Putting on my sunglasses, I walk out of the Diner, surprised at my first encounter with Slater. Maybe I’d built it up too far in my head over the years, but it hadn’t been nearly as bad as I always assumed it would be.

Glancing around the downtown area, I look for some place interesting, where I can work until things turn around for me. Walmart and Target are at least an hour in each direction. It won’t be worth the money it would cost me to drive back and forth. No, my best bet would be to find something close.

The area has been revitalized. Back when I’d lived here as a teenager, some of the buildings were rundown and there were weeds growing through the cracks of the sidewalk. Most of the parking spots didn’t have paint left so you could be sure of where to park. Now? Things are well-kept, the sidewalks are clean, parking spots easily mapped out, and there are little markers here and there that tell the history of the town.

Taking stock of my options, I realize while many things have stayed the same over the years in Willow’s Gap, other things have changed pretty quickly. Off the top of my head, I don’t recognize most of the shops around the Diner, and I wonder just how much this town has grown. It looks like my options lay between a coffee shop and a bakery. I like both, but for some reason Sweeties, the local bakery, catches my attention more. Maybe it’s the whimsical, yet contemporary design of the outside, the clean logo, and the music I hear drifting out of the open door. Whatever it is, I quickly make my way over. It’s like it’s meant to be when I spot a help wanted sign in the front window.

“I’ll be right out.” I hear a voice calling from the back.

“Take your time.”

The sweet smell of pastries assaults my senses, but instead of turning my stomach, it reminds me of my grandmother’s house. Christmases baking cookies, cakes, and divinity. Of knowing that every afternoon when I got off the bus during the holiday season there would be something for me when I entered her home. A wave of nostalgia hits me, and like I’ve been known to do, I look up to the sky and give a little thanks that she seems to have pointed me in the right direction.

“Can I help you?”

The woman that comes from behind the counter is around my age, maybe a few years older. Her dark hair with streaks of hot pink hangs to her shoulders, a colorful cupcake tattoo is prominent on her wrist. I don’t remember her from when I lived here before, so more than likely she’s a transplant. One of the outsiders who heard about Willow’s Gap’s amazing tourist season and came here to make a life for herself. I can totally get behind that.

“You have a help wanted sign in the window?”

“Yeah, I was thinking more of a college kid though, I can’t pay much.” Her lips are colored pink and they remind me of the frosting on one of the cupcakes in her case. She definitely lives the colorful life she perpetuates here.

“I’m dependable, and innovative,” I tell her, proud of those two qualities. “And honestly, I’ve had to move back here to live with my parents, so beggars can’t be choosers. In my former life I did PR, so maybe I could help you get the word out about the business.”

She laughs. “I understand. If this place doesn’t make it, I’ll be moving back in with my parents too, and that’s not something I want to ever have happen. I can’t offer benefits, but I can offer you twenty-four hours a week at twelve dollars an hour. We’re closed on Sundays. You’ll be off on Mondays and Tuesdays. It’s early hours. I’m asking you to come in and start baking. So, it’ll be four to twelve. All you need to know how to do is follow a recipe and not burn anything. I’ll take care of the decoration and frosting, unless you can do some of that too.”

“Whatever you want to give me, I’ll do. Like I said, beggars can’t be choosers, and I just need to feel like I’m doing something with my life. I won’t be around forever,” I caution her and remind myself this won’t be a career for me. “But I work hard, and I take pride in it.”

“Have you ever baked before?” she asks as she has a seat at one of the empty tables inside. I have a seat across from her and try my best to appear professional.

“With my grandmother as a kid and teenager. I can decorate decently, but only easy stuff, like cupcakes. It’s been a few years,” I admit as I think back to those days standing with her, mixing the brownie mix when her arthritic fingers couldn’t do it any longer. Helping her lift the heavy pans of cake as she made one for my mom’s birthday. Those were some of the best memories of my life, and if I’d known how fleeting they were, I would have enjoyed them more and lived way more in the moment than I ever did back then.

“Oh, but you have that old school teaching. Sometimes that means more than anything. Be here tomorrow morning at four AM and we’ll see how you do? It’s not rocket science, but not everyone can handle a kitchen.”

I’m excited with the prospect of having something to do besides lay in bed and think about how much my life has changed, about everything I’m missing. Everything I’ve had to give up. This could also be a good place to network, to meet other people my age, and see what’s going on in the working community here. “I’ll be here.” I give her a grin. “I’m Malone, by the way.”

“Cherry.” She extends a hand toward me.

“Really?” We shake, and I can’t hold back the laugh.

“It’s like my parents knew I was destined to either be a baker or a stripper.” Her joking tone alludes to the fact she’s heard it all before, probably more than once.

“You won’t be sorry you gave me a chance.”

