There is something in the mountain air that makes me feel alive.
I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it thrumming through my entire body. I’ve never been much of a morning person, but today I bounded out of bed fifteen minutes before my alarm in a rush to get a head start on my new life. Now, walking down Main Street, it feels as though every step I take is toward somewhere grand and exciting.
It’s just like I remember it – the air and the whole vibe of the town. I haven’t been to this quaint mountain town since I was in middle school when I’d had the most wonderful vacation with my grandparents. They’d loved this little town their whole lives. They even got married here. My grandma’s parents had never approved of their relationship, so the summer after graduation, they ran away and eloped in one of the small chapels here. They visited every summer as adults, too, celebrating their anniversary in a cabin up in the hills overlooking the town. I remember driving in with them that summer, hearing that same story I’d heard them tell a hundred times before through a completely different perspective as I experienced this town for the first time myself.
My grandma died the winter after that trip. Sometimes I think she knew the end was near and wanted me to see this place with her before she passed. Grandpa never could bring himself to come back here without her. The whole town still holds a sort of magic for me because of it all. Being here feels romantic, even if I’m all alone, because of the way their stories make everything come to life. I’ve wanted a love like theirs my entire life, and this town makes me feel closer to them – makes their memory come alive for me.
My friends hadn’t understood me when I said I was leaving. They understood it even less when I said I was moving up to the mountains. But lately, I’d been feeling called here. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just boredom. Either way, I wanted to find out why. I’d been spinning my wheels at work for the past two years, feeling worse with every day more tedious than the last.
I’d always imagined that working in advertising was going to be glamorous and exciting. I’d wanted to design luxurious campaigns for travel, jewelry, fine dining, or fashion. I thought that it’d be a great way to find new brands and products worth trying out for myself – things I could feel good passing onto customers. Instead, I’d ended up with dry frozen dinners, boring cleaning products, and medical supplies shoved off on hypochondriacs who probably didn’t even need them. It was all taking its toll on me. My last few projects were terrible, sloppy, and poorly done, and I’d known it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to put my heart into something I didn’t care about. So, standing there in my boss’s office, getting lectured and nodding in all the right places, I’d made my decision.
Instead of promising to put out better work that aligned with my previous standards, I’d quit right there on the spot.
I knew I couldn’t actually do better work – couldn’t put my all effort and passion into yet another ad for the same old tin of cat food – so I’d given my boss my two weeks’ notice right there in his office. I left the city behind and headed for this small town, feeling like what I needed was a drastic change of surroundings. I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet, and it’s already turned out better than I’d hoped, at least so far.
The space I rented over the phone is great. It’s an entire one-bedroom house for less than the price of the cramped studio apartment I was renting in the city, all charming and old-fashioned with cute wallpaper and a view of the mountains and a little front porch to sit on and relax. I’m in love with it already. And everywhere I go, the town itself seems alive, even now in the stillness of this early morning. I smile walking past every window, taking in all the little businesses and storefronts I hope get to know inside and out and all the shop owners I can’t wait to make friends with. I’ve got the most delicious cup of coffee from a little diner down the road where I’d also had a warm, gooey cinnamon muffin and watched patrons and locals eating before they headed to work. The waitress had told me that my bottomless coffee refills included a complimentary to-go pour, something I can’t imagine happening in the city. It’s still warm and comforting in my hand as I make my way through town.
I pause outside an old-fashioned chocolate shop, noticing the small sign in the window announcing that they’re hiring.
My grandma had loved making chocolates. Some of my happiest memories are of standing in the kitchen with her, talking about my day at school or hearing stories from her youth while stirring that hot, sweet-smelling liquid before pouring it into little candy molds or dipping fruit or nuts into it. Working in a quaint little shop like this might be a great way to capture a little bit of that feeling again. I think I could be passionate about making chocolate if I could prepare it with all the love and care my grandma put into making it with me. Maybe seeing the look on my customers’ faces when they take their first bite, giving my seal of approval to a product I can say with all honesty that I’d recommend, is the missing ingredient from my work in advertising. I see that the shop opens in an hour, so I decide to head up to the small library in town to print out my resume. I hope I’ll be able to catch the owner this morning and get the details of my new life all sorted on my first day here.
I turn back around from the shop window and proceed to collide squarely with something tall and sturdy.
Or, rather, someone tall and sturdy.
A man – an attractive man who is now wearing my coffee on his shirt and whose arm I’ve grabbed instinctively for support – is frowning down at me.
“Oh, crap!” I blurt, regaining my balance. The man in front of me is ruggedly handsome with broad shoulders and serious sort of face. He’s carrying a paper bag filled with groceries, and though he’d put up an arm to catch my fall, he doesn’t look happy about it. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were there.”
“Watch where you’re going,” he says, scowling down at the coffee spill on his shirt. I scoff a little at that. He could have just as easily avoided me. He could have stepped aside.
“I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone,” I say, crossing my arms. “The sidewalks have been so empty this morning.”
“Then maybe you should pay attention next time,” he says. His voice is rough and gravelly – as if he doesn’t use it much. I can’t help but think, Well, maybe if you’re this much of a jerk to everyone, then it makes sense. No one would want to talk to you. I feel my blood start to boil but shake my head, dismissing it. I’ve always had trouble backing down from a fight, so I have to consciously remind myself it’s not worth it to get into it with a stranger over something so trivial as coffee.
“Let me pay for that,” I say, reaching for my purse to dig out a pen and paper.
“Pay for what?” he asks, and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. It would be attractive if he weren’t still looking at me like I’d greatly inconvenienced him. Like somehow I’m the one being rude here.
“Your shirt,” I say, clicking my pen open. “Send me your dry-cleaning bill.”
“My dry-cleaning bill,” he repeats as if I’ve said something foolish. Really, what is this man’s problem? “I made the coffee stain, so I can
pay to get it out. Then we’ll be even,” I say. I write my name and number down on a sticky note and hand it to him. “I’m Mia,” I add, sticking the paper onto a carton of eggs sticking out of