Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Meadow

My grandmother loves Genie's chocolate chip cookies, and I know she'll love it if I get a few for her. Me wearing the sweater, and bringing her favorite treats should get me back on her list of favorites, right? I can only hope.

I walk in as the bell tinkles over the door. Genie looks up and smiles at me. So does the stranger standing beside her. I've never seen him in town before and his smile is captivating.

"Hello, Meadow," Genie's voice greets me with the same warmth she uses with everyone, like I'm part of the family. It's comforting, much like the smell of baked goods that fills every corner of the bakery and maybe the town. "How are you doing this lovely morning?"

"I'm doing well, Genie. How are you?" I ask, my gaze drifting toward the display case, eyeing the cookies that are far too tempting.

"Oh, I couldn't be better," Genie says, her eyes twinkling as she glances toward the two men standing next to her. "One of my other grandchildren has come to visit. Meadow, this is Raffa, and of course, you already know Paul."

I hadn't even noticed Paul standing beside the tall, brooding stranger until now. My eyes shift from Paul's familiar grin to Raffa, who stands a little apart, his dark eyes watching me with something I can't quite place.

"Hey, Meadow," Paul says, stepping forward to give me a friendly, casual side hug. "You're in for a treat today. Grandma's got her famous cookies fresh out of the oven."

I smile at Paul before my gaze flickers back to Raffa. "Hi, nice to meet you," I say, offering a polite smile as I extend my hand, though my heart skips just slightly. There's a tiny flutter of nerves in my stomach that I can't quite shake.

Raffa hesitates, just for a beat. His hand finally meets mine, his grip firm but laced with caution, like he's testing the waters. As our hands connect, there's a subtle zing, a spark that catches me off guard, sending a shiver up my spine. It's fleeting, but undeniable—something in the way his skin brushes mine, warm and steady.

"Likewise," he murmurs, his deep voice quiet, almost as if it's meant just for me.

I pull my hand back, feeling the subtle shift in the air between us. There's a quiet intensity in the way he holds himself, like he's keeping something tightly locked away. I shouldn't be intrigued, but I am drawn to the mystery of whatever he's hiding beneath that guarded exterior.

"Stop gawking, Raffa," Paul teases, his tone light but mocking.

Raffa shoots him a sharp glare, but when his eyes return to me, the guarded edge remains. I offer another smile, though now there's a layer of curiosity underneath it that I can't quite shake. There's something about him that pulls me in, and even though I know I shouldn't be fascinated, I can't help it.

Before I can dwell on it any longer, Genie's voice cuts through the moment, pulling me back to reality. "What brings you here, Meadow?"

"Cookies for my grandma."

Genie's eyes flicker to the sweater I'm wearing. "Ah, I see you're wearing the sweater we helped her finish last week," she says, her tone bright. "Isn't it lovely?"

I glance down at the colorful mess of yarn that should never have been allowed near each other. It's a riot of reds, yellow, and oranges. I can almost feel Raffa's eyes on me, but I keep my focus on Genie. "Thank you for helping her finish it," I manage, offering a polite smile, even though all I want to do is disappear into the nearest corner.

Genie beams, clearly proud of her handiwork. "She was so pleased with it, dear. Said it was going to look perfect on you—and it does."

"Thank you." I nod, trying to suppress a sigh.

Perfect, I think, casting a glance at the garish sweater. Still, as outlandish as the neon fall colors are, it feels like a warm hug, a reminder of Grandma's love, no matter how questionable her taste in colors might be.

Since I'm already here, I decide it's a good time to share the news about Jane helping with the Pumpkin Festival. "So, Jane offered to co-chair the festival with me this year."

Genie's expression shifts. She narrows her gaze slightly, glancing between me and Raffa before her lips press into a firm line. "I have other plans for the festival," she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. "If Jane wants to volunteer, she's more than welcome, but she won't be co-chairing with you."

I stand there, unsure of what to say. When Genie makes up her mind, changing it is as likely as stopping a train with your bare hands. "If you're sure," I manage, trying not to let my surprise show, what is this lady planning?

"Definitely. But you should come by my house tomorrow so we can make a few plans," she adds, her tone softening again, though the decision is final.

I nod, feeling a little deflated but knowing better than to push the subject. Genie offers me a warm smile, then adds, "We'll sort everything out tomorrow."

"I'll see you soon," I say, turning to leave the bakery.

Just before I step outside, Raffa's voice reaches me. "It was a pleasure meeting you," he says, his deep voice softer now, less guarded. When I glance back, I catch something sincere in his expression that wasn't there before. "I'll see you around."

