by K. K. Allen
I look up to find Claire’s eyes trained on me. I’m not sure what to tell her, so I aim for humor. “Seriously, though. Did you really just give her the last croissant?”
Claire rolls her eyes and shoves my coffee at me. It splashes through the hole of the to-go lid and lands on the counter. “I sure did. Paying customers first, Jax. You’ll have to get your fix from Meg.”
I groan. “Seriously, Claire? You know I can’t step foot in that bakery.”
“Why not? C’mon. Meg’s a sweet girl and she really likes you. Like, really likes you. Just take her on another date and see how it goes. Give her a chance. For God’s sake, give someone a chance. It might as well be her. You’d be a hell of a lot better for her than Tanner. And she’d be a whole lot better for you than that Valerie chick.”
I cringe at the mention of Valerie. I’d almost managed to forget my fling with the socialite from Asheville. It was fun while it lasted, but it was never meant to be more than a stolen fuck in a hotel room every few weeks. And Claire can’t stand her. I think that’s why she’s been pushing me off on Meg, which I don’t understand at all. Just because Meg and I are both single doesn’t mean we belong together. I’ve been single for seven years. In fact, the reason why just walked out that door.
“Just drop it with Meg, okay? Tanner is insanely in love with the girl.”
“And she’s insanely in love with you.”
“And she’d probably be insanely in love with Tanner if you’d stop filling her mind with unicorns and rainbows.”
Claire lets out a breath of annoyance. “You, sir, think far too highly of yourself.”
Shaking my head, I step back. “C’mon, Claire, give me a break. I’m on two hours of sleep and I’ve got other stuff on my mind. You’re going to have to play matchmaker with someone else.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. Tell you what. You explain what just happened with Aurora, and I’ll get your precious croissant for you while you watch the café.”
Now she’s speaking my language. “Deal.” I hop onto the counter and take a sip of coffee.
“What are you doing?” Claire squeals. “Get your butt off. I already sanitized this morning.”
“No one’s here,” I say, gesturing with a wave of my hands.
“That’s because you scared our only real customer away.” Claire’s eyes harden. “Now get off.”
She grunts as she leans her entire upper body into mine, shoving me, but I won’t fight a pregnant woman. I hop off the counter and spin around to find Claire already wiping away my invisible ass print.
“Lacey got freaked by the storm last night and ran off. I went to Henry’s old place to find her, and Aurora was there. She thought I was lurking around. I wasn’t.” I shrug. “All got cleared up. Now, hurry off to the bakery while I watch your empty café.”
Claire stops her circular motion at some point, my words clicking together in her brain. “Wait. Aurora was at Henry’s last night? Why the hell would she be there?”
Claire didn’t grow up in our small town, but she’s been like a sister to me ever since she moved here five years ago with Danny. There isn’t anyone here that doesn’t know the name Henry June, and Aurora’s name often trails in conversation. For almost four years, the June family made our dot on the map as close to famous as it’ll ever get. Every now and then a group of hikers would come along to search the woods for the bodies that were never recovered, but they wouldn’t pay for a guide or a tour. They’d go off-trail and scour the woods on their own. The June Expedition became its unofficial name.
There’s a stigma attached to the June name that I’m not sure Aurora’s even fully aware of yet. No one wants to remember that time. And when word gets out that their local celebrity has graced them with her presence—well, let’s just say they won’t be bringing her fruit baskets.
“Aurora, as in Aurora June. Henry’s daughter.”
Claire’s hand covers her mouth. “Oh.” Her eyes become soft as realization hits. “Oh my God. She’s your Aurora.”
I look away, knowing my expression would reveal every ounce of pain that’s ailed me over the past seven years. “She hasn’t been my Aurora in a long time. She’s someone else’s now.” I swallow, the words sticking to the surface of my throat. “A fiancé.” That shouldn’t hurt, not after all this time, but the thought of her with anyone else is like a knife twisting in my heart.
“I’m sorry, Jax.”
I wave away her sympathy, feeling the walls of the room slowly moving in on me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I imagined seeing Aurora again, but this was not how it played out in my head.
“It’s fine,” I say with a shrug. “It’s not like she’s sticking around.” My words sound hollow as I speak them. “Aurora never sticks around for long. This time, it’s for the best.”
And that’s the truth.
The faster Aurora leaves Balsam Grove, the better.
Everything is different in the daylight.
I’m on my way back from shopping after the disastrous run-in with Jaxon when I really notice it. I take in my surroundings with new eyes. Everything is crisp, lively, and colorful. Woodland creatures are awake, singing and fluttering around while river water runs tranquilly in the background. Debris from the storm—nothing more than damp leaves and twigs—fully covers the walkway to the drive. The intoxicating scent of wet earth and wildflowers triggers a calmness I miss. And as I roll onto the drive leading to my father’s cottage, I take in the mountainous terrain backdrop with the widest eyes.
Last night was about the destination. Trusting in my gut and taking a leap of faith. Getting here without looking back.
