The small town was lovely. He’d give him that. It checked all the right boxes. Quiet, quaint, and idyllic with a strong English vibe to it. Would it be enough? Was Pop, right? Old Town and the city had always seemed so different from one another. Like you had been transported to a different place, and you had to check the map again to make sure you were in the right spot. For one, you could hear your thoughts here unlike back home where it felt like every other minute there was a siren blaring or some drunkard shouting obscenities at you from the sidewalk downtown.
“You look like you’re moving in,” a voice called. “You do know this is a bed-and-breakfast, right? Most people don’t move into these sorts of places.”
“What’s—ooof.” His head thumped on the trunk lid before he could say anything more.
A gentle laugh gave way from the voice. “Well, don’t injure yourself on my account or anything. You okay there? Need some help?”
He dropped the cardboard box full of books back into the trunk and rubbed at his head. Turning to face the female voice, he found an arresting woman in her late twenties with red hair and sparkling green eyes smiling back at him. She wore beige pants and a tan-colored winter coat with a fur hood. A dark brown scarf hung loose around her neck collecting small snowflakes as they fell from the sky. Her flushed cheeks nearly matched her hair.
“I’ll survive, thanks,” he told her.
She pulled out a cigarette from a pack of Marlboro Lights and slipped it into her mouth. “Happy to hear it.”
“And I’m not moving in,” he corrected her. “Not this place, anyway.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Funny, because that’s sure what it looks like to me.”
He leaned on the back of the car and crossed his arms, looking up and down the sidewalk. “You make a habit of asking random strangers on the street about their private life? Or am I just lucky?”
That got a smile. “I try not to make a habit of it, but it’s a small place. Everyone knows everybody around here. Aside from all the tourists, that is. They’re easy enough to pick out, though. They take their pictures and move along in time for the next wave to come around again. Round and round we go. All new faces, but, still always the same. It gets boring after a while. Sometimes I like to mix things up.”
“Mix things up? Sounds to me like you’re a bit wary of strangers encroaching on your modest town here.”
She frowned. “On the contrary, I’ll have you know that I rely on strangers to pay my bills. They’re the ones that allow me to make a living. The town needs them. I need them.”
“Uh-huh.”
She ran her hand with the unlit cigarette still in it through her hair and then shrugged. “Look, I know it’s not the best introduction to our little town, but it’s not all bad. Trust me. There are good people here.” She bowed her head, using her right hand to shield against the wind and finally lit her cigarette. In between puffs of smoke, she asked, “What’s in the crate?”
He swiveled back to the trunk, peering inside. “The what?”
She twirled her hand around in a circular fashion. “That big, black plastic thing. Why? What would you call it?”
He tried again. “Ah, that. It’s my camera kit. I’m a photographer.”
Her eyes lit up. “You don’t say?”
“Yep.”
She leaned back on a heel and aligned her hips to one side, the cigarette hand dangling in front of her. “So, you got a name, Mr. Photographer, or are you trying to keep it a secret from all of us?”
Before he even knew what hit him, he was speaking. Telling her everything. Well, more than he had planned.
He pushed off the back of the car and joined her on the sidewalk. “No secret. It’s Patrick. Patrick Sullivan. My friends call me Sully, though.”
She blew out a puff of smoke, her eyes scanning the street. “Oh, are we friends now? That must be some kind of record.”
Cute and funny. No wonder he had leapt at the first opportunity to introduce himself.
“We’ll see,” he said.
“I’m only kidding.” She stuck out her hand and he took it. “Sully. I like that. Well, nice to meet you, Sully. I’m Ava Blake. Most people just call me Ava.” She winked at him.
“So, since we’re so busy being a nosy pair, mind if I ask what you do for a living, Ava?”
“I run an antiques place over on Mary Street. The Antique Boutique. You passed it on the way into town.”
“Catchy title.”
“I can’t take credit for that. I took it over from my parents after they retired. Now it’s all mine.”
He nodded, making it appear like he knew the place, but he hadn’t the faintest idea.
She tilted her head to one side. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. I’m a little…”
“Shy? You don’t say. Never would have guessed.”
“No, well… I don’t know. I just moved here. Well, trying to anyway.” He sighed. “It’s a long story.”
