Page 13 of When the Smoke Clears
Heading to the diner or trying the new bistro sounds appealing in theory, but I doubt I’d be able to sit still long enough to eat. Since fast food isn’t an option here, I walk over to the gas station and grab something there instead.
The electronic bell chimes as I step through the threshold of Stagecoach Gas and Liquor. A nostalgic grin spreads across my face as memories rush back—sticky summer afternoons with Luke, sharing Frosty Icees until our tongues turned blue, and that one disastrous attempt at buying beer that earned us a lecture from Mr. Witherspoon and a warning he’d call Luke’s father.
Though the store has seen some updates over the years, the essence of its layout remains unchanged. I wander past the rows of snacks.
The cold egg salad sandwich in its plastic wedge container looks as unappetizing as ever, and the greasy pizza slices languishing under a heat lamp seem no more appealing.
Ignoring the protest of my empty stomach, I grab an iced tea and a bag of trail mix and slide them across the counter to the cashier, who barely glances up.
With my makeshift dinner in hand, I exit the gas station and turn towards the inn. Yet, an inexplicable force tugs at me, urging me to move in the opposite direction. It’s a pull from deep within, an intense curiosity to rediscover the town I left behind.
Just down the road from the post office, the air becomes a symphony of scents that are too tempting to ignore. The hearty aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the buttery fragrance of pies straight from the oven. As I draw closer, the unmistakable and musty scent of old books marries with the food.
Unable to resist, I meandered toward a quaint little shop named Pages and Pastries. As I push open the door, my jaw drops.
To my left, rows of books stretch across the shelves, a spiral staircase leading to a loft scattered with oversized floor pillows.
Warm light glows against a stone fireplace, where a few mismatched tables and chairs invite lingering.
On the right, a bakery case gleams with muffins and cookies, the chalkboard menu promising cappuccinos and croissant sandwiches.
This place is heaven on earth.
My eyes dart around, trying to take it all in. Still, my senses are ultimately drawn to the counter where the chalkboard menu boasts a selection of cappuccinos, lattes, teas, and a range of food items from indulgent desserts to savory sandwiches and wraps.
From the back room, a woman emerges, wiping away the flour residue with a dish towel. Her face lights up with a warm smile as she catches sight of me. “Hi! What can I get started for you?”
“This place is amazing! A bookshop and bakery combination? That’s pure genius!”
Her cheeks flush with a rosy hue at the compliment, and she smiles even wider. “Thank you. This place is my boss’s passion.”
“Well, it’s perfect. Every town should have a place like this.”
“That would be wonderful,” she agrees with a nod.
For the first time since hearing Alan’s voicemail, a sense of calm washes over me. Nestled in this place, surrounded by the delicious aroma and lure of books, the tension slowly ebbs away, and my shoulders drop from around my ears.
A grin spreads across my face as I peruse the menu. “What do you recommend?”
“I made the chicken salad this morning, and it’s terrific. I think you should try it on a croissant.”
“Sold! And a cappuccino, as well.”
She winks playfully. “Coming right up.”
I gesture toward the books lining the shelves. “Mind if I browse while you’re making that?”
With a carefree wave of her hand, she replies, “Of course. I’ll call you when it’s ready. What’s your name?”
“Isla.”
“Abi,” she introduces herself warmly. “I’ll be right out with your food.”
“Thank you, Abi.”
I wander over to the bookshelf, my fingers tracing the spines of well-loved volumes. My eyes drift over classics like A Tale of Two Cities and Wuthering Heights, nestled beside the latest fantasy romance novels, all neatly arranged.
Whoever curated this collection has impeccable taste.
