“These are your cobwebs?” Tasha moved closer and tilted her head to the side, studying the painting. Her eyebrow arched in doubt. “Rather than dust these away, I think you should gather them up. These cobwebs are strands of gold. This painting is beautiful.”
“You’re sweet, but—”
“Oh my gosh!” Tasha shouted again, and it made Stella jump a second time. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got to stop doing that, but I just had a great idea. Have you ever worked in set design before?”
Before Stella could answer, Tasha launched into talk of the show she and her boyfriend—a local director—were putting on with the community theater. “We have a great cast and a few costume designers, but we could use some serious help with the backdrops. I’m actually heading over to the theater now, and I know you are on vacation, but what better way to spend your vacation than giving back to the community?”
“I’ve never done set design before, and I’m leaving tomorrow, so I don’t know how much help I’d be.”
“You did this painting in one morning, right?”
Stella nodded and Tasha laid an imploring hand on her shoulders, squeezing it tenderly. “Then even a few hours of your time would be priceless. I don’t want to guilt you into it because my family says I’m too pushy, and I’m working on that, but please, please, please come help us.”
Her hands were clutched together in pleading, her eyebrows drawn together, and Stella could see that Tasha wasn’t just being nice. She really thought Stella’s talents could help them out, and maybe it said something about Stella’s deeply ingrained need to be needed, but she liked the feeling.
She shrugged. “I guess I don’t have any other plans. I could stop by for a little bit.”
Tasha squealed once more, but Stella was on guard by now, so she wasn’t surprised by the outburst this time.
“Okay, do you want to come to the theater once you pack up here? I’d walk with you, but I’m already running late. Once you hit Main Street, you can’t miss the marquee.”
“No problem. I’m sure I’ll find it.”
Tasha clapped and spun around, shouting over her shoulder as she left, “You are an angel among us, Ms. Pierce! A godsend.”
Stella shook her head and laughed. She wasn’t one to believe in fate, so maybe she wasn’t a godsend exactly, but at the very least, her unexpected stop in Willow Beach wouldn’t be for nothing.
7
Stella hadn’t packed painting clothes in her suitcase—though Brenda would’ve probably disagreed and said most of her clothes were suitable for being ruined—so she grabbed a painting apron from the storage closet and walked into town.
The walk was short, but the road down from the inn was dirt and rather hilly, so Stella was winded by the time she hit flat ground again. Willow Beach wasn’t a bustling tourist town, but there were families walking down the sidewalk with beach bags over their shoulders and sunblock streaked across their shoulders, heading towards the shuttle bus taking people down to the shore. It was parked in front of a small local library branch. The sign outside was faded and wooden. Through the front window, Stella could see an older librarian reading a book to a circle of kids sitting cross-legged on a rug.
The town was charming; there was no denying that. It was easy to see why the people who lived here spoke about it with such warmth. What was not to love? Sure, there might not be a twenty-four-hour gym, endless fast food options, or hundreds of boutiques and department stores to shop, but Stella wasn’t sure if those were even perks anymore.
Growing up, she wanted nothing more than to get out of her small hometown. Boston was the dream. It was close enough that she could still visit her parents, but the entire world would be at her fingertips. A world of options and possibilities. Then, she had Jace, and she needed help raising him. She needed the support of her family, and being a few hours away was no longer feasible, so she stayed.
And stayed and stayed and stayed.
It got to the point where moving seemed impossible. Once you reached a certain age—Stella wasn’t sure exactly when that age was, but she felt close to it—starting over became too daunting. It felt like trying to replant an old tree with deep, widespread roots. You’d be better off leaving it where it was or cutting it down entirely.
Now, she’d been in the same place with the same view for so long, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Was Boston still the dream? It was the only dream she could think of when Brenda asked her back in her bedroom at home, but did that mean it was the one?
Existential pondering could not be done on an empty stomach, Stella decided. She didn’t need a full lunch after having breakfast so late, but she could definitely go for a pastry. Luckily, she saw a wooden sign in the shape of a coffee cup hanging from a building down the road. It was the coffee shop Sam had mentioned the night before.
The Roast took up a narrow strip of space between a laundromat and a furniture store, but the front of the café was all windows, and light touched every corner of the shop. A wall of wooden cubbies on the right held bags of coffee beans and merchandise for the shop, including T-shirts and coffee mugs, and the bar was in the back corner. The woman behind the bar was tall, with her natural hair pulled back into a high puff on top of her head, and she smiled broadly when Stella approached.
“Anything I can get started for you today?”
“Something sweet and decaf?” Stella asked. She wouldn’t be able to paint any sets if she had the caffeine jitters. “And an almond croissant.”
The woman grabbed a croissant out
