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There is nothing quite like the feel of a small town. The familiar people and clean streets as opposed to the hustle and bustle of a big, congested city with dark and dirty alleys.
Small towns are simpler. Calmer.
I walk down Willow Street, taking in both the new and old shops lining it, each designed with its own special charm to identify with their service.
Small towns like Willowcreek often want to avoid the large franchise businesses. Instead of a big fancy movie theater, the quaint old one I’m used to as a kid is still serving the town.
There are also family-owned coffee shops selling delicious blends, and the mom-and-pop restaurants here have homemade meals that blow the mass-produced crap I’ve been eating out of the water.
I turn off the main street, and the warm aromatic smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me like a warm hug. The mix of good caffeine and freshly baked bread always sets my soul at ease—and my mouth watering. I wonder if they vent the smells from the kitchen on purpose just to draw people in. If they are, it’s working.
The outside of the shop has changed since I last saw it. Gone is the pastel-colored paint, leaving the original and raw red bricks exposed. The new look has more of a French-style bistro vibe, and I bet it’s Madison’s influence.
On the sidewalk outside the shop, there are a few metal tables and wooden chairs with cute umbrellas to shade them from the sun. The big, tinted windows of the shop provide a glimpse of the goings on inside, making it feel open without being intrusive.
As I step through the door, the soft chatter of people inside greets me along with the hum of machines churning coffee.
I immediately notice that the 60’s booths are also gone, and in their place now are the same chairs as outside, though they have added padding on their seats and backrests. The tables inside are covered with white tablecloths, each with its own clear vase holding wildflowers on top. It's not the style I would choose, but it’s still welcoming.
It's noon and the place is packed. I see Madison working the register, and I join the line of customers. I scan the faux chalkboard menu. The designer inside of me cringes a little.
Oh Madison, if you're going to go with a style, stick with it all the way.
She finally notices me when I’m third in line, and throws a brilliant smile at me before continuing with the customers ahead of me. I listen to conversations around me as people talk about everything from gossip to local affairs, but nothing catches my interest.
I eventually get to the front and she gushes, “You're early! The lunch-hour crowd is only starting to wind down now. Give me a few and I will get to you.”
I smile at her reassuringly. “No rush, I’m happy to just hang out. For now, let me get a Mocha Frappuccino and a glazed doughnut.”
“You got it!” she says and rings me up.
When a staff member calls my number and I receive my order, I find a seat by the window so I can look out onto the street. Gosh, I missed this town.
I don’t know for how long I just sit here, staring outside and enjoying my cold drink, before Madison drops herself into the chair across from me.
Typical of her, she goes for the throat. “So, Samantha, tell me all the juicy details before I have to get back to my daily grind. Come on, girl. Dish.”
I take a long sip from my Frappuccino, drawing it out as I look at her as if bored. “There isn’t much to tell. I moved from here with my mom to Chicago, went to college while working for her over the summers, and then started my own business.”
“You suck,” Madison says, straight-faced. “I was expecting some grand stories from the big city. Your life sounds duller than mine.”
“It is what it is,” I mutter, trying to not feel affronted.
“Seriously now, I expected wild sex and intrigue, maybe a forbidden love with a married man or something. Is there really nothing?” she asks again.
“Forget about me, what about you?” I ask, wanting nothing more than to shift the focus from my lackluster love life, for it’s downright shameful just thinking about it.
“Well, I’m clearly much better off than you are in the love department,” she boasts.
My interest piques. “Well come on, spill it. Who’s the lucky guy?”
She looks around the bakery conspiratorially and leans in, dipping her voice low. “It’s a secret crush.”
I frown, showing my disappointment. “Seriously, Madi? You make it sound like we’re back in high school… Wait!” My eyes widen. “Are we back in high school?”
She exaggerates being embarrassed. “You know, I am allowed to keep a secret.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “You're right, please continue.”
