This place used to be the happiest in the world when I was a kid. When Mom closed the bakery in the afternoon, she’d bring me to the park so I could play. It was usually around supper time, so the park was empty. I could swing without waiting for my turn, and sometimes I even got to play with Mom. We would slide together several times and laugh without a care in the world.
Life was so much simpler back then. I wasn’t aware that the town where I lived held more dangers than the wilderness. Here in Baker’s Creek, it is eat or be eaten.
I stop swinging when I notice a man chasing a small child who’s running toward me. A man running in my direction takes me out of my own head, and I stop swinging when I notice the small child he’s chasing.
When he sees me, the little boy looks up and says a hopeful: “Mama?”
The sad voice liquifies my heart. I hop out of the swing in order to squat down to his level. “Hadley. My name is Hadley. What is your name?”
His adorable green eyes look at his shoes. Did he lose his mom? Maybe she died and he’s still hoping to find her. My heart breaks open.
“How many times have I told you not to run—or to talk to strangers?” The man who I assume is his father chides him. “You could get lost or worse, they could take you away from me.”
I glance at his father. He glares at me with suspicion and disdain, moving to put himself between me and his kid.
The kid looks up at his dad and says, “Haley,” pointing at me.
“Exactly, Hadley. What’s your name?”
“Awden,” he answers, with a boyish grin and baby voice. I can feel the sweetness of this kid turning me into a puddle of goo.
“Nice to meet you!” I say, delighted. I shake his hand and then straighten up to talk to his dad.
“He shouldn’t be talking to strangers,” the man grumbles at me, cutting me off before I can say anything.
Is he seriously reprimanding me?
Just because he’s almost a foot taller than I am, his broad, muscular shoulders make him look like Thor—or Charlie Hunnam—, and he has a deep husky voice. Does he think I’m going to be intimidated?
Well, someone should teach him a lesson or two on manners and maybe parenting. Can he talk to his son in age-appropriate sentences? How about not bringing him to the park so late at night?
“Keep your tone down,” I say, using my mom’s low-disappointed-angry tone. The woman never yelled at me but that voice made me feel worse than any spanking my father gave me when I let the goats out or broke something in the house. “He’s just a baby. He confused me with his mom.”
The little boy pulls my long skirt. “I wanna swin, peas?”
I pretend to look at my watch, eyeing my bare wrist playfully. “Looks like it’s time for me to go home. I’m sure your dad will be happy to do it.”
My heart breaks all over again as his eyes fill with tears and his lip trembles.
I look up at his dad, who is staring at us with pure panic. This man—an easy 6’4 or 6’5— looks ready to bolt, and I can’t help but wonder why.
“If you allow it, I could stay for a few more minutes,” I offer.
The man ignores me as he stares at his son. After a couple of seconds, he picks up the toddler, and sets him on the chair swing. Okay, he’s going to do it. Even though the kid is adorable, it’s best if I leave.
As I wave goodbye, the kid says, “Howdy, peas.”
I look at the man and stifle a grin as he sighs harshly. “Five minutes,” he says.
Gently, I push the small boy. Since it’s already dark and only the moon and the stars are here to witness, I start to sing him Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I smile into the song as his little voice joins me. I’m not sure how long it takes but I notice his head falling slightly and his voice losing strength.
“Maybe he’s ready for bed?” I stop the swing. The man picks up the little boy, whose name I’m sure is not “Awden'' and says thank you.
I shrug. “It was nothing. Was he having trouble falling asleep?”
The guy nods twice. “It’s been a hard couple of weeks for him.”
I haven’t been in Baker’s Creek in years. There’s no way for me to know if he’s new in town or if he’s from Happy Springs and he’s here just visiting. Maybe he moved to Baker’s Creek after his wife died. So, I say, “Change is hard.”
Mom has been keeping me up to date on everything that’s happening in this town since the Aldridge family came back. They’ve hired new people from out of town to work at The Lodge and at Aldry’s Sweets, the factory they own in Happy Springs.
He probably came seeking a new life. It’d make sense why he was so defensive. He’s from some big city where strangers can be in fact dangerous. Denver is a big city but I barely spoke to my neighbors. I forgot my cell phone at Washington Park and never found it. Here, people know your name and your business. They talk about each other, but they also take care of each other. If I lose a hair pin, they’ll drop it by the lost and found box in the church. It’s weird but that’s what small towns are all about.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I could find him a playdate or…” I shrug.
He shakes his head, looking at me for a couple of seconds before he leaves.
“You’re welcome, asshole,” I mumble.
Yep, he’s definitely from some big city where people don’t have manners—like New York. I lived there for almost ten years and I never heard anyone saying thank you after I did a kind thing for them.
Once the silhouette of the man carrying the sleepy boy disappears, the park feels empty and I figure it’s time to go home. Unfortunately, unlike other twenty-nine-year-old women who get to head to their own house, I’m walking back to my parent’s place.
As I said, my life is over.
I have about two hundred dollars in my bank account, a pissed-off cheating ex-boyfriend who is threatening to sue me, and I’m back living with my parents.
Can you say, winner?
Me neither.
Come tomorrow, I’m going to be all the talk of the town and the social pariah.
Woohoo.
Chapter Six
Hadley
Bakers’ hours are not for everyone.
I would know. My family has owned The Cookie Jar since the beginning of the last century. The best bakery in the Northwest—maybe the country.
Ever since I was young, my mom would leave the house at three in the morning. My dad was the one who would wake me up in the morning, make sure I got ready for school, and send me on my way. I’m reminded of those days when I hear my mom moving around in her room. It’s almost three in the morning when I glance at the clock, and I change my clothes to join her. Not like I can sleep much anyway.
When I arrived from Colorado yesterday, we spent the evening discussing Dad. I still can’t understand why she didn’t tell me how bad his accident had been. There’s a big difference between: “Your dad was in an accident but he’ll be fine” and arriving home to find out that he’s been in the hospital for the last couple of weeks.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet her, while searching for my phone. I came in late last night and left it somewhere in the living room. Maybe the dining room?