Home at last, I thought as I stared out of the window of the car. The word," home" felt strange in my head, after all these years of self-exile. Cedar falls looked like a snowy globe that had been shaken violently by an angry god for the past two days. I wasn't prepared for the cold air that assaulted my cheeks when I stepped out of the house this morning. Cedar Falls had always been cold but I couldn't remember it being this cold or perhaps it was angry and holding a grudge against me in particular.
I've had two idyllic days to myself, enough time to almost convince myself that coming home was a form of healing and not madness. Two days of solitude in my room, barely coming out to connect. It was not that I lacked sleep, but the fire in my bone marrow that made one feel alive, the serene and quiet almost made me feel whole again.
The car slowed down as I got to Oak Street. I felt like a ghost revisiting her crime scene, seven years later, and nothing had changed. I made my way down to the end of Oak Street, where the bakery stood old and proud, with the sign, " Hearth & Crumble" which was now fading. The bakery which was now mine, if I wanted. I had no plans to come back here if not that Aunty Phylis had announced her retirement, and needed family to help transition and manage operations till she got a trusted buyer "Just a little while Isla, until we sort out all the nuances" it was actually easier for me to say yes than to admit the truth, that I was already running on low fumes and in fact it was the salvation i desperately needed without realising it. I stopped abruptly in front of the bakery, gathering my consciousness from wandering thoughts, pulling myself to the present. I hesitated slightly before opening the door, as I spent a moment taking it all in, in all its old quaint glory. Standing proud was the bakery I had missed so much. For a moment I was taken back in time to coming through this street with a boy who had the smile that meant everything to me. I will myself out of the car fumbling with the contents in my bag till I touch the familiar old iron and heard it jingle.
The bakery door groaned as I pushed it open, the sound far too squeaky for the peace, as if it was protesting my presence and knew I didn't belong here anymore, in sharp contrast to the ambience, the familiar smell of flour in the air, the dull sweetness of the ghost of cinnamon lingering in the air. Vanilla and caramel from days before assaulted my senses pleasantly and took me back to the days of making all sorts of pastries in this same room, the familiar smell of stale yeast and old secrets. This room was exactly how I remembered it, nothing had changed, yet everything had, including me.
I thought it would be simple, come home. Sign the papers. Sell the place. Leave. Almost immediately I felt anxiety enveloping me at the simple thought of leaving again, a loud emptiness which my boss elegantly diagnosed as burnout. A feeling which I had not experienced since I got back days ago, briefly reared its head, signaling its presence just at the single thought of returning back to what was now my life. For the first time, I woke up this morning without the familiar ache in my chest that I've felt the past month in an apartment filled with silence.
I had not baked in over a decade but was suddenly craving cinnamon rolls. By mid-morning the air was warm and ripe with the delicious smell of my handwork.
" Isla, back at last," It was Mrs Callahan from the grocery shop next door peaking in with curiosity and a smile that broadened as she called out my name.
"Phylis mentioned you would be here today, oh it feels so good to see you, after all these years" she said with a hint of sadness, which quickly disappeared as she concluded the last phrase.
I had known Mrs Callahan since my childhood, she had practically watched me grow from a girl into a woman. She had a reputation for caring a bit too much but we all knew her heart was in the right place. if you lingered at her counter long enough you would go home with groceries, advice encouragement, and when the occasion demanded a little scolding.
" Morning Mrs Callahan, I'm here just for a while to help out until things get settled," I said with a forced smile.
"Nonsense!" she replied dismissively, then lowering her voice in a conspiratorial tone said "I also came to tell you I did you a favour" i looked at her suspiciously knowing what she was capable of "What do you mean a favour" I asked sincerely confused
"I also came to inform you that you've been signed up for the winter festival as a co-chair", The meeting would be in two days. So thankful, you came just when we were in dire need of some fresh perspective.
"What? Why?" I blinked, apparently shocked and her grin widened, shrugging past me back to the exit door. " Oh, and you will have help, you won't be alone. She said as she exited before I could ask who or protest that I wasn't up for any responsibilities.
Suddenly I remembered how this town could be, the reception and genuine warmth, everybody was in each other's business. In a wholesome way. They looked out for each other, these were part of the list of things, I did not want to admit I had missed. I was alone with my thoughts again, the air rich with the fragrance of fresh bread and cinnamon rolls baking. Outside the snow was sharp and silent, a sharp contrast to the warmth and welcome inside. Everything seemed so mundane, idyllic, perfect, snowy. A perfect moment that should have stayed frozen in time, where the world couldn't touch me. Then I casually noticed the glass again, the frost was clouding my view of the street, sighing I reluctantly reached for a rag to wipe the frost off.
Just when I turned to wipe the frost off the glass, was when I felt it.
A pull past my heartstrings, I looked up.
And there he was.
Across the street framed in Snow, Adrian Holt.
He was tall, unmistakable, solid as the memories I've been trying to bury all these years.
The world stopped. I felt dizzy all of a sudden, feeling like a glass that could shatter at any moment. Oh yes, it was him. How could I forget the way he squinted his eyes when he smiled? That familiar posture, hands in pocket. His hair was now darker than I had remembered. Time hadn't dulled him at all, even though he now looked older and mature. In place of that boyish grin was now tension disguised as ease.
And then he turned…
Our eyes locked, my hands went cold grasping the window pane and I could suddenly feel my heart beating so loudly I thought it would crack. Eyes that bore my soul with such intensity, I almost swooned. Oh lord! I exclaimed softly, He was looking at me.
But his face was cold and unemotional. No smile, no shock, just stillness like he'd been waiting for this moment that I was not prepared for, even in my wildest imaginations and fantasies. Oh yes! I had often fantasised about what it would feel like to see him again, after all these years. This did not feel like a chance encounter but a deliberate silent acknowledgment across the frozen battlefield.
He now knew I was here and he looked like he had been waiting.
The lanky boy I had known was now a man, his frame all filled out, the man I left in a hurry and the ghost I couldn't bury. He took one step towards the bakery.
Then it happened.
A girl came out of the building stopping him abruptly and he turned to converse with her. She looked young, mid-twenties maybe, brunette, and was dressed stylishly for the winter. She was carrying two cups of coffee and smiling at him. Her smile had a familiar air about it.
My stomach flipped and twisted in knots, as I managed to wonder if this wasn't the boy I left behind, why was I feeling this way? Seven years vanished and cracked under the weight of the scene in front of me. I found myself suddenly feeling twenty-two and foolish again, not the confident woman who had built a life for herself far from this place but the same young and foolish girl, whom I thought I had outgrown.
She touched his arm gently and he did not flinch like he expected him to, she handed him the coffee and he smiled a bit as she pulled him away, elbows linked together.
He glanced back again but this time it was different, softer and guarded and then he looked away like nothing just happened, like I did not just shatter in front of him.
I suddenly found the strength to walk away from the treacherous window, just enough strength to crumble into the nearest chair. My once idyllic perfect moment was now in shreds. All I could manage was to stare at that damn frosted glass, while the snow kept falling oblivious to the chaos within.
The oven beeped, ready for the next batch but I still couldn't bring myself to move. The cozy warmth of the bakery which I felt a moment ago suddenly turned oppressive. The sweet smell of sugar now felt cloying and annoying. I was still fixated on the frosted glass watching the place where he stood moments ago. What was he thinking? What was in his mind? What was that expression I couldn't decipher? Was it anger, disgust, hatred, or worse, nothing at all?
Suddenly all the heat in the bakery felt too much and all wrong.