Fanny approached me, smacking a kiss on my cheek when I bent to greet her. She was sort of the community grandmother, always fussing over everyone, being the first one to offer a helping hand when someone was down on their luck, and her gorgeous floral arrangements had cured more than a few broken hearts—my own included.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
I waved my phone around. “Thought I’d get some content for the next few weeks.”
“Perfect timing!” Fanny said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Once we finish with the Tuggle arrangements, Ella and I planned to switch out the window display. I’d love for you to do one of those”—she snapped her fingers—“transition type things.”
I giggled, knowing exactly what she meant. Fanny wasn’t tech savvy, but I’d been working with her long enough for her to know at least a few of my tricks.
“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Let’s do a Timelapse of you guys finishing up for the Tuggles, and then we’ll move to the window.” I shifted slightly on my feet, eyes sweeping around the room. Nearby, my sister was bent over an orchid. Gently, her fingers traced the petals, her eyes closing as she inhaled deeply. Without thinking, I snapped a picture. Not for social media—no, this was for me. To remind myself that buried beneath Ella’s seemingly cold and apathetic exterior still lived the little girl who loved to stop and smell the flowers.
When I was satisfied I’d shot enough footage at Blossom’s for a few weeks’ worth of Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook posts, I bid my sister and Fanny goodbye before trotting across the street to Sydney’s. Sidney, the owner and granddaughter of the diner’s namesake, greeted me warmly as I pushed through the door. Instantly, I was enveloped in the scent of pancake batter and freshly brewed coffee, and my stomach growled.
I bellied up to my usual spot at the long counter that ran along one wall, all chrome edges and Formica exactly like what you’d expect to find in a place that had been open since the 1930s. Sidney’s great-grandparents had opened it shortly aftermygreat-grandfather, Andreas, relaxed his iron fist on land inthis town enough to start selling to people who wanted to settle here. They’d named the diner after their newborn baby girl, who would later inherit her legacy. Since, the diner had been handed down to the women in Sidney’s family, finally ending up with her.
And you might be wondering why they were all okay with taking the legacy they’d been given instead of running with it. Didn’t these people have dreams? Want a life outside Apple Blossom Bay?
The truth was—they’d been given the choice, exactly like my sisters and I had. But, like me, Sidney had left and came back. The people of Apple Blossom Bay were relatively simple people with one thing in common: wewantedto be here. We were proud to call this place our home. To us, the ability to keep the family businesses alive wasn’t a noose around our neck, holding us back but a rock-solid foundation upon which to build our lives.
“What brings you in?” Sidney asked as she slid a steaming cup of caramel chai tea and glass of water in front of me.
“Well, I’m starving,” I said, rubbing my stomach, which let out a well-timed grumble. “But I’m also making the rounds. Thought I should check in and see what you’ve got up your sleeve for the season.”
“This is perfect timing!” Sidney said, tapping away at the tablet in her hand. I’d been here enough times over the years that I never ordered. I simply ate whatever Sidney decided she wanted to feed me that day—and loved every bite of it. “Pumpkin pancakes and apple cinnamon waffles are going back on the menu this weekend, so guess what you’re getting for lunch?”Her eyes glinted as she smiled at me.
“Hmm,” I said, tapping my finger to my chin. “A Reuben and sweet potato fries?”
Sidney tipped her head back and barked out a laugh. Even at nearly forty, she was still gorgeous, her naturally blonde hair long and silken. I always wondered why she wasn’t married with a few kids running around, but anytime I asked, she said it was because she was married to the diner.
Secretly, I—and most of the town—thought she was in love with Mags who owned the ATV rental business up the block, and they were both too afraid to make a move.
But that wasn’t any of my business.
Twenty minutes later, the counter in front of me was crowded with plates, including the promised pancakes and waffles, as well as a few samples of new sandwiches and salads Sidney was considering adding to the menu. As I ate, I took notes and shot content, including a behind-the-scenes interview with Sidney as she whipped up a fresh batch of pancakes for Mr. Richards. He wandered in as I took my first bite and demanded a stack of his own.
As she moved around her kitchen, both me and Mr. Richards shadowing her, I sighed contentedly. I loved my work for big, highly recognizable brands, and for the winery, don’t get me wrong.
But absolutely nothing beat these days, when I spent hours immersing myself in the town, rubbing elbows with the locals and helping them promote their businesses.
Here, I was home.
My heart was completely full by the time I trudged up the front steps of my house. After leaving the diner, I’d gone to the grocery store to get the weekly update from Mr. Rinaldi, who provided me with the following week’s price promotions. Then I’d bopped around between the three gift shops, each of them specializing in something different so as to not step on each other’s toes, photographing new items and making note of upcoming sales and events.
I ended the afternoon at Granny’s. Tanya greeted me warmly, settling a pint of Traverse City-brewed seltzer in front of me and asking if I wanted anything to eat. Ever the glutton, I ordered an appetizer platter, taking some aesthetic shots of it and my drink before I dove in. Then she sat across from me, and I took notes while she got me up to speed on upcoming specials. After that, we gossiped, the drama in other people’s lives doing a sufficient job of distracting me from my own.
All day, I’d successfully managed to block out the dumpster fire of a meeting with Owen and the weasel that morning by surrounding myself with people who genuinely enjoyed my company and wanted my help. But now that I was at the end of my rounds, that fire that had banked as I wandered through town rekindled in my chest. Rage laced with shame and a sense of failure. Like I’d had my shot and opening my big mouth had bricked it off the rim.
Then again, standing up for myself was never a bad idea, whether small men vilified me for it or not. So at least I could beproud of that. That I didn’t shrink myself to make that asshole weasel feel bigger and badder.
I was so full from all the carbs I’d consumed today that I could have passed out the second I stepped through the door, but I didn’t even let myself sit down before hanging my purse on the hook in the foyer and turning around to head into my garage.
It had undergone many changes and been used for many things before I bought this property, but it was obvious from the architecture that my garage used to be a carriage house for the farm. When I moved in, it had been a cavernous space, the concrete floor cracked and grease-stained, the ceiling vaulted, trusses exposed. It had been cold and dingy, good for nothing save parking a car. And even that was dicey given the precarious and neglected condition of the building when I’d first taken possession, as though a strong wind would collapse it.
So it had been the first big project I’d taken on when I began renovations.
First, I’d split it into two spaces, the upstairs completely walled off and insulated from the parking area. I’d converted the upper level into a bright, open office space with a lounge area off to one side. I worked from home, yes, but I liked having somewhere to go in the mornings. Plus, I was more productive up there. Everything had been selected for both comfort and functionality, from my TikTok viral desk chair to the desk itself, which had the ability to be raised and lowered depending on whether I wanted to sit or stand. I had two free-standing monitors set up, in addition to my laptop station and iPad stand. One wall was dominated entirely by bookshelves, nearly overflowing with all the tomes I’d collected over the years.
With a sigh, I dropped onto my chair and slid up to my desk, shaking one of my monitors alive. A few clicks had me AirDropping the content I’d shot today, where I could upload it to my various editing software and prep for posting.
