cost me a hundred dollars an hour—and I take a deep breath so I don’t lose my cool. Calm down, Camila. Breathe.
“Do you want me to go into town to buy something?” Ricky asks, breaking the silence. “Basic services and groceries are covered by the budget, so don’t worry about it.”
You can feel his discomfort from here to the other end of the state.
“No, look, that’s not necessary. I’ll go myself,” I reply.
“I’m a little particular about my things.
” Thank goodness the process of accepting my own quirks is moving full steam ahead.
“We won’t be able to start setting up the equipment until this afternoon, so I’ll take the opportunity to walk around the neighborhood and see what’s changed.
While I’m at it, I’ll scout out the area—I really need to. ”
“Okay, perfect… But if you need anything else…”
“Don’t worry, Ricky. Just make sure the pantry is stocked to the brim by the time my teammates arrive,” I ask, tilting my head back with a sigh. “I don’t want us to waste the day on domestic nonsense.”
“Will do. Don’t worry.”
I hang up the phone and huff at the screen.
Oh my God, I sounded so rude. It’s just that I have this horrible feeling that the moment I set foot on this soil, the entire universe conspired against me.
Everyone’s giving me sideways glances. Everyone except…
“Does she know I’m back yet?” The thought suddenly strikes me.
I shake my head vigorously to shoo it away as if it were an annoying fly.
I walk over to the canvas bag resting on the bedspread, pull out a clean tank top, and change out of the one I’m wearing. Then I do the same with my hat, go through my usual routine of fixing my hair in front of the full-length mirror, and examine myself from head to toe.
The Camila staring back at me has absolutely nothing in common with the frightened twenty-four-year-old who fled this place through the back door just a few months after marrying Elijah.
My nomadic life chasing storms has taught me, the hard way, that some of us are meant to be just passing through and that sometimes I get along much better with lightning and thunder than with human beings.
However, if I scratch just beneath the surface, there are still glimpses of the girl who grew up here—the daughter of the region’s star farmers and the ranch’s housekeeper.
That little girl who knew the names of all the neighbors and their secrets.
For my parents, my escape from here changed everything, too.
It pushed them to leave, to feel that their home was no longer their home, to uproot themselves in search of a future with fewer ghosts.
Well, maybe that was just the excuse I told myself so I wouldn’t have to admit that I flat-out refused to spend the rest of my days farming the land the way they wanted me to.
I tuck my T-shirt into the waistband of my jeans, and suddenly my fingers brush against my belt buckle.
It’s made of engraved silver—beautiful. Elijah gave it to me on our second…
date, for lack of a better word. I’ve kept very few things from my past life, but I have a heart-wrenching attachment to this piece of leather.
It brings a silly smile to my face just as I feel a treacherous tear threatening to well up.
“No way. Don’t even think about crying, sweetheart,” I order my reflection. I force a smile to swallow the lump in my throat and turn around. “Let’s go get that food, or you won’t make it through the first round.”
As I step outside, the wooden porch creaks under my weight in a way that feels strangely familiar.
I walk toward Viento, trying to convince myself that I can handle this.
I’ve come back to do my job right, to protect the people of this town—the families and future tourists—from what’s coming from the sky.
That’s the only thought I can allow to take root in my mind.
Of course, the circumstances in this town always have that damn habit of throwing a wrench into my plans.
· · ·
I turn the steering wheel of my Toyota slowly, letting my gaze wander down the town’s main street—not that there are many streets, but this one reigns supreme.
I try to memorize the new, modern, pretentious shops that blend in among the weathered wooden facades of the long-standing businesses.
At the end of the main avenue, I spot the huge sign for the supermarket that’s been here for about seven years.
There’s a constant stream of locals coming out with paper bags and loaves of bread under their arms. Seeing them, I can’t help but wonder what’s become of Rosemarie’s old bakery and whether she’s still baking those crusty loaves that made you feel like you were touching the sky with every slice of toast.
My stomach growls, demanding its due, reminding me that I’ve had nothing but stale coffee all day. And so, I pull Viento up right in front of El Colibrí, the most famous café in the region—if not the only one where they don’t serve you dishwater.
It’s a charming little spot, with cream-colored walls and a vintage atmosphere that envelops you the moment you walk in.
