From the warring cheese shops to the cramped bookstore and the old-fashioned apothecary, I never tired of exploring this place. The waves, smiles, and greetings from people who seemed genuinely happy to see me out and about didn’t hurt either.
New England was bursting with charming towns, but the feelings one experienced in Maplewood were what brought the tourists back year after year. And what made it such a magical place to live.
Across the street, the large door of the fire station was open, and the big red engine sat inside, polished so it gleamed, a piece of town pride for all to admire. Inside, a couple of men bustled around, dressed in their navy blue MFD T-shirts.
Was Jasper on duty today? My heart flipped at the thought.
I touched my clean hair and fought back a cringe. Because when he’d dropped by yesterday to see Vincent, I hadn’t looked nearly as presentable.
Oh well. I pushed the thought away. Why did I even care?
“Coffee first.” Frankie led us down Maple Street, heading toward Bean There, Sipped That.
I waited outside with Vincent in his stroller. The place was packed, and this thing was as big as a mid-sized SUV. And, as a perk, staying outside meant I could avoid bumping into Jenn Lawrence, the owner and Jasper’s oldest sister. She was a lovely person, but this situation was too awkward to tackle at the present moment. Plus, I’d already had my coffee courtesy of Jasper and a surly teenager.
“Look how handsome you are,” I cooed to Vincent as I tucked his blanket around him. He was happily riding around, seeming to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. God, this kid was already a Vermonter.
I was admiring the windows of Basil’s cheese shop when, like a demon summoned from hell, Bitsy Bramble appeared before me on the sidewalk, dressed in a sweater and pearls as always. She’d probably been lying in wait in a sewer grate somewhere like a pearl-clutching Pennywise.
“Well, if it isn’t Maplewood’s newest resident,” she trilled, peering at Vincent in his stroller like a critic at an art gallery opening.
She studied him and then gave me a disapproving glare. “He does look like a Lawrence.”
My hackles rose. Was she questioning the paternity of my son? She shouldn’t even know anything about us. I’d never actually spoken to the woman, but the small-town gossip mill had surely been at work.
Bitsy was of an indeterminate mature age. She was spry in a way that suggested youth, but her gray bob, lined face, and permanent judgmental scowl suggested she’d soon be a resident of the local nursing home. She was the unchallenged don of the Maple Street Mafia, the group of elderly ladies who ran this town and most of the small businesses on Maple Street.
I should have known better than to wander into their territory so soon.
“Between us,” she said, her eyes glittering, “Jasper Lawrence is not known for his… follow-through. Wild as a march hare, that boy.” She tsked. “He drove his father’s tractor right through Mrs. Manning’s hedge. Just yesterday, Olive Foster and I were talking about?—”
Jaw clenching, I pulled my shoulders back. “He’s a present and wonderful father.”
“Of course, of course,” she murmured. “Those Lawrence men settle down eventually. Well, sometimes. Just don’t get your hopes up, dear. They may be tall and handsome, but reliable?” She tossed her hands up.
My grip tightened on the handle of the stroller. If I wasn’t concerned about hurting Vincent, I’d ram her with it. Roll right over the toes of her orthotic sneakers. Thanks to Frankie’s all terrain tires, this thing could do some real damage.
“Bitsy,” Ruby snapped. She was holding open the door for Frankie, who was juggling coffee cups and paper bags.
“Don’t you have a committee meeting to run?” Ruby asked, hands on her hips, belly protruding.
“Or a spell to cast?” Frankie added with a sneer.
Bitsy straightened up, adjusting her purse on her arm. “I have been appallingly busy. With what happened at the Maple Festival”—her gray eyebrows shot up, one hand fiddling with her pearls—“this town is a powder keg. Got to keep on top of things. Dig into what really happened.”
I blinked at her, a puff of air escaping me. This little old lady thought she was going to solve a murder? I supposed if anyone could, it would be Bitsy.
“I won’t keep you,” she said, peering down at Vincent again. “I’ll just let the ladies at the historical society know that this little bundle of joy has arrived. Have a blessed day.” With that, she swanned off, leaving behind a cloud of floral perfume and a rock settling in my gut.
I watched her retreating purple form, my pulse still thudding in my ears. Not because of the confrontation with the town busybody, but because of what had slipped out of my mouth.
He’s a present and wonderful father.
The phrase had escaped me, hot and fierce, without my permission.
Jasper really was a good dad.
He really was present. He showed up as often as I would let him, attended to every diaper disaster he could, and carried Vincent around like he was made of spun glass.
