Page 15 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
I’m pacing without even meaning to, one step from the sink to the door and back again, water dripping onto the tile. My reflection in the mirror looks about as unimpressed as I feel—jaw tight, eyes sharp, like I’ve just caught myself in the act of doing something reckless.
Jason’s sister. That’s the part that cuts through everything else. Not Paige-the-baker. Not Paige-who-used-to-live-here. PaigeRichards. My oldest friend’s little sister. There’s a whole line I’m not supposed to cross there, and I just spent five minutes in the shower letting my mind wander over it like it was open territory.
I throw the towel on the floor with the rest of my clothes and brace my hands on the counter, leaning in toward the mirror. “Get your head on straight,” I tell myself firmly.
She’s been back in town for what—two minutes? And already I’m looking at her like—
I push the thought away before the thought finishes forming. Doesn’t matter. Won’t matter. I know better. I’ve always known better.
The thing is, knowing and doing aren’t the same thing. She walked into that bakery space today, and for a second, I forgot she wasn’t just some woman I’d met at the pub.
I forgot about Jason, about the history, about every reason this is a bad idea. I just saw her—the way she lit up talking about those outdoor tables, the way her hands moved when she described it all.
I can picture the bakery exactly the way she sees it. Ovens gleaming, trays of bread and pastries cooling on the counters, the smell spilling into the street. I can almost see her behind the counter, flour on her cheek, laughing with someone over coffee.
And for some reason, I’m there too, leaning against the doorway with a drink in my hand, just… watching.
The thought is ridiculous, so I shake it off, dragging a hand over my face. It’s not my life. It’s hers.
Sleep is not going to come easily tonight. I’ve got too much of her voice in my head, too much of that look she gave me when she asked me to keep her secret.
I like being in on a secret with her.
No, stop it. What the fuck is wrong with you? You shouldn’t have any damn secrets with her.
I push away from the sink and stalk back to my bedroom.
I dress in an old pair of sweats and a T-shirt, pad barefoot down to the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of water. Outside, the night is still. I lean against the counter, sip the water, and catch myself glancing toward the window, like I might see the lights on next door to the pub. Like maybe she’d still be there, making plans. I huff out a laugh at myself and shake my head. Yeah. I’m in trouble.
My body’s tired, but my head is still running in circles. I know I should let it go—hell, I have to let it go—but the image of her in that dusty front room, sunlight catching in her hair, keeps pushing its way back in no matter how many times I shove it aside.
Setting the glass on the counter with a snap, I go upstairs and ignore my phone now lit up on the nightstand.
I drop back against the pillows with a groan, covering my eyes with one arm. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to keeping things simple. Professional. Neighborly. Tonight… I just need to get some damn sleep and remember who I am and what lines I don’t cross.
Chapter Seven
Paige
The morning air is crisp, sunlight spilling in golden bands over the storefronts as I lead my family down Main Street. My heart’s been in my throat all morning, thumping against my ribs in anticipation and nerves.
I’ve been keeping this to myself for what feels like forever—one whole week since I got the keys—and it’s been pure torture not blurting it out every single moment.
Jason’s on my left, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his brow furrowed. He’s not much of a morning person, but he’ll just have to deal.
Mom is on my other side, her stride brisk to keep up with us, as we are both taller than she is. We all took after Dad, who’s now a few steps behind Mom, taking in the storefronts like he hasn’t walked this street a hundred times before.
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t just grab breakfast at the house,” Jason mutters.
“Because,” I say, smiling over my shoulder, “this is better. Trust me.”
He narrows his eyes, suspicious, but doesn’t press it. Good. The surprise will be worth it.
I’ve been holding off on telling them until I knew the rewiring could be done without draining my entire budget. Ben’s electrician came through in record time with a quote and a time estimate. I was worried it would take months, but it turns out he only needs a couple of weeks to rewire the place.
There are two other spaces in the building, not including mine and Ben’s huge one, but they don’t have to be rewired for the moment. That’s something the electrician and Ben can discuss another time.
That was my last big question mark, the thing that could have slowed me down by months. Now? The path’s clear, and I can finally let them in on it.