She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to explain anything to me. And for the record, I’m sure that you’ll be fine. Old Town’s a good place. It’s quiet. Lots of friendly faces. Not a lot going on around here, though. You’ve kind of come at the quietest time of the year.” She paused while pondering a thought and then looked back at the B&B. “Tell you what, why don’t I let you finish up and then I’ll introduce you to some folks later. Break the ice a bit? How’s that sound?”
He looked back at the B&B. Go back to an empty room or go out with this girl you just met? Admit it, it was still too early to be cooped up in there, anyway. “That… yeah, that could work. Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. Now let’s see…where can we go? Wait, I know. There’s a café down the road from here. It’s got a bronze statue out front. Old guy with a beard. You can’t miss him. Meet me there in like, half an hour?”
Old guy with a beard?
“All right.”
“’Til then, Sully.”
’Til then indeed.
***
He hadn’t brought much with him to Old Town. A few dvds and cds, some clothes, a box of books, a desktop computer, and a few other things, mostly photography related. His apartment on Castlereagh was furnished anyway so there would be no need for a sofa, end tables, or anything of that nature. It would be back to basics for him this time around. Bachelor-style.
He tried calling the landlord at his building one last time before he headed out, but he got the answering machine again. Why his landlord didn’t have a cell phone, he didn’t know. Frustrating wasn’t the first word that came to mind. He’d already put down first and last month’s rent on the new place, he reasoned that he shouldn’t have to keep paying extra for this place. Maybe once everything got sorted out—whatever this thing was—he’d see about getting the landlord to pay back what was owed to him.
That was fair, right?
There was a knock on his door just as he was about to head out. Opening it, he found the owner standing there holding a silver tray in his hands. Jeff flashed that smile of his—that everything is perfect with the world sort of smile—and his eyes sparkled. On the tray was a collection of assorted cookies fanned out neatly on a doily. A steaming white mug sat next to the cookies. Hot cocoa?
Jeff smiled and said, “With the weather taking a turn outside, I thought maybe you could use a warm up.”
Patrick hung onto the door frame with a hand. This guy really lays it on thick, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he have anything better to do? “I’m all right, thanks. I was actually just about to step out.”
“So soon? I thought maybe you would want to—”
“I’m meeting someone.”
Jeff tilted his head and frowned. “I see. Making friends already, are we? That’s good.”
“Here,” Patrick said. “I’ll take a few of these for the road if you want. They do look pretty good.” He reached out and scooped up a handful of the cookies together in one hand, making a mess of Jeff’s delicate cookie arrangement in a flash.
Jeff cast his eyes down at the tray, staring off at nothing. “Of course. They are… for you, after all.”
“Thanks, man,” Patrick said in between bites, crumbs littering the floor by his feet. He gestured a cookie at him and talked with his mouth full. “You know, these are pretty good. I think this one’s maple-flavored. Mmm, I’ve always been a sucker for maple. I once knew a guy who hated maple syrup and I asked him if he was sure that he wasn’t adopted. A Canadian sin, as far as I’m concerned.”
Jeff laughed softly. Then he looked down at the crumbs and Patrick half-expected him to lash out, but so far, he remained unfazed and kept his cool. “There’s also a lemon one, too, if memory serves.”
Patrick closed his door and made to get around him. “Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, I really shouldn’t keep them waiting, so if you don’t mind?”
Jeff stepped off to one side and cleared a path. “Of course, Mr. Sullivan. My apologies.”
“My compliments to the chef, too. You didn’t make these yourself, did you?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” he said, still looking down at the crumbs in the hallway. “There’s a pastry shop down the road some ways. The Luscious Spoon. Their sweets are exquisite, aren’t they? I’ve been using them for years as a welcoming gesture to arriving guests.”
“Well, it sure beats that place I saw on an episode of Hotel Hell. You know the one… with Gordon Ramsay?”
“I… I don’t believe I know it.”
Patrick polished off the last of the cookies and crept down the hallway. “Funny show. You should try to check it out sometime. Anyway, you be sure to tell them how great their cookies are the next time you see them, all right?”
“Of course, Mr. Sullivan. I will let her know.”
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