AllFreeNovel
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There was comfort in knowing the townspeople, in sharing annual traditions, and existing in the quiet that never happened in the city. But with that came the pack of nosy locals and older generations who weren’t keen on change, even if for the good.
Regardless of where you live, there is always good and bad. The good… Lifelong friendships, endless helping hands, people who care aboutyou. The bad… Everyone knows you. Reallyknowsyou.
From past visits to similar towns, I learned all about the gossip mills. Gossip equals drama. Neither of which I want in my life.
“Here we are.” A hint of hickory and sweet cream fills my nose as the server deposits a steaming plate of food on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you? Ketchup or hot sauce?”
My stomach grumbles as I inhale a little deeper. Shaking my head, I say, “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”
With a nod, he walks off. I smother my pancakes and bacon in syrup then dive in.
When my stomach is full, I tuck cash under my mug and exit the dining area. I climb the stairs and head for my room. Inside, I grab the pack with my camera, paper and pen, then venture out into the morning sun.
First stop, the town’s namesake—Lake Lavender.
I arrive at the entrance to the county park within minutes, pay the attendant and drive through the paved roadways. Once I have a basic overview, I park the car and wander the grounds.
Camera at the ready, I hike a trail that leads to the lake. Tall evergreens line the path and fill in the terrain. In no hurry, I lift the camera and snap pictures of the trees and wildlife, capturing how the light filters through the greenery this time of day.
When the trees thin and the lake come into view, I press the shutter button from different distances and angles. Capture various shots of this pristine vista. Moody, snow-capped blue mountains in the backdrop. Acres of evergreens, from the mountains to the water’s edge. The lake a shimmering blue green and with each step forward, rows and rows of lavender fill the foreground.
The bountiful purple meadow captures my attention first. My eyes roam the landscape, taking in what appear to be acres of lavender. A gust drifts off the lake and the fragrance hits me next. With fewer trees to filter the scent, the perfume engulfs me in its bubble. If comfort was a smell, this would be it.
I step more into the open air, close my eyes and inhale deeply. In two breaths, my muscles loosen. My mind calms as clarity sets in. I open my eyes and take in the view with a new perspective. A new sense of peace washes over me and I wonder if everyone in the town experiences this as well. The smell alone would be a reason to stay.
The lake definitely gets a check mark under themust-seecolumn.
Wandering closer to the lake, I spot townspeople maybe fifty feet away, near the water. I lift the camera to my eye and snap several pictures. Too bad pictures can’t capture the smell and feel of being here. Guess I will have to work some of themagicDad says I have when I write the article.
I edge closer to the water and snap photo after photo. Aiming the lens toward a small group of people, I twist the focus and pause on the shutter button.
“No,” I whisper-gasp.
Zooming in closer, I refocus and snap the picture. When I look at the camera screen, I close my eyes and huff in exasperation. By steering away from Main Street today, I thought I’d avoid bumping into her. Alessandra.
Ernt. Wrong.
“So much for staying away.”
But she hasn’t noticed me. Yet. Her attention is averted, and I don’t know whether to be thankful or upset. The fire in my veins leans toward the latter.
Turning my back to her, I unzip my pack, take out a hat and put it on, tugging the bill low. More confident in my obscurity, I lift the camera to my eye and continue snapping pictures as if I hadn’t spotted Alessandra within shouting distance. With a group of people. Half of which are men.
“Take your pictures and get out of here,” I tell myself.
The peace I felt moments earlier is gone, replaced with a misshaped blob of uncertainty. It twirls on a wobbly axis in my thoughts. The end result… a larger mass of confusion.
I snap one final picture and pivot to leave.
On the third step, I hear, “Is that the guy from the café?” The woman’s voice is unfamiliar, and I don’t slow my stride.
Then I hear a man ask, “What guy?” Just as another man says, “Ooh, Mystery Man.”
Shit, shit, shit.
My gait widens and I pick up steam, determined to get out of here.
As I reach the tree line, a hand grips my biceps and tugs. The hand is too small, too delicate, too soft.
