Page 7 of Where Roads Lead

Chapter Three

Elsie

Ihadn’t thought it was actually possible to die of caffeine deprivation when I threatened Will Hughes with it, but I was starting to think I’d been wrong.

My head pounded from withdrawal of my favorite—and only—drug of choice, and what’s more, I didn’t have the energy to type even one measly word onto my untouched manuscript.

I desperately needed those energetic jitters that usually sent me on a six hour—non-stop writing bender until my body called out for more of that evil bean juice.

This was good, I thought. I was curing my addiction. Maybe I’d become one of those girls who could drink matcha instead. No more coffee shops for me, nope. Maybe I’d even take a yoga class and—

“Ughhhhhh,” I groaned pathetically, clasping my head in my hands.

Nope. Matcha wasn’t going to cut it.

I needed to head out for coffee, and fast. And if I died on the journey, then at least that bastard Will Hughes would have my death on his conscience.

If he even had one of those.

I opened the front door, wincing again at how I nearly tore it off its hinges each time I dared to open it.

That, along with a dozen other things falling apart at the seams in Mr. Briggs’s house, made me realize why those women were so insistent on giving me Will Hughes’s number. The house was a hazard.

Suddenly, my ‘good luck’ at landing a flexible rental that didn’t require any in-person meetings seemed a lot more like I failed a gullibility test.

But the moment I stepped out onto the porch, the earthy September air that enveloped me was like a reset to my overactive mind. I breathed it in, listening to the jingle of wind chimes in the neighbor’s tree. Even the squirrels seemed unbothered by my presence as they continued darting their way across the yard, scurrying up into the trees whose leaves had somehow already begun changing.

It was something I never had time to notice in Boston. When would you have time, with life and the city itself ushering you forward every moment of every day? If I paused mid-walk back in the city to stare up at a tree, someone probably would’ve body-checked me out of the way.

Being here was like being in another world. It wasn’t still, exactly. But slower. More allowing for a girl to take her time.

And maybe it would be just what I needed to regroup. At least for a little while.

As I strolled through the town, I noticed that, remarkably for its size, Colbridge had all the essentials. A grocery store—not one I’d ever heard of, leading me to believe it was unique to Colbridge alone. A bookstore, the perfect place to turn to when I ran out of writing inspiration. A post office, a bank, a gas station, and a variety of random stores I wasn’t sure were essential, but were quaint. Even though there wasn’t a Target, Colbridge had a general store that—a quick peek inside showed me—was surprisingly well stocked.

I’d halfway been expecting that I’d need to drive twenty minutes anytime I ran out of something and was pleasantly surprised when I realized I could hole up in town for the next few months while I wrote.

The one tragic downfall was that there truly was only one coffee shop in the entire town. And that was the one belonging to Will Hughes.

I stared up at it in misery, wondering if I might as well go, tail between my legs, and make my best attempt at peace, if only for the sake of caffeination.

Maybe he’d throw it in my face, but I’m sure if I kept my mouth open, I might be able to get at least a little bit in my bloodstream, right?

“How can there be no other coffee shop?” I groaned, lamenting in the center of town under the late morning September sun.

At the twelfth-hour of despair, my salvation came in the form of an angel crossing the street at that very moment. A messenger from the gods, perhaps, considering the creamy, beige colored beverage she was carrying in her manicured hands.

Coffee. I almost moaned at the thought, beelining my way toward her to ask where she could’ve gotten it from.

I got a better look of her the closer I got, pausing when I realized that not only was she holding the very coffee I’d been fantasizing about for days, but she also happened to be the most elegant, chic woman I had ever laid my eyes on.

She looked flawless in the most effortless way, as if she woke up ready for the runway, while still somehow looking at home against the casual backdrop of Colbridge.

Sunglasses were perched atop her wavy blonde hair, still glossy and unruffled despite the breeze. She wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, paired with jeans that looked overtly casual in the way only outrageously priced designer jeans could pull off.

Whereas I was wearing an old pair of boot cut jeans I’d found thrifting and a Hanes green sweatshirt.

Yeah, it would probably be best for my ego if I didn’t stand directly beside her.