I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t sit there while everyone smiled and passed around bread baskets like life wasn’t sharp around the edges.
I wouldn’t eat rolls and pretend I wasn’t unraveling every time she looked at me like I wasgood.
Town would be better.
Predictable.
Impersonal.
I slid on my jacket and grabbed the keys from the side table, heading down the hall, boots solid and certain against the creaking wood.
I avoided the dining room once I reached downstairs. The scent of garlic, butter, and herbs curled through the air like a warm hand trying to pull me back, but I kept walking through the front door, onto the porch, and into the cool summer night air.
My car was parked beneath the maple tree, shadowed by the growing dusk.
I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
It wasn’t until I was halfway down the road, the lodge fading in my rearview mirror, that I realized my hands were still shaking.
Not with fear or even grief.
It was with something I couldn’t quite name.
Something likealmost.
Almost ready.
Almost open.
Almost… human.
But not yet.
I turned onto Main Street, the familiar string lights overhead flickering to life, storefronts glowing softly. The town had that whole storybook small-town thing going, like a woman with a Pinterest board had designed it. And somehow, it wasn’t annoying.
It was comforting.
I parked in front of Buttercup Cafe. It had a neon sign that buzzed a little too loudly and a chalkboard in the window that read, “Today’s Special: Avocado Chicken Salad with Cheese Curds.”
Sold.
I walked in and found a booth in the corner, keeping my back to the wall.
The waitress came over, and I ordered without even opening the menu.
Avocado chicken salad. Curds. Black coffee.
She gave me a tired smile and walked off without pressing for conversation.
Good.
The hum of the diner filled the space around me, with forks tapping on plates, teenagers at the counter laughing over milkshakes, and the low murmur of someone on the phone in the corner.
And for the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe…not because I was happy.
This wasn’t the lodge, with its soft lighting and scent of vanilla and lemon. No one here looked at me like I had potential. No one here wanted anything from me except a tip and maybe a refill.
