I stopped outside a bakery that looked like it had last been decorated in the 1950s. The sign above the door read columbo in a swooping cursive font, and the white lace curtains in the window were yellow with age. Some of the pastries behind the glass looked like they might date from the fifties, too. But the aroma wafting from the shop was delightful, and I could see a plate of fresh croissants on the counter. That was exactly what I was after.
I opened the door to the sound of laughter. No one was manning the register, but I could hear two women chatting away in the kitchen at the back of the store. “Hello?” I called out.
“Right with you!” a cheery voice replied. Then a woman in a hairnet and apron emerged, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. She and her co-worker must have been having their lunch. “What can I—” she started to say. Then she froze and came to a complete stop. I’d inspired some pretty dark feelings in my day, but I’d never had anyone refuse to look at me. The woman kept her gaze fixed on a point just over my left shoulder.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, her voice chilly but polite.
I wanted to leave, but I refused to let her get the better of me. “A croissant, please.” I could feel my hands shaking inside my coat pockets, and I hoped she couldn’t tell.
“For here or to go?”
I’d planned to sit at one of the café tables near the window. “To go,” I said.
She dropped the roll into a little brown bag and took my money. As soon as the transaction was over, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the shop. Soon I could hear two women whispering.
My cheeks flushed with humiliation, I started for the door. Then I stopped. Standing just on the other side of the bakery’s window was a guy my age. He wore a long, black coat and held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. He looked amused, and I realized he must have been watching the entire time.
I wasn’t going to stand there and let him mock me. I stomped out of the bakery.
“Don’t take it personally. The locals don’t like people like us,” he said as I brushed past him on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me?” I paused and spun around to face him. He was handsome, with floppy black hair and dancing dark eyes framed by expensive glasses. My first impression was that he seemed reasonably intelligent and extremely rich. I’m sure most girls would have been thrilled to have him strike up a conversation. I was not one of those girls.
He pointed to the bag in my hand. “There’s a café called JOE just down the street. You can get some coffee to go with that. Want me to show you?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I can find it on my own.”
As I walked away, I heard only the crunch of my own boots on the snow. I didn’t let myself glance over my shoulder, but I knew he was still standing there watching me.
* * *
—
I couldn’t have missed JOE if I’d tried. The café looked like a tornado had picked it up somewhere in Brooklyn and dropped it down in the middle of Louth. The barista, with his designer flannel shirt rolled up to display his tattoos, was clearly a transplant. There was only one other customer inside the café—a girl in a black fur coat and black sunglasses. Her lips were painted a brilliant red, and they’d left a crimson smudge on the teacup in front of her. She sat so still that she could have been mistaken for a mannequin. I couldn’t see the eyes behind her glasses, but I could sense them staring at me. I’d been in Louth for less than twenty-four hours, and I’d already become the town freak.
“Hey!” The barista greeted me like I was his long-lost best friend, and I almost backed out the door. “What can I get for you?”
“Coffee,” I said, hoping the conversation would end there. It didn’t.
“You in for the weekend?” the guy asked as he filled my cup.
“Yeah. And all the weekends after that,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl lift the teacup to her lips.
“Ah,” said the guy, nodding and grinning like he’d been hitting the peyote before I arrived. “Gotcha. So where are you staying?”
“Up at the manor. With my uncle.”
“So you’re the niece! James mentioned you were coming to visit.”
“He did?” That seemed very unlike him. It was hard to imagine my frail-looking uncle leaving the manor to make small talk with the locals.
Suddenly there was a loud clatter in the dining area. I glanced over to see that the girl in the fur coat was mopping up spilled tea. The barista rushed over to her table with a handful of napkins. As they cleaned up the mess, he said nothing to the girl, and she said nothing to him.
“You know James?” I asked once he’d returned, trying to imagine my uncle befriending a guy with a man bun and a tattoo of Dolly Parton.
The guy snorted. “Sure. James is a legend—a pioneer. Dude practically discovered Louth. I don’t think there was anyone for miles around when he got here.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, frowning. “The town’s been here for over a century.”
“Oh yeah,” the guy said. “There were people here for sure. I was talking about folks like us.”
“Folks like us?” I asked. The guy outside the bakery had said something similar. I’d never considered myself a “folk,” and I couldn’t wait to hear what I had in common with Paul Bunyan’s hipster brother.
“You know—from the city. There are a bunch of us here now—and all over the county. In the summer you’ll probably see everyone you know.”
God, I hoped not. “In Louth?”
“Well, in Hudson anyway. Louth’s still a bit off the beaten path,” he said. “But once your uncle’s inn opens, that ought to change. We were all thinking it was going to happen this summer. But I suppose it’s gonna take a little more time now.”
A little more time. Ha! “Yeah, I think that’s pretty safe to say,” I told him. “The place is a wreck.”
“You up here to help James get it back into shape?”
“Sure,” I told him as I picked up my coffee. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”
I chose a table on the other side of the café from the girl in the fur coat—and a seat facing in the opposite direction. Just as I was taking my first bite of croissant, the chair across from me was dragged out, and suddenly the girl was sitting in front of me.
“Hello,” she said as she took off her glasses. She wore no makeup aside from lipstick. She didn’t need to. Her eyes were a startling green. I wondered if she always kept her secret weapons hidden behind shades. “I’m Maisie.”