Page 5 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
Better than the silence on our side anyway.
Then, the day I went off to Harvard, my dad packed up and left like the last bit of responsibility he’d been clinging to had finally slipped through his fingers. Just like everyone else in my life.
Just like my mom had when I was ten.
Jason nods. “Yeah. She’s back in the house for now. Says she wants to get settled before she figures out something of her own.”
I grab another pint glass, more out of habit than need, and set it under the tap. “Makes sense,” I say, though my mind drifts again to the image of her—the shy kid with the big brown eyes who used to vanish whenever I so much as looked her way.
To be honest, if that house were an option for me, I don’t know that I’d ever leave it.
I think of my own house.
No, it’s not quite the Richards’ place—doesn’t have the sweeping porch or the view of the river—but I’ve done pretty well for myself. A craftsman-style home on the edge of downtown, close enough that I can walk to The Wandering Pint in under ten minutes.
The siding’s a deep slate blue with crisp white trim, the kind of color that looks good in every season.
Inside, the hardwood floors are warm and worn, the kitchen big enough to actually cook in, and the living room has a massive brick fireplace I restored last year. Out back, there’s a deck and just enough yard for a grill, a couple of chairs, and the fire pit I drag out on cool nights.
It’s not huge, but it’s mine. Every board, every fixture, every bit of sweat equity I put into it is mine. And after the way I grew up, that means more to me than anything else.
I look around the pub, at all the customers sitting around, having a pint, a burger, enjoying themselves. But this place… this is my pride and joy right here.
I hand off another round of drinks down the bar. I definitely have something to be proud of.
Chapter Three
Paige
I take the stairs two at a time, barely able to keep the grin off my face. My sneakers squeak faintly against the worn wood, but even that sound feels bright, like it’s part of the moment. My hands are still fidgety from the call with Kelly, the energy buzzing through me like too much caffeine.
It’s official. I have a deal on the place.
In just a few hours, I’ll be sitting down with Kelly and the landlord, pen in hand, signing the contract that makes Sweet Confessions mine. My bakery. My dream. My heart is thudding so hard I swear anyone passing me on the sidewalk can hear it.
I reach the bottom step and glance toward the back of the house. Through the glass doors, I can see Mom out on the patio, her hair catching the sunlight as it lifts in the breeze coming off the river. She’s curled into one of the white wicker chairs, a glass of iced tea sweating on the table beside her, the view stretching out in front of her like a painting.
For a second, I just stand there, taking it in. The wide sweep of green lawn, the glitter of sunlight on the water, the way this house always seems to breathe calm into anyone who steps onto that patio.
I slide the door open, the sound of it rumbling along the track making her glance over. She smiles warmly and gestures to the chair across from her.
“Can I join you?” I say, stepping out into the sunshine.
“Always,” she says, and I sink into the seat, the breeze carrying the faint scent of the river and fresh-cut grass.
Mom takes a slow sip of her tea, eyes drifting toward the river like she could sit here all day and never get tired of the view.
“So, how was your morning?”
“Good,” I say, leaning back into the chair. “Busy, but good.”
She tilts her head, smiling. “Busy already? You just got back.”
I laugh lightly. “You know me. I can’t sit still for too long.”
“That’s true,” she says, eyes twinkling. “When you were little, I used to have to bribe you with cookies just to get you to sit through a whole movie.”
I grin at the memory. “And it worked every time.”
