"Name it."
"You work with a committee. I don’t care who’s on it, just that there are other adults involved that aren’t just you. Clear?"
Annabelle grinned. "Perfectly."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. The children were well-behaved, well, mostly, if you didn't count Thomas gluing his fingers together during craft time, and Indra opening the window to feed Billy the local bull carrots from her packed lunch, and Annabelle found herself humming as she tidied the classroom after the final bell.
"You're in a good mood," Nina observed, stacking chairs.
"I'm just excited," Annabelle said. "About the fundraiser. About saving the library. It's all going to work out beautifully, I can feel it."
Walking home in the soft evening light, Annabelle let herself feel the exhaustion that had been lurking at the edges of her consciousness all day. She was tired. Properly, bone-deep tired from the sleepless night.
But she was also hopeful. And hope, she'd always found, was worth a bit of tiredness.
Once home, she changed into comfortable clothes and surveyed her kitchen, considering her options.
She’d deal with the library debacle. But first, she had to deal with the Raven debacle. Because, and here was the thing, it had all been a misunderstanding. And Annabelle was sure thatRaven would see that now that she’d have time to calm down. Plus, well, there was the noise. As much as she loved free concerts, Annabelle also loved a bit of sleep now and again.
She pulled out her favorite notepaper, the cream-colored kind with little flowers around the border, and uncapped her pen.
Hi Raven!
I hope you're settling in wonderfully! I wanted to let you know that I've been absolutely loving the music coming from your cottage, you're so talented! I teach at the local primary school, which means I'm usually up quite early in the mornings. Would it be possible for any late-night jam sessions to wrap up by midnight or so? I completely understand the creative process can't be scheduled, so no worries if not! Just thought I'd ask.
All the best,
Annabelle
She read it over three times, added a smiley face after her name, decided that was too much and crossed it out, then decided it looked too stark without it and drew a new one. Too many exclamation marks? No, just enough. They took the sting out of things that might be too rude otherwise.
Perfect. Friendly but not pushy. Understanding but clear.
Now for the biscuits.
She took some of the ones she’d already baked and put them in a tin. There.
The note was kind. The biscuits were delicious. Raven would understand everything, and everything would be fine.
Everything was always fine, really, if you just approached it with the right attitude.
The walk to Raven's cottage took less than a minute. The evening was soft and golden, the kind of light that made everything look like a painting. But Raven's cottage was dark and Annabelle felt a small pang of disappointment. She'd ratherhoped to actually talk to her neighbor properly this time. Maybe even with some clothes on.
Still, leaving the biscuits and note would work just as well.
She set the tin down carefully on the doorstep, made sure the note was securely tucked underneath so it wouldn't blow away, and stepped back to admire her work.
There. Perfect.
Raven would come home, find the thoughtful gesture, and understand that Annabelle wasn't angry or upset. Or weird or a stalker. Just a neighbor asking for a small favor. Nothing dramatic. Nothing complicated.
And now she could turn her full attention back to planning the greatest fundraiser Bankton had ever seen.
Chapter Six
The note was sitting on Raven's doorstep when she got back from the village shop, under a tin of what she could already tell were homemade biscuits. She didn’t need three guesses to know who’d left the little package on her step.
She stood there for a moment, carrier bag in one hand, staring down at the cream-colored paper with its cheerful floral border like it might explode if she got too close.