You can tell from a mile away that it’s had a facelift or two and that the paint is spotless, but as soon as I push open the door and hear the jingle of the bell, that same wave of nostalgia hits me right in the chest.
The air is filled with a glorious blend: freshly ground coffee beans, the clinking of cups, and that heavenly aroma of bacon sizzling on the grill—which Christian has masterfully manned since time immemorial.
In fact, he’s the first one to look up. As soon as he sees me, the spatula slips from his hand and falls to the floor just as his jaw drops. I see a spark of genuine emotion in his eyes, and a smile spreads from ear to ear across my face.
“Wow, looks like not everyone wants to lynch me. Now that’s what I call coming home.”
“Tell me you’re still making those giant croissants with melted cheese and bacon that used to save my life, please,” I blurt out, slumping into a seat at the bar with a cocky swagger.
Christian reacts, hurriedly wipes his hands on his apron, and shoots out from behind the bar. He covers the distance between us in two strides and squeezes me in a hug that takes my breath away.
“But… but wait…” he stammers, pulling back slightly to grab my shoulders and study my face. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost. “What on earth are you doing here? And why didn’t your parents say a word about you coming, you little rascal?”
“Mainly because they don’t have the faintest idea I’m here. We haven’t talked much lately,” I confess with a guilty chuckle. “You have no idea how much I’ve been craving one of your magic coffees.”
“Well, now it’s Lily who’s got that magic!” he blurts out proudly, giving me another squeeze. “Lily! Get your butt over here right now!”
The shout echoes through the café. Several patrons who were engrossed in their breakfasts look up like meerkats and stare at me.
I’m convinced that more than a few of them have recognized me because they suddenly look away, clear their throats awkwardly, and start whispering.
I’d have to rack my brain to remember who’s who, but right now I don’t have the time—or the desire—to figure out which neighbors I got along with and which ones can’t stand me.
“Can you tell me why you’re yelling like that, Dad? I told you I was organizing the boxes in the storage room,” protests a female voice I know all too well.
A tall woman with stunning olive skin, brown hair pulled back into a flawless high ponytail, and green eyes that capture you and never let go appears through the back door of the shop.
At first, she walks in glancing at some notes and doesn’t notice me.
At least not until I take off my hat and wave at her with a wink.
“Look at the little gem who’s back,” her father announces with a huge smile.
Lily freezes in her tracks as if struck by lightning. I count five seconds in my head before she reacts—she drops the papers, lunges at me, and gives me a big hug too, planting a loud kiss on my cheek.
“Damn you, Camila Bennet!” she shouts, shaking me. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’ll kill you!”
“Miss, that kind of language in front of the customers…” Christian scolds her halfheartedly, because two seconds later we’re both laughing our heads off.
“Surprise?” I blurt out, shrugging with my best innocent look.
“Girl, you have no idea how boring and dreary this town has been without you. And let me make this clear: you owe me an epic bar crawl for lying to me. You promised you’d try to come see me more often, you big liar.”
“Look, I really did try, I swear, but you know what my job as a slave to science is like,” I explain, embellishing the truth just a little—and hey, I don’t feel a shred of remorse. “I guess the storms have brought me right where I’m needed most.”
“Well… Things around here haven’t exactly changed that much either,” Lily remarks in a tone I pick up on immediately.
I know exactly where she’s going with this.
Ten years ago, I brought great shame to my family name, and in this blessed place, those kinds of things get passed down from generation to generation.
Because Birdsong Hills—and specifically the town of Willow Creek—may have idyllic scenery, but it has a memory for grudges that even an elephant would envy.
My smile falters for a second and my expression clouds, but Lily notices it instantly and gives me an affectionate pat on the arm, while her father winks at me to play it down and dispel the bad vibes.
“How about I go get that special croissant right now? With an extra serving of bacon, just the way you like it,” Christian chimes in, saving me from the emotional nosedive. I nod, my eyes sparkling.
“And you, gorgeous, are going to sit right there,” Lily says, pointing at me. “Because I’m not going to let you walk out that door until you tell me, in excruciating detail, everything you’ve been up to these past ten years.”
“Of course I will,” I assure her, planting a huge, noisy kiss on her cheek.
I quickly glance around over my shoulder. And even though I can still feel the weight of a couple of hostile stares piercing the back of my neck, I smile. Because at least I know there’s still a good, sweet, coffee-scented part of this place that makes coming home worth it.