Today brings reality. Staring at it all now, I realize painfully, I have no idea what comes next. Part of me imagined it all becoming so clear the moment I stepped foot back in Balsam Grove. I see now, that’s not how this will happen.
“Your mind is suppressing painful memories, Aurora. Sometimes it’s okay to forget.”
Doctor Rohls’ voice rings in my ears. After my accident, I saw him weekly, and his gentle words helped ease my troubled mind. He encouraged me to explore but not push. To be curious but not greedy.
“Your memories will continue to come,” he promised, “so long as you give them a safe space to come back to.”
Eventually, I understood. Eventually, I stopped searching for my past in my present. It took two full years of therapy to begin to let go and focus on my future again. To rebuild, although it wasn’t like I had much of a past to build from. My past was locked in a padded room, sharing a ten-year sentence with my father.
Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull in to the small carport to the right of the driveway. I had completely forgotten it was here until Jaxon mentioned it today.
My backseat and trunk are filled with bags of all the essentials I could think of: sheets, towels, trash bags, toiletries, cleaning supplies, food. I make a few trips, dumping everything on every available surface, then begin replacing the old with the new.
There’s still no electricity, but I’ve made the calls, and all should be restored today. After another cold shower, I make my way downstairs to start exploring the cottage, determined to go through every room, every drawer. What better way to become reacquainted with my past?
The cottage is spotless, unlike when my father lived here, complete with all the makings of a home. A couch with a large, red blanket tossed over it faces a television set in the corner of the room. A black freestanding stove is set against a tile backsplash, a stack of wood and a set of iron tools beside it and a large, white throw rug on the floor.
Spinning my wet hair up into a knot, I start with the bookshelf in the corner of the room above the old, square television. I can’t help but smile as I run my finger along the worn spines of the titles. I’m not surprised to find the works of Plato, Aristotle, Russell, Descartes, and Nietzsche.
I close my eyes, basking in a rare moment of happines
s as I recall a time that feels precious. Safe. Like home. I open my eyes. Nothing like this place.
At my childhood home in Durham, my father kept his office in the den. His library was massive, taking up all four walls of the room. Just to spend time with him, I’d waste the days dusting and organizing the books as he worked. He didn’t mind my presence, and I didn’t mind the silence. Sometimes I’d stay so long that my parents would have to carry me to bed after I’d fallen asleep.
At twenty-six years old, my father, a certified genius, became the youngest professor of philosophy to ever teach full-time at Duke University. He was a wise man who spouted wisdom like it was gospel. My mother, a former student of his, lapped up every word like they were aphrodisiacs. She relished in his sophistication and delighted in his wild philosophies.
Their daily banter usually stemmed from passionate thoughts and questions boomeranging between them.
“There are no definitive answers. Only endless possibilities,” my father would boast.
Always questions. Never answers.
He was adamant about his words. He lived them, breathed them. And we were convinced of his musings as well, because he was Professor June—her love, my father. Our hero.
Even heroes have their weaknesses.
The knock comes abruptly, yanking me from my reminiscence. I set down the copy of Plato’s Republic, then inch around the couch and peek through the window to find Claire’s face pressed flush against the glass. Despite recent events, I laugh at the absurdity of her smooshed face and open the door to welcome two coffees and a giant smile.
“Wow. You deliver, too? That’s quite the service.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves a cup in my hands. “Don’t get used to it. This is my peace offering. You know, to make sure you’re not going to pack up and leave town after the way Jax spooked you.”
“Well, I did take his chocolate croissant.”
We both laugh, easing some of the tension.
I shut the door behind her and remain planted as she continues to the living room. How much does Claire know? How well does she know Jaxon? Probably better than I do after all these years.
“Serves him right,” she says as I join her on the couch, mirroring her cross-legged position. “Don’t worry about him. Jaxon can march his two pretty legs over to that bakery whenever he wants. Meg would happily whip him up a dozen more for free.”
My heart dips into my stomach. I desperately want to know if Jaxon is spoken for. It sounds like he is, but I’m not about to ask outright.
When I was eight years old, I stared at Jaxon like he was the model for male beauty, and he seemed to only get better looking with age. And now? Six years since seeing him, seven since we were a couple, Jaxon is sexy as hell. And admittedly, as much as I need him to be taken, I pray that he’s not. I pray that there’s still a part of him deep down that remembers what we had. And misses it.
It’s so goddamn selfish of me, I know.
I should leave Balsam Grove now and never look back.
“Well, thanks for checking on me, but I’m fine. Really.”
“Are you?” Claire’s expression softens as she presses her cup to her lips and watches me over the lid. “You ran off pretty fast earlier.”
“I think being back will just take some getting used to.”
Claire’s smile is faint, empathy clearly written in her expression. “So, it’s true. You’re the Aurora June.”
Discomfort churns in my gut. “You know who I am?”
“You’re kind of a celebrity around here. It didn’t even dawn on me that it was you when you introduced yourself earlier.” Her eyes light up. “And then your ex-boyfriend was stalking around your cottage last night like a psycho. What is that all about? Girl, I would have had a heart attack.”
