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My body takes a little longer to believe me.

Once my heartbeat settles, I follow the hallway to the bedroom. There’s only one, which suits me perfectly. One bedroom means one closet. Fewer windows. Fewer places to check before I can convince myself it’s safe to sleep.

The room is small, but a wide window overlooks the backyard, where sunlight filters through the trees and spills across the floor. There’s no brick wall blocking the view. No fire escape. No neighbors arguing through paper-thin walls.

Just grass, trees and more space than I’ve ever had to myself.

I walk over and rest my fingers against the windowsill.

For the first time in my life, I’m standing inside a home I chose entirely for myself.

It doesn’t feel safe yet.

But something tells me it could.

* * *

Being a control freak has its perks. My house is already unpacked, and I’ve only been in Hartwell for four hours.

Granted, I arrived with two suitcases and a few boxes, but I’m still taking it as a win.

I finish putting together my bookshelf and arrange my crystals across the top. Look, some people don’t believe in their power, but these things have kept me going, so I’m sticking with them. I add a sage stick to the list of things I need when I explore town. The cottage might be beautiful, but you can never be too careful.

By the time I unpack the last box, my hair is piled into a messy bun and my stomach is growling loud enough to qualify as a cry for help. I collapse onto the couch and realize I haven’t eaten since leaving New York early this morning.

It’s only five, which gives me plenty of time to hunt down some food. I change into a chunky, off-the-shoulder sweater and jeans before grabbing my bag and heading out.

On the drive into town, I detour past Hartwell Elementary.

I start there on Monday as a first-grade teacher. It’ll be my second teaching job since graduating from college, and I couldn’t be more excited. My own teachers were some of the most influential people in my life, and I’ve always known I wanted to offer children the same thing.

There’s something unbelievably rewarding about shaping little minds.

I just hope I can live up to it.

I turn onto Hartwell’s Main Street and slow without meaning to.

The road slopes gently toward the water, lined with old brick buildings and white-painted storefronts. Hand-painted signs hang above striped awnings, and window boxes that probably held flowers during summer have been replaced with pumpkins and pots of deep-red mums. Fallen maple leaves gather along the curb, scattering across the road whenever the ocean breeze picks up.

Between the buildings at the end of the street, I catch glimpses of the boardwalk and the blue-gray water beyond it. Sailboat masts rise from the marina, and farther along the headland, a white lighthouse stands above everything.

Jesus.

This place looks like it belongs on a postcard.

I park outside the grocery store and decide to explore before finding something for dinner. The air smells faintly of salt, coffee and something sweet drifting from one of the nearby shops.

A couple walks past pushing a stroller while two children chase each other around a lamppost, their parents calling after them to slow down. Across the street, a woman stacking chairs outside a café pauses to wave at an older man walking his dog.

Everyone seems to know one another.

In New York, I could walk the same street every day without anyone looking twice. Here, I’ve been out of my car for less than a minute, and three people have already smiled at me.

I can’t decide whether it makes me feel welcome or exposed.

Maybe a little of both.

I continue along the sidewalk, taking everything in, when warm light spilling from a building near the end of the street catches my attention.