Page 2 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
I can already see it—tourists wandering through downtown on a sunny afternoon, drifting from shop to shop with shopping bags swinging at their sides.
Maybe they will have just had lunch or dinner right next door. That place sure is busy enough that I can take advantage of the departing customers.
They’ll spot the tables first, then the glass display in the window, each tray and stand piled high with frosted cupcakes, flaky croissants, and glossy fruit tarts.
They’ll stop, lean closer to read the chalkboard menu, and then push the door open, lured in by the smell of sugar and fresh coffee. Some might take their treats to go, but others will claim a table outside, settling in to watch the slow flow of people along the sidewalk.
And from those seats, they’ll have the perfect view of the river glinting at the end of the road, sunlight dancing across its surface.
Sweet Confessions. The name sits on my tongue like chocolate—rich, a little indulgent, and exactly right.
Kelly jots something down on her clipboard. “If outdoor seating’s important to you, we can double-check the city’s guidelines for sidewalk cafés. Permits aren’t hard to get, but they like to keep everything uniform downtown.”
I nod, already picturing pale blue café chairs with curved metal backs and little round tables, each with a tiny vase of fresh flowers. “It’s important,” I say without hesitation. “I want this place to feel inviting before people even step inside.”
She smiles, flipping to another page. “You’ve got vision, Paige. That’s half the battle.”
I trail my fingers along the windowsill, feeling the worn paint beneath my hand. “Marlene’s was always so welcoming. I want to do that too—just… my way.” My gaze drifts toward the door again, sunlight spilling across the threshold like an open invitation.
Kelly closes her folder with a soft snap. “So, do you want me to let the landlord know you’re interested?”
My heart beats a little faster. It’s one thing to dream, another to start making it real. I look around the shop one more time,imagining the walls painted in soft cream with light blue accents, the smell of bread in the oven, customers talking over morning buns and large mugs of coffee.
“Yes,” I say, smiling so wide my cheeks ache. “Tell them I’m very interested.”
Chapter Two
Ben
The Wandering Pint smells faintly of hops and wood polish when I come in from the back. Morning light streams through the tall front windows, turning the polished oak bar into a ribbon of gold.
The place is quiet now, just the low hum of the cooler and the faint creak of floorboards under my boots, but by noon, it’ll be full—glasses clinking, laughter echoing off the exposed brick walls, the air carrying the smell of fried fish and garlic fries.
The tables are mismatched in a way that feels intentional—because it was—some dark wood, some lighter, all solid andwell-loved. A long row of booths lines the far wall, their cushions deep green leather, worn in all the right places.
Plants hang from the rafters, trailing green against the high, whitewashed ceiling, and the big ceiling fans keep the air moving just enough to make the place feel light despite the darker wood. Warm, comfortable, but open. You can see every table from the bar, and the windows pull the street inside with every glance.
We don’t open until lunch, but there’s already a couple of guys leaning against the front railing, nursing coffee cups, talking like they’ve been here since sunrise. They’ll be first in line when the doors unlock. I like that. I like that people think of The Wandering Pint as part of their day.
I’m checking the taps when my phone buzzes.Kelly Havershamflashes on the screen.
I sigh, thinking of my real estate agent and how… peppy she is. I wipe my hands on a bar towel before answering. “Hello?”
“Ben!” she says, voice bright, almost bubbling. “It’s Kelly! I think I’ve found someone for the bakery space next door.”
I lean my hip against the bar, not even trying to match her energy. “Yeah?”
“She just left here. She’s young, has a business degree, and she’s got big plans for the place. You’re going to love her.”
I make a noncommittal sound. Relief prickles under my ribs—two years of that storefront sitting empty is two years too long.
But along with the relief, I feel a bit of apprehension. Sure, I want the place filled, but it’s right next door to my place, and I need someone who won’t give me a headache or drive away my own customers.
“That right?” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Yes, really. She’s serious. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Alright. Appreciate the heads-up.”
