1
Cassie
“You need to let go a little. Get out of your head and into your body, hell into the world. Maybe bang a lumberjack or something.”
I shook my head, remembering Jeannie’s words as I stepped out of my car and into the center of the most picturesque New England town I’d ever seen. If this place wouldn’t get me out of my head, nothing would. Tree-lined and cobblestoned with little shops and markets that probably survived on their charm alone, Laurel Vermont was about as far removed from the deadlines, stress, and concrete of NYU as you could get.
I’d mapped out my road trip, complete with rest stops, back-up rest stops and tourist attractions along the six-and-a-half hour drive and I’d done my research on the town of Laurel. I could tell you when it was founded (1892), how many residents (656), and what kind of quirky, odd things the town had to offer (local apple cider and something called a Maple Queen Crowning). I knew all that but I was in no way prepared for how beautiful the town was.
I stood by my car and for a moment, took Jeannie’s advice— appreciating the crisp air on my cheeks, the fairy lights in the trees and shop windows and the warm glow of the setting sun before I headed to the corner store.
Tinkling chimes sounded as I entered the shop. “Hello,” said a slender man with a graying beard. “Can I help you find anything?”
“Oh, no thank you. I just need some essentials,” I said and went about gathering a few meals worth of food. The store, which I already knew was the best in town, was laid out better than most. No backtracking or hunting for things in aisles that didn’t make sense. I found my supplies and made it back to the counter in record time.
“That’s good stuff there.” The man pointed to the cinnamon whiskey as I laid it and my other items on the belt. “Mix it with some of our local cider and that’ll setcha right.”
“Ooh, good idea. Where can I find it?”
“Don’t worry,” the man said and stepped from behind the counter. “I’ll get it for you.” He meandered to the back of the store and came back with a glass jug of fresh cider. “You staying at the Crofton House?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I am, how did you know?”
He smiled, answering as he bagged my things. “After a while, you get an eye for what kind of tourist you’re helping. It’s too early for skiing and you don’t seem like the resort type. That just leaves a Cr0fton renter.”
I nodded, wondering what it was about me that said such a thing. “It’s my friend’s parent’s house. They’re letting me stay while I get my thesis done.”
The man’s bushy gray eyebrows raised with delight. “Thesis? Now isn’t that wonderful? Let me guess. NYU?”
I laughed, only slightly uncomfortable at the man’s Sherlock-ing ability. “How did you know?”
He jerked a thumb towards the front of the store. “Saw the parking sticker on your car.”
“Ah,” I said, handing him some cash. He counted back my change. “There ya go. Enjoy your stay.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed my bags.
“You have a good night, miss. Just watch out for that old witch Edna. She’s on your street. Got a mean streak a mile wide.”
“Um, sure, will do,” I said humoring him and left the shop.
Smiling and full to the brim on small-town charm, I loaded the bags in the trunk of my almost twenty-year-old Camry and headed for Crofton House.
The GPS said I was only ten minutes away but it was ten minutes of twisty, dark, one lane roads. By the time pulled into the cul de sac of the Cape Cod style rental, I was much less charmed by the town of Laurel. Hadn’t they ever heard of streetlights? I circled the street, squinting to see mailbox numbers in near darkness when a shadowy figure caught my attention across the street.
I couldn’t help but laugh as a woman in all black stepped into the glow of her porch light. Frowning and muttering while her gray cat twisted circles around her legs, she looked exactly like a storybook witch, complete with a hooked nose and protruding chin. The sour look on her face gave me the distinct impression that she wasn’t dressed for Halloween either.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” I glanced once more and she actually shook her fist at me. I laughed full out and cut the wheel to pull into Crofton House. But as I pulled into the driveway a different neighbor caught my eye.
Standing in the lawn between the two houses, illuminated only by my headlights, was a man in jeans and work gloves. Only jeans and work gloves. I swallowed hard as I watched his powerful arms and chiseled chest flex as he swung the ax in a perfect arc, splitting the log in front of him right down the middle.
“Holy shit.” I rolled by openly ogling him, not at all capable of being discreet. He didn’t seem to mind because when our eyes met he winked at me.
Well, Jeannie, I might just get to bang a lumberjack after all.