Here's the thing about Rosedale, it's so charming it should be annoying. But from the picket fences to the cobblestone streets that turn into dirt roads as they wind their way out of town, I'm completely in love with the place. It's predictable, and sure, it can be a little boring. But I'm here for it. In my opinion, people severely underrate the value of predictability. Clearly, they've never had to live without it.
I fell head-over-heels with this town the day Aunt Betty invited me to stay with them during my sophomore year of high school. After graduation, I moved from her guest bedroom to the pool house. I'll probably live there until I'm forty since the prescription I need to control my MCAS costs more than most people's mortgages, and my dad's insurance only pays for part of it. Forget renting a place of my own. Forget college. But honestly, I wouldn't leave Rosedale even if I could afford it.
It doesn't appear my beloved cobblestones feel quite the same way about me, though. The second I step off the sidewalk in front of Nelson's Bakery, one of the little monsters tries to murder me. I can't see where I'm stepping over my tote bag full of cookbooks, my Stanley cup, and the giant box of fresh-baked triple-chocolate-chunk cookies I'm schlepping across town. My foot comes down unevenly, sending me stumbling.
The bag of cookbooks topples out of my arms, and my Stanley hits the road with a clang so loud it's like someone rang the bells in the church spire. It rolls down the uneven street, making an unholy clatter as it goes. The box of cookies teeters dangerously. I have a second of pure panic, imagining a grisly scene of chocolate and crumbs smeared across the road before I manage to clamp my hands around it. The edges are crumpled, but it's intact.
After my Oscar-worthy exit from the party last night, I owe Liv more than a batch of the Paleo brownies I'm making for my baking class this morning. The triple-chocolate-chunk cookies from Nelson's are her favorite. Unfortunately, everyone else in Rosedale agrees. They rarely make it through the morning. Since the class I'm teaching doesn't end until after eleven, I didn't want to risk it.
Concentrating on not dropping the now-mangled box of cookies, I hoist my tote bag safely over my arm. I turn to chase down my cup and nearly smack into a t-shirt-clad chest that's entirely too familiar.
"I think this belongs to you."
I stare at the hand holding my hot-pink Stanley and groan. I don't know what I've done to anger the fates this week, but they definitely have it out for me. Because that hand is the same one that pulled me from the pool last night, and I am not in the mood for it.
No one should have to untangle their jumbled-up emotions over their ex before noon, especially if they didn't get enough sleep the night before. Even after showering, I was awake for hours with my skin itching and eyes burning from chlorine.
"I'm pretty sure what you meant to say was, 'Thank you so much, Ty.' An apology for pushing me in the pool wouldn't hurt either." Ty's lips quirk in a self-satisfied smirk.
"Wouldn't hurt you, maybe." I try to snatch the cup from his grip and almost drop the cookies again.
"Wow." Ty holds the cup above his head, out of my reach. "You really suck at apologies."
"You're one to talk." I glare up at him, squinting in the hazy morning sunshine. His white shirt clings to the muscles of his biceps. And lord knows why, but he's wearing an actual tool belt, which is slightly hot and seriously irritating. He's like the Italian version of one of the freaking Property Brothers.
I lunge for my Hydro Flask again, but Ty easily dodges me.
Heat prickles at my neck and chest. I try to reel in my irritation before I turn into the human equivalent of a lobster. "You know what, keep it." I spin on my heel and stomp across the street, ducking through the line of maple trees surrounding the park.
Rosedale is starting to wake up. A group of middle-school boys throws a football back and forth. The scent of roasting coffee beans wafts from the cart on the corner. The sprinklers must have just turned off because chilly drops of water speckle my ankles as I cut through the grass. Ty's boots squeak behind me, and I can feel the weight of his eyes against my skin.
I give my ponytail a flip and, okay, maybe put a little extra oomph in my swagger. But can you blame me? Last night was the first time I'd seen Ty since graduation, and I looked like a swamp rat. My appearance this morning is a drastic improvement, which I realize is a low bar. But if I'm being honest, Ty looks good. Really good. Time has chiseled his features, making him look older and more mature. Even if I don't want to date him ever again, I can't help wanting him to think that I look good too.
