Page 35 of Barefoot Lake

The names of both places are cheesy as hell, and I’m obsessed.

Hannah and Leslie are perfectly mismatched, too. Hannah’s pixie-cut hair is dark, but there’s a shock of white above one ear where flour has settled in the pretty waves. She wears a cropped tank with little flowers on it under her overall dress, her arms left bare so nothing will get in her way while she’s baking, and I can see a little croissant tattooed on her triceps whenever she turns to get yet another delight for me to try.

Hannah is cottagecore personified, with a love of baking, painting, and flower pressing. She even has freckles across her cheeks and nose. She’s sweet, organized, and efficient.

Meanwhile, I don’t think Leslie has ever met an athletic activity she didn’t like, no matter how dangerous. She’s run marathons, completed those intense obstacle courses that involve jumping over fire and had a phase where she considered becoming a professional diver. When she tells me about her summer plans to try “extreme bungee jumping,” (isn’t regular bungee jumping extreme enough?) I swear I see the color drain out of Hannah’s face.

Leslie is tall, toned, and could kick my ass with one hand tied behind her back. She has straight blonde hair, but it’s currently twisted up in a large bun so it stays out of her way. I don’t think she’s remained still for five consecutive seconds since I showed up this morning.

“So,” Leslie starts. “How can I bribe you to join the Wilcox Grove flag football team?”

I snort a laugh and nearly choke on my Danish. I’m not sure I’d even be disappointed if that’s how I went. The flaky crust is worth it. I furiously shake my head before gulping my iced chai latte.

“You don’t want to do that. If you want me to help your team, put me on the other team. I’d destroy them from within without even trying.”

Leslie and Hannah laugh, and I’m not sure if they realize I’m not joking. I’m that bad.

“That’s alright,” Hannah says, but Leslie pouts. Hannah ignores her and continues. “Are you equally opposed to watching football? That’s my role, and I swear it’s fun. You sit, trash talk, and eat snacks.”

“Wouldn’t you know, I’m great at all of those things!”

It’s incredibly easy to be Hannah and Leslie’s friend, and I find myself thanking Piper again. When she’s right, she’s right.

That’s how I find myself sitting on hard metal bleachers at seven in the morning the following Saturday. The air is damp and cold, so I gratefully accept the paper cup of hot coffee from Hannah. At least the chill should keep the mosquitoes at bay. If not, the industrial sized bottle of bug repellant in my purse will certainly help.

When Hannah huddles by my side, I half wonder if she invited me just to have somebody with whom to share body heat, but as the game gets underway, I realize the invitation was for my own benefit.

Grateful Bob is the announcer for the game, his voice projected from a speaker propped on the bench a row down from him, but I’m not sure he possesses the requisite amount of knowledge for the job. He regularly blurts nonsense, making up yardage distances and talking about home runs. He’s also already howled “goaaaaaaaaaaaaal” twice for our team’s two touchdowns and sings along with the music between plays.

As a result, he regularly argues with the refs, which causes the Wilcox Grove team to come to his defense. Then, the other team shouts about delaying the game, which riles up the crowd to the point where I swear our little field is as noisy as a sold-out NFL stadium. At least we’re just as dedicated.

Before I know it, I’m joining right in, booing and shouting along with my Wilcox Grove compatriots, most of whom I’ve seen somewhere around town, but many of whose names I do not yet know. It doesn’t matter, though. When I shouted for the ref to lay off Grateful Bob, they accepted me as an ally without question, with our announcer shouting along with them.

I realize suddenly that it’s very likely Grateful Bob is making trouble for his own amusement.

When the roar of YEAH! Comes from behind me, I turn to see my new people. I don’t look for a grumpy lumberjack. But if I did, he wouldn’t be there.

Things carry on easily after that. I spend a decent amount of time at Barefoot Bake, reading, crafting, taste-testing, or helping to water the eighty-four potted plants throughout the bakery and bookstore. I go to softball games and pick flowers with Hannah for her to press. I keep looking for the Brawny man, and I keep smiling.

One afternoon, Jake and I end up on our back patios at the same time again. When we catch sight of one another, I smile and wave. He nods at me.

I take a deep breath to steel myself. Now that I have a place in this town, I’ve been working up to talking to Jake again. I feel steady enough like I can be his friend without accidentally burning down his house or sending his brother to jail or something.

“How’s Scott doing?” I shout over before I can talk myself out of it.

I haven’t heard from Jake’s brother since his visit. Even though I know he’s fine and his eye has fully healed from his chats with Piper, I still plan on using him as a plot device in my friendship with Jake. Thanks, Scotty.

Jake seems to start, and he’s too far away for me to be sure, but I think he rolls his eyes before trudging over to my yard. He stops at the edge of my patio and surveys me on my swing.

“You know you could have come over like a civilized person if you wanted to chat instead of disturbing the peace, right?” he scolds me, and I wonder if I made a mistake opening my mouth.

Then Jake smirks, and the world stops turning. The movement completely transforms his face, making him look playful, younger. And damn, he is fucking handsome.

I must stare dumbly at him for longer than is socially acceptable before remembering he asked me a question.

“Of course, but where’s the fun in that?” I try to match his teasing energy and smile.

I see him swallow hard, watching his throat move.