She shrugs in a non-committal way that makes me wonder if she thinks I’ll actually show up. “We’ll see. Come tomorrow ready to work, the morning rush is kind of crazy. If you can handle that, then I’d love to have you on board.”

As I walk out of Sweeties, my posture is better than when I went in, and I’m already feeling good about going home and telling the family I got a job. Or at least an audition for one.

It’s a start, and a chance. It’s all anyone has ever needed.

“They gave your desk to the new girl,” my best friend in California, Tiffany is telling me as I talk to her later on that night.

She is the only person who’s called me, or even wanted to act like she knows me since the big fuck over. “I hope she bakes in the afternoon sun.”

Her giggle is loud. “No you don’t. You’re not that mean, Malone.”

“Oh, but I am. If it weren’t for her, I would still be there, doing what I love to do, living in my condo, and hanging out with you. Instead I’m in my childhood bedroom, living in a town that closes up shop at seven at night. There’s not even a good sushi place within an hour. Tell me how it’s fair?”

“You and I both know public relations has never been easy or fair,” she reminds me.

What I’m not in the mood for tonight is a lecture from someone who hasn’t had their entire life altered by the actions of another person. Of a spiteful fucking person who set out to destroy me. “That’s bullshit, you and I both know it. What she did was wrong.”

“While I agree it was wrong, she did what she had to do, to get ahead.”

She and I will have to agree to disagree on this, because fucking someone over has never been an option for me in order to get ahead. Call me crazy, but I have morals and ethics.

“Speaking of getting ahead.” Tiffany is still talking. “Didn’t you used to date some hot ass baseball player? Slate or some shit like that?”

“Slater,” I automatically correct her, hating when people get his name wrong. “Slater Harlow.”

“Word has it he’s back in his hometown, nobody’s seen him out in Birmingham in a while. That’d be the perfect way to get your name back on the map, girlfriend. Is he there? Bring him to the PR firm.”

For some reason, I try to ignore the question she’s asked me. In the past I might have sold him out, might have used our once-relationship to get ahead, but now that I’ve been fucked over, I find that I’m more a champion of people.

“He might be.” I act like I give two shits. “But we haven’t spoken since we broke up right after high school. I’m definitely the last person he’d ever want to talk to.”

“Huh.” She makes a noise. “Sucks for you then, maybe I can get them to send a team out there.”

When she mentions sending a team out, it puts me on edge. That means a videographer, a photographer, and someone to basically stalk Slater and his family, trying to see what kind of brands he’d be good for. Now that I’m further away from where I’ve been working the past few years, I can see how it was such an infringement on people’s privacy. If I do go back into public relations, I wanna do something good with it, not borderline stalk celebrities. “I think you’ll be sorely disappointed if you send a team out here.”

She’s quiet on the other end of the line. Knowing her, she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not. Finally, she makes a tsking noise. “You bitch, he’s there!”

“I honestly have nothing to say to you on the subject.”

“So what,” she interrupts. “Are you like back with him?”

“Tiff, I’ve been in town for a short amount of time. I ran into him for the first time today, but believe me when I say there were no sparks.”

“The way you’re defending him, there were definitely sparks.” I hear noise in the background. “Look, I gotta go, but we’ll talk later?”

“Yeah, see ya.”

And as I hang up the phone, I realize I won’t be seeing her. With great clarity I realize I’ll probably never see any of those people I worked with again. Some time back in my hometown and perhaps my priorities have changed. The one thing I do know is I don’t like anyone sniffing around Slater. I’m sure he has enough to deal with, trying to recover without someone watching his every move.

“Don’t get involved,” I tell myself. But the fact of the matter is, I do wonder what it would like to be involved with the man I met today. What is his life like? Is he still the same boy who made my heart skip a beat? Is he still the same guy who snuck me into his bedroom after his parents went to sleep? Would he still kiss me like I’m the only girl in the world?

All things I would know had I not ended it before we went off to college. All answers I would have had, had I not been so selfish and believed in his dream. Funny how you can stare something in the face for so long and it takes a little distance to make you realize just how stupid you were in the past.

For just a second I allow myself to believe that maybe the hell I’ve been through the last month or so has been a catalyst in getting me back to where I need to be. Maybe there was this big universal plan that needed to get Slater and I back in our hometown at the same exact time.

It’s an interesting thought, and it’s even more interesting that I’m entertaining it. But I’ve been a believer in things happening for a reason, and for me to get ripped away from everything I loved, there had to be one.

Or maybe it was karma, for breaking his heart so long ago.

Either way, I have to deal with it. I have to buck up and do whatever I need to do in order to survive. If that means dealing with Slater Harlow, then that’s what I’ll do, but damn it’s gonna be hard being in this town, with all these memories. Not acting on them will be the biggest punishment of all. Because if there’s one thing I realized about Slater today?

The boy I knew has grown up into a very nice-looking man.