When In Doubt

Chapter 1

Chapter One

FREYA

“Babe, you gotta give it up.” The voice comes from my left, accompanied by the tap of a knuckle against my car window.

I force a smile, not needing to turn to know who’s knocking. “I got it!” I know she means well, but the tapping is rattling around in my skull, putting my teeth on edge. Maybe if I ignore her for long enough, Becca will head back into the diner and stop witnessing my shame.

Or, I don’t know, maybe a sinkhole could open up and swallow my car.

Either option would be acceptable.

“Oh, Freya.” I can practically hear the pitying smile. “You’re never gonna make it.”

I mean, she could have left me a sliver of hope. No need to crush my dreams entirely.

I huff through my teeth, trying to keep my smile in place even as I make a point not to look at her. I know I’m being rude, but I can’t do anything else. If I do anything other than clench the wheel, my eyes glued to the bumper of the Honda Accord parked a couple of inches in front me, I’ll break.

“I’m all good!” There’s an edge of hysteria creeping into my voice as I roll forward, stopping just before I clip the other car.

“Okay,” she says doubtfully. “You want me to guide you back?”

I’d been attempting to squeeze into the four feet of space left on Madison Street for five minutes before Becca emerged out of her diner. I’m just hoping that she’s the only one who can see how badly I’m screwing this up.

But, knowing my luck, half of Cedar Creek will be talking about what a shitty driver I am by the end of the day.

“No, thank you!” I channel confidence as I throw my station wagon back into reverse.

“Sure?”

“Yup!”

I catch a barely muffled chuckle through the door. “Well, swing by if you need a pick-me-up after this. My treat.”

I finally turn, just catching the way her purple braids swing behind her as she strides back inside. Her offer has the back of my throat prickling.

God, have I really gotten so unused to people being nice to me that even the offer of a hot drink has me clamming up?

Yeah, I suppose so.

Five months back in the town I haven’t lived in for thirteen years and all I have to show for it is a craft store that demands all of my attention and near-daily calls from the mom who thinks I’ve got no business being out here in the first place.

I haven’t been picking up for the last four days, not wanting to hear it again.

It didn’t take long to realize that the whole “striking out on your own” thing is actually really fucking lonely.

With Becca gone, I take a second to try to quiet my racing brain before putting my hands back on the wheel.

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. I don’t know how I ever thought this would work.

I stare longingly at the space three cars down where I park every Wednesday.

The one currently occupied by a black pickup, mud streaked in long arches above the tires.

I’m certain I’ve had actual nightmares about this scenario playing out. I mean, is it really too much to ask that I be able to do the same things, the same way, without anyone messing up my routine?

Every Wednesday morning for the last thirteen weeks I’ve ran the library’s knitting circle, surrounded by seven folding chairs and the smell of burnt coffee.

I listen to Joyce and her friends making catty comments about half the town’s residents and field the occasional barb sent my way.

Then I drive back to the store, park across the street to unload my supplies, and get ready to open up Malcolm Yarn and Crafts before midday.

It’s not much, but it’s just how I like it.

I flick my turn signal with a groan, circling the block one more time before finally admitting defeat.

I’m going to have to drive to my apartment and walk back.

It’s a pain in the ass, but there’s no other option.

This is the only street not closed for sweeping on Wednesdays.

It’s like the town planned it just to screw with me.

The drive back to The Croft, my apartment building on the edge of town, only takes a few minutes, but I’m seething the entire time. Why can’t one thing go right today?

I pull in and move to slide from my seat, but I’m stopped short by a jolt as my coat snags on the parking brake. Shit. I guess the answer is no, I don’t deserve for anything to go right.

I swear I’m one minor inconvenience away from standing in the middle of the street and screaming.

Which would be embarrassing for everybody, really.

I give a yank to the fabric, cringing when I realize what I’m doing. I picture the green wool tearing, the perfect vintage coat I found in a flea market two years ago lost forever.

Thank God, the material stays intact and I don’t have to make plans to set my car on fire.

I get out and start walking, keeping my pace brisk. I’m about to slip on my noise-cancelling headphones when my phone starts buzzing. I let out a sigh, but immediately feel guilty. What kind of daughter has that reaction to the idea of speaking to her own mother?

At least I assume it’s her. It’s not like anybody else is blowing up my phone.

I pull the device out of my pocket, ready to decline the call. I’ll just tell her later that I was with a customer. But when the screen lights up, it’s not Mom.

I rush to answer. “Elsie?” I say as I cross the street, the sidewalks starting to fill with all the trappings of a picture-postcard small town.