I spent way too long applying my neutral-toned makeup. It both matches my cropped tee and looks totally natural. The effort had nothing to do with Ty, though. Well, it wasn't entirely to do with Ty. Thanks to the skylights, the classroom at Giselle's Gourmet Cooking School has excellent lighting, and I need to get some photos for my Instagram account.
I'm finishing my certification, so I can become an online nutrition counselor for people with health conditions like mine. And if I want to run an online company, I need to have a solid social media presence. I'm constantly sharing healthy recipes and baking tips. My goal is to have over twenty-five thousand followers by the end of the summer. I'll need a large audience when I launch my company. Helping other people achieve wellness is my dream.
As is having my ex-boyfriend crawl back to wherever he came from. I can still hear him hot on my heels.
"Quinn, come on. Wait up," Ty calls after me. "At least take your girly water bottle back."
"No, thanks." I don't break my stride.
"You're being stubborn."
"You're being annoying, but you don't hear me complaining." I pick up the pace, speed-walking toward the old barn Giselle converted into a cooking classroom.
She lets me teach modified baking classes several times a week and pays me way too much. The turnout for my courses is practically non-existent, especially compared to the crowds Giselle draws for her gourmet cooking classes. Her wife has a chronic health condition, though, so I think she's got a soft spot for me. My classes are geared toward helping people comply with dietary restrictions. All my recipes are either Paleo, sugar-free, AIP, or Keto-friendly. I'm like the all-inclusive resort of baking instructors.
The cooking school's on the far edge of town. But when I reach the reclaimed wooden steps out front, Ty's right behind me.
I whirl around. "Why are you following me?"
"Believe it or not, not everything's about you. I'm working here." Ty drops my cup on top of the cardboard box I'm holding, caving in the lid and, I'm sure, squashing the cookies.
"What do you mean you're working here?" I don't know if it's just really hot or if my blood is actually boiling. Ty's lucky my arms are full.
"I'm helping Al with the remodel."
I was so focused on Ty I didn't notice the cacophony of hammers and drills coming from inside the school. Crap. I forgot they were starting construction today. Giselle's adding another room. She keeps saying it's because her classes are getting too big. But since the population of Rosedale hasn't grown since I moved here, I strongly suspect it's so I can keep teaching classes while she's doing hers in the other room.
"Why are you helping Al?" I ask. "You don't even live here."
"It's called a summer job. Besides, I thought some hands-on experience would help me with my courses this semester." Ty's studying architecture, so it makes sense, which doesn't make it any less irritating. "And I just went away to college," he continues. "It isn't like I don't live here anymore."
"Could've fooled me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ty's leaning toward me, and my pulse is thrumming at the closeness. Every cell in my body screams at me to put some space between us, but I'm not about to back down.
I shrug like I couldn't care less. "I just didn't think you were the kind of guy to forget where he came from. But you haven't bothered to visit once in the last three years."
Pink splotches appear on Ty's cheeks. I'm definitely getting under his skin. "This town is my home. I was born here. I've got roots. You'll always just be the new girl." He says that last bit with so much superiority it makes my fingers curl around the cookie box, denting the lid even more.
I narrow my eyes at him. "And you're a—"
The white-washed barn door slides open, old wheels squeaking and cutting off my sentence. I jump as Giselle pokes her head out. Her shiny, dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun, highlighting her perfect cheekbones and flawless complexion. She's like a Brazilian Gal Gadot.
"I thought I heard voices. What are you doing out here?" she asks, a hint of an accent curling the edges of her words. Then her wide, brown eyes land on Ty, and she breaks into a mega-watt smile. "Ty! Welcome home!" She rushes down the steps and envelops him in a hug.
I roll my eyes as Ty hugs her back.
"It's been too long," Giselle steps back, holding him at arm's length to examine him. "And I swear you've gotten even taller."
Ty ducks his head, grinning and looking embarrassed. "It has been too long." He shoots a pointed look in my direction. "But it's expensive to fly across the country when you're also paying student loans."
Giselle tuts. "It's criminal how much they charge you kids for tuition."
"No arguments here," Ty says, still glaring at me. I glower right back at him. Giselle isn't wrong, but she's also unknowingly fighting—and winning—Ty's argument for him. I set what's left of Liv's cookies on the ground and cross my arms over my chest, waiting for the two of them to wrap up their little reunion.
"Al's out back," Giselle tells Ty. "Work hard, so you can come home sooner next time."