I smile, a little surprised by the warmth in his tone. "You too," I reply, unsure why my pulse has quickened slightly. As I walk away, I can't help but wonder when our paths might cross again, and why I'm already looking forward to it.

"Grandma? I'm here, and I brought you a treat," I call out as I step into her house, the familiar scent of lavender wrapping around me like a comforting hug.

Her house feels like a cozy, stylish getaway. Grandma strolls out of the kitchen, towel in hand, her silver hair effortlessly swept back like she just walked off a movie set. She's pulling off her usual laid-back glam—probably in a cashmere sweater and jeans that look made for her. But it's the sparkle in her eyes, that hint of excitement, that makes her seem way younger than her years.

"My favorite granddaughter is here," she exclaims with a teasing grin. "And what have you brought me today, dear?"

I hold up the small box of cookies from the bakery. "Your favorite," I say, setting it down on the counter.

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she steps back, eyeing the sweater critically. "Good grief, child, that thing is hideous. Why didn't you tell me it turned out so badly?" she asks, her voice laced with playful indignation. "Oh, I need to stop drinking so much wine while knitting. There ought to be a law against it."

I laugh, feeling the lightness of the moment. "What are you talking about? It's a nice sweater."

She waves a hand dramatically. "Of course not. I thought it looked fabulous—after a few glasses of Pinot, everything looks better. Why on earth are you wearing it?"

I grin, shrugging. "Well . . . it's colorful."

"Colorful is one way to put it," she huffs, casting a disapproving glance at the sweater like it's a personal affront. "We'll have to try again next time. Maybe with less wine and more common sense."

I chuckle, feeling the tension of the day slip away as I watch her fuss over the sweater, her familiar presence grounding me like always.

"Did you hear that another one of Genie's grandchildren came to town?" she asks, her tone shifting slightly, like she's testing the waters of some small-town gossip.

I nod. "Yeah, she introduced me to him today."

"If only her ungrateful son would visit her more often," Grandma mutters under her breath. "This is the grandson who had a heart attack, I believe?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe."

Grandma narrows her eyes at me. "Are you going to be in charge of the Pumpkin Festival this year?"

I nod, offering a small smile.

"Hmm," she muses, shaking her head slightly. "Genie has a way of wrapping people around her finger and getting them to do things they wouldn't normally do. You know you don't have to help with everything, right? Especially with all you've got going on."

"I don't mind helping," I reply, a hint of a grin tugging at my lips. "Besides, I might be able to negotiate a little help with the gallery when I need it," I add with a wink.

She chuckles, her eyes twinkling with approval. "Smart girl."

"I'm off to the gallery now. If you need anything, just call me," I say, gathering my things.

"I'll be fine, dear. Good luck at the gallery. I can't wait to see it when it's finished. I know it's going to be amazing," she says warmly, leaning in to kiss my cheek before casting another judgmental glance at my sweater. "Now, take off that hideous thing, sweetie. No one will take you seriously. The eighties want their neon colors back."

I laugh, pulling the sweater off as I step outside. "Yes, ma'am," I call back playfully.

I leave her house with a smile on my face, the crisp air greeting me as I make my way back to the storefront buildings downtown. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the streets of Kentbury, and my footsteps feel a little lighter.

I reach the building that will soon be my new gallery. Progress has been slow—too slow, some days—but it's happening. I pay the bills by working as a seasonal artist and teaching art at the local schools, but the gallery . . . this is my dream.

I turn the corner to go to the gallery when I hear my phone ding in my pocket. My stomach turns as I have a feeling, I know who is texting me. Bryce, my ex-boyfriend, has been bothering me for a while, but the messages and calls had stopped for a while so I thought he'd given up. I pull my phone out to see who the text was from. It's a number I don't recognize and even though I know I shouldn't, I open the message thread.

Hello Meadow. Please text me back. I miss you.

Anger rises as I stare at his words. He didn't care enough to miss me when we were together, so why does he care now? The trust issues I have are a result of his cheating and I refuse to give him the time of day. I slide my phone back into my pocket and keep walking to the gallery. I unlock the door and walk in, looking around at all the work that still needs to be done.

I think about everything I have to do here along with everything else on my plate and I start to wonder if I can handle it all or if opening the gallery is a pipe dream. My biggest fear is neglecting my grandma and letting everyone down, including the festival. I always do my absolute best with the decoration making and organizing. I'm terrified that I won't be able to give my everything to it this year with everything else going on. While I start working, my thoughts drift to Raffa. I start to wonder what his story is and if there's a reason he's here, Grandma mentioned a heart attack, but what if it's a different grandson. Did he just decide to visit family and will be gone soon?