Chapter One
Heather
Ihoist the final box labeled 'Office' onto the old pine desk, its surface still etched with doodles from my teenage years. The walls of my childhood bedroom echoes a ghostly pink—the shade I once thought was the epitome of sophistication. Now it just feels like a warm hug from the past. Unpacking the box, I line up pens, sticky notes, and a sleek, silver laptop.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I boot up the computer. It hums to life, the familiar startup chime mingling with the chirps of birds outside the window. I click into the programming environment, lines of code greeting me like old friends. This is my world, where logic reigns, and everything has a place—comforting in its predictability.
New beginnings. To the new job that awaits, and to the fresh start I so desperately need.
After hours lost in my work, I recognize the need for human interaction—or at least a decent cup of coffee. Slipping on a cozy cardigan, I lock the front door behind me and stroll down Main Street. Lawson Ridge hasn't changed much; every storefront feels like a memory capsule.
The bell above Page Turners jingles as I push open the door, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans enveloping me. It islouder than I remember. I find an empty table by the window, the same one where Sarah, Mike, and I used to plan our grand, never-realized adventures.
“Can I get you anything?” a barista asks.
“Just a coffee, please. One sugar,” I say, noting the slight tremble in my hand as I pass her a few bills. She smiles.
“Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I wrap my hands around the mug, and gaze out the window, I watch as leaves dance along the pavement, a tangible reminder of time's relentless march. In the reflection, my own eyes stare back, bright green and searching for the girl who sat here years ago, full of dreams yet untouched by life’s complexities.
“Heather Sullivan, is that really you?” A voice breaks through my thoughts, and I turn to see a couple of high schoolers peering curiously at me. They are the spitting image of youth, their eyes alight with the same spark I once carried.
“Guilty as charged,” I say, a hesitant smile tugging at my lips.
“Wow, we've heard about you! You're like, a legend here. Made it out of Lawson Ridge and everything,” one of them says with a reverence that makes me chuckle.
“Legend might be a stretch,” I reply, my laugh coming easier now. “But yeah, I guess I did make it out. And now I'm back.”
“Back for good, or…?” the other asks, tilting her head.
“Back to find some peace,” I confess, not sure why I am being so honest with these near-strangers. “And maybe to make some new memories.”
They nod before wishing me luck and bounding away, leaving me alone with my coffee and a heart that feels unexpectedly lighter.
I pick up my coffee and take it with me, walking around to take a peek at the books on the shelves. It’s the only bookstore within fifty miles and it’s locally run which makes it even better to support.
“Heather?”
This is what I hate about small towns. You can’t escape. I turn around but a smile takes over when I see Brylee. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t know you were back in Lawson Ridge.”
She pulls me in for a hug and then I see Leo posted up behind the counter stocking sugar and cream. “I see you and Leo finally tied the knot. Knew you guys were meant for each other.”
Brylee rolls her eyes. “He’s stubborn, but I love him. He’s my Prince Charming. So what brings you back?”
“Well, I just missed home if you can believe it.” I won’t tell her the whole truth. Not yet. Some things need to be kept to myself. “Anyway I think I’m gonna buy this one to read today. I need an escape.”
That is what books are best at. Helping someone escape to an alternate reality. I’m ready.
I follow her to check out, pay and wave goodbye as I step out of Page Turners.
Main Street is one store after another, but the one sign that is beckoning me, luring me in, is the diner. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had their onion bacon cheeseburger and it’s to die for. Sure, I might have just spent money on groceries, but they will still be there when I’m done. I sprint over and the bell above the door announces my arrival.
My eyes skim over the red vinyl booths, the chrome-lined counters, and the black-and-white checkered floor—little has changed in since I’ve last been here.
“Will it be just you today, Heather?” The familiar voice belongs to Linda, who has been working here for at least thirty years.
“Yep, just me,” I reply, sliding into a booth that still bore the faint etchings of my high school initials. “I’ll have the usual, please—the blue plate special.”