Ty's eyes fall to the pavement, and his smile falters. "Yeah. I'll, uh, I'll do that." He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck in that way he used to when he was either lying or trying to hide some ridiculous scheme he'd come up with—usually with the help of his bonehead friends.
I wonder what that's all about. Before I can say anything, a freshly waxed, antique pickup truck pulls up to the curb. Giselle's wife, Paula, climbs out, looking visibly shaken. Her usually immaculate blond pixie cut is rumpled like she's been running her hands through it, and her face is flushed. Her suit is disheveled, like she got dressed in a hurry.
It's out of character for Paula to be anything but confident and collected. Seeing her like this makes my heart beat double-time. Something must be seriously wrong. People call her the Queen of the North around here. Not only because she's the mayor and her house is at the north end of town, but because she's a total boss. I'd bend the knee to Paula. She's always quick to put a council member in their place during town meetings. She's also a commercial banker by day, who fights to get funding for women in business.
"What happened?" Giselle releases Ty's arm and rushes over to Paula.
"It's Mom." Paula combs one hand through her hair while typing frantically at her phone with the other. "She fell. They rushed her to the hospital. It sounds like she's broken her hip."
Giselle gasps and wraps her arms around Paula. "What can I do?"
Paula leans into her. "I don't know yet. I'm booking a flight now, so I can be with her."
"Do you want me to go with you?" Giselle sets her palm against Paula's cheek.
"No." Paula shakes her head. "I'm sure she's going to be fine. She'll probably just need help for a few weeks. Besides, you've got too much going on between the festival and all this." She gestures toward the school, where the construction team's hard at work.
"I didn't think about the festival. Can someone fill in for you?" Giselle's eyes are tight with concern.
Paula sighs, her hands falling to her sides. "I messaged everyone on the council. They're being unsurprisingly useless."
Rosedale's Founder's Festival is scheduled to kick off on Sunday. It's a week-long celebration with a different town activity happening each night. From what Giselle's told me, Paula's been working on it almost non-stop for the past couple of months. Having the festival without Paula here is like The Beatles going on tour without John. It'll be a complete circus.
"I don't mean to interrupt." Ty takes a step toward Paula and Giselle. "But I'd be happy to help with the festival."
Ty's being thoughtful, which is a good thing. I'm aware of that. But him jumping in and offering to help before I did flips some illogically competitive switch inside my head. Paula and Giselle are my friends. And this is my town. If anyone should be helping, it's me.
"Yes. Paula, what do you need?" I ask, stepping deliberately in front of Ty. I can feel the blaze of his irritation radiating off of him.
Paula glances between us, looking both confused and apprehensive. "Someone's going to need to run the Founder's Festival while I'm gone. Do you think you could manage it?"
"Of course," I say at the same time Ty says, "Absolutely." We exchange scowls before turning back to Paula. The skin between her eyebrows puckers in confusion. Her eyes flick over to Giselle, who shrugs as though saying, you don't have any better options.
Paula's teeth worry her lip as she studies us. "The two of you would be doing me a huge favor. It would be a lot of work, though. And Giselle will be busy catering the food for the events. Are you sure you're up to it?"
I would rather run naked through the town square than work with Ty on anything. But I owe Giselle and Paula so much. Being there for them is much more important than our drama.
I open my mouth to say as much, but Ty cuts me off.
"I'd do anything to help you, Paula." He looks over at me. "And my town."
I bite my cheek to keep myself from saying anything snarky to him. Because the groove between Paula's brows is getting deeper, and she's already got enough on her plate.
I force a bright smile. "We'll take care of everything."
"Alright." Paula's shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath. "I really appreciate this. Quinn, I know you have classes this morning. So, Ty, if you want to come with me, we can stop by my office to grab everything you'll need before I leave for the airport."
"No problem. Let me tell Al where I'm going." His eyes lock on mine as he strides past. "And I'll see you later, partner." He winks at me.
Someone must have set the dial on my emotions to hot mess. Because that wink triggers a flood of memories of all the times he winked at me like that when we were together. It made me melt like honey on a gluten-free biscuit every time. Part of me wants to swoon. The other, more rational part wants to kick him in the shin.
I squeeze my eyes shut, dragging in a breath through my nose. It'll be a miracle if Ty and I both survive the week.