Page 53 of Where We Stay

“You’re very welcome, Aspen.” I smile back at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She takes Patty’s hand and begins walking toward the office before turning to wave at me.

I wave back.

Three paint stains, aching feet and one missed parent introduction.

I’d say my first day was a success.

Nine

Blair

By Saturday afternoon, I’ve officially run out of things to keep me busy.

My lesson plans are finished. The cottage is spotless. Even the neglected garden bed has been cleared of every weed I could find.

Outside, Hartwell settles into shades of burnt orange and gold. Inside, the silence stretches through every room.

After spending the week with a classroom full of six-year-olds—and working at The Breakwater last night—most people would probably be desperate for a quiet evening.

Apparently, I’m not most people.

I have another shift tonight, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping a certain hot mechanic might make an appearance.

Does he go out on Saturdays, or only Fridays?

I stop applying mascara and glare at my reflection.

“Stop it, Blair. Just…stop.”

By four-thirty, I’m ready far earlier than necessary. Sitting around the cottage thinking about Dean seems like a terrible idea, so I grab my bag and keys.

I’ve already exceeded any reasonable person’s coffee limit today, but I have a long shift ahead of me.

A vanilla latte from the café won’t hurt.

Probably.

* * *

The Coast Café is exactly what I’ve come to expect from Hartwell—warm, slightly worn-in and somehow already familiar.

Wide windows overlook Main Street, and the afternoon sunlight catches on the cafe’s faded navy trim. Inside, the air smells like coffee, cinnamon and freshly baked pastries. Old photographs of Hartwell cover the walls, showing the same streets and coastline decades ago.

Most of the tables are occupied, and the woman behind the counter greets every second customer by name.

Being new in Hartwell is basically a public announcement.

“Afternoon, honey,” the woman says when I reach the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Could I please have a vanilla latte?”

She glances at the clock before looking back at me. “Coffee this late on a Saturday?”

“I have a long night ahead of me,” I explain.

“You’re braver than I am.” She chuckles as she writes the order on a cup. “I’d be staring at my ceiling until sunrise.”