Ornate lampposts and wrought iron benches populate the area, making it feel almost cozy, even as I pull my coat tighter around myself in an effort to escape the late-February wind.

“Little Peach!”

I grin at the nickname she’s been using for the last twenty-seven years.

Something to do with my head of strawberry blond hair looking like the fruit when I was born.

Two days feels too long to go between chats.

Elsie’s an old friend of my parents, practically family, and she’s been my biggest supporter ever since I moved back from Connecticut to open the store.

Even if she did ditch me three weeks after I got here to be closer to her son in Colorado Springs.

“Hey, Els.”

“How are you doing, my girl?”

“Oh, you know.” I’m glad she can’t see my grimace. Before she can call me out for being evasive, I change the subject, thinking about the interaction I had earlier. “Hey, can I ask you something about Joyce?”

Elsie makes a sound of begrudging assent and I almost laugh. The enmity between those two runs deep. “If you must.”

“Does she think I ran you out of town or something?”

“What’s that bat said this time?”

“She brought up the flower shop again. How she wanted to surprise her daughter but had to order them online.”

When Elsie decided that it was time for her to retire, she offered to lease me the storefront that had housed Cedar in Bloom for seventy-five years, ever since Elsie’s father opened the place in the forties.

I knew it’d be a tough transition; if my childhood taught me anything, it’s how little changes around town.

I always loved the constancy. It was steady, dependable when everything felt like such chaos for me.

But now that I’m the one disrupting it, I’m learning just how stubborn some of the people around here can be.

“Tell her to fuck off,” Elsie says.

“Elsie!”

“What? I did it for years.”

Even from Connecticut, reports of Joyce and Elsie’s verbal smackdowns were legendary.

“I don’t know if that’s the solution.” I sigh. “I need her to like me.”

“Why? She never liked me and I did fine.” I can almost hear her grin. Elsie has no problem telling people where to shove it. I wish I had even half of her confidence.

“You didn’t need her to like you. You ran a flower shop.” A beloved flower shop. An institution. One that Joyce seems to think I’ve come in and bulldozed.

“You don’t need her either.”

“Yes, I do! She’s like the Genghis Khan of small-town knitters. I need her on my side otherwise nobody else will want to cross her.” Joyce rules the Cedar Creek over-sixties crowd with an iron fist, and like it or not, that’s kind of my whole market.

“It sounds like the store’s doing fine without her and her cronies.”

She’s half right. We’ve had enough foot traffic that I’m doing alright for the first few months, but I don’t want to just be getting by.

My chest twinges, old insecurities making themselves known. “I don’t understand what her problem is.”

“Whatever it is, it’s her problem.”

I pause for a moment, leaning my hip against the railing running along the edge of the sidewalk. I look over it, seeing the duckpond. It’s still empty this time of year, the birds all having flown off somewhere warmer. I don’t blame them. “I just want her to like me.”

I’ve never done well with the thought of people disliking me, and this move has been a thousand times harder than I was expecting.

I thought because I grew up here I’d have accrued some legitimacy, but I guess most people don’t remember the little girl who sat in the corner of the playground stacking pebbles.

“Give her time to come around.”

“I guess,” I mumble. I wince. Poor Elsie, she called me and I immediately start ranting at her. I start walking again. “Sorry, I interrupted, what did you call for?”

She pauses, and I know I’m not gonna like the answer.

“Have you talked to your mom lately?”

Hell, did Mom put her up to this?

“Um, no. Not for a little bit.” I look up and see that I’m nearly at the store. “Listen, I have to go.”

“She just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, things are just crazy right now.” That, and I’ve been dodging her calls.

“She’d love to hear from you.”

“I really have to—”

“She loves you so much, Freya. You know she worries.”

I pause for a beat. I don’t want her worrying about me, but I’ll admit I’m enjoying the newfound distance. “I’ll call her soon, I promise.”

I hear her warm smile across the line. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

There’s a rustling on her end. “It’s twelve fifteen, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Which is why I have to go! Bye, Elsie.”

I hang up once she’s said her goodbyes, stopping short by the curb opposite Malcolm’s.

Oh shit.

There’s a man waiting outside, huddled slightly into the doorway against the wind that’s picked up. His large coat is bundled around him and there’s a groove etched into the space between his brows.

He doesn’t exactly look like my usual customer. My regulars tend to be less bearded and burly. He catches sight of me and straightens, broad shoulders unfurling. He looks pissed.

God, this is really not what I needed today.