We laugh despite the peculiar conversation. “Right? He was wearing a hood, too!” I’m happy to slide past the subject of my father. “It’s not a big deal. It was just a misunderstanding. Lacey was my dog before I…moved. I guess she still wanders off during the storms, poor thing. It’s amazing after all these years she still comes here. I’d only had her a few months before our last night together.”
She shivers with her whole body and takes a sip of her coffee. “You know, you should have tased Jaxon. Taught him a lesson. Or at least had Officer Tanner cuff him and drag him down to the station. Leave him in a cell for a couple hours.” She winks. “That would have made everyone’s day.”
I laugh. “Next time. Since it sounds like there will be a next time.” As the laughter dies, my smile goes with it. “I’m glad that was all cleared up. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”
“Why are you here?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she cringes, and twists her face apologetically. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. Not many people would choose this town to live. I’m here because of my husband, Danny. You know him?”
I nod with a smile. Out of everyone Jaxon hung out with when we were younger, Danny was my favorite friend of his. A great guy with a level head and big heart. He always managed to reign Jaxon in when needed. It’s nice to know he ended up with someone like Claire.
“I love it here,” she continues as if trying to convince herself. “It’s small and safe, and I love the people. The café is my dream. But if it weren’t for Danny, I never would have chosen this place to put down roots.”
“Trust me. I get it. But I didn’t choose this place either, Claire.”
She nods in understanding.
“Look. I have a past here. I get it. My dad was the bad guy in town. I get that too. I’m not here for redemption or to relive my past. I’m just…figuring things out. Hopefully people can respect that. I don’t think there are any other choices for me at the moment.”
This answer only seems to confuse Claire more. She sets her cup between her legs and tilts her head. “What are you trying to figure out? I know I’m a stranger and all, but I’d love to help, if I can.”
I shake my head. “This isn’t something anyone can help with.”
“Why not? Look, I’m not like the others. Whatever past you have here is null with me. I’m the pregnant outsider”—she laughs like her pregnancy is an absurdity instead of a blessing—“who happens to be a deputy’s wife and runs a cozy café. People here are forced to smile when I walk by, and trust me, that’s no better than throwing stones. You and I should stick together.”
Claire means well, but she has no idea what she’s committing herself to. “You have enough to worry about with your baby and your café. Don’t go tacking on obligations to the new girl in town.” I give her a teasing smile, but a cloud passes over her eyes, dimming them momentarily.
“I’ll be honest, Aurora. Jax didn’t share the gruesome details of your split, but I know enough about what went down. I can’t for the life of me understand what would bring you back here.” She scans my expression and tilts her head a smidge. “But honestly, Aurora. What does any of that have to do with us sticking together?”
“I got the sense from Tanner that I’m not welcome here, and I’d be stupid to believe my father didn’t leave a mark. But I didn’t think me showing up here would be an unwelcome reminder of it all. Not to the extent I’m realizing now. You should consider all that before you offer up friendship.”
She reels back slightly while shaking her head. “Dang, girl. You’ve perfected the art of pushing people away, haven’t you? All I’m saying is, if you need someone to talk to, your secrets are safe with me.”
I open my mouth to speak and then think better of it. Why I feel compelled to tell a stranger everything leaves me dumbfounded. But looking back at Claire, I see her sincerity. Her willingness to listen. To help. And if I’m honest with myself, that’s something I want. A friend. Someone who won’t return every confession with a question, forcing me to explore the root cause. Sometimes roots are too complicated to be worth the dig.
I’ll give her the short
version.
“My dad passed away a couple weeks ago, and everything I thought I wanted changed. Here I was, feeling lost, like I’d been walking in place for years. The idea of coming back intrigued me. I didn’t have to think hard about it. I packed my bags and drove here last night.” I shrug. “For now, that’s all there is to this story.”
“For now?”
My nod overshadows my swallow. For now. Who knows what will happen now that I’m here. Maybe there’s a part of me that wants to face Jaxon and the pain between us, but I’ve talked myself out of that possibility, trying desperately to focus on healing this gaping hole within me first.
“Did your dad really—?” Claire pauses, but I know what she wants to ask.
“He committed suicide at the facility he was in.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Shaking my head, I give her a light smile. “It wasn’t his first attempt. He wouldn’t let me visit, but I’d get reports. He wasn’t doing so well there at the end.”
“At the mental facility? Aren’t they supposed to help people like your father?”
I nod. “I think they tried. But schizophrenia is an unpredictable beast. It can deteriorate the mind, similar to dementia. It didn’t help that he refused medical treatment when he was diagnosed. I was twelve when my parents sat me down to explain it all. Later on, it made sense why he stopped smiling, laughing, hugging me…” My throat tightens and my eyes burn at the reminder. I still fight to remember the sound of my father’s deep chuckle at my awful knock-knock jokes. I frown, the feeling of disappointment still an ache in my gut. “The stress of it all wore on my parents for years until they decided to separate. He just…didn’t want to be around people anymore.” I shiver, remembering that awful morning my parents split. “There’s no telling what triggers a schizophrenic or what can prevent episodes from occurring. I think eventually the voices became too much for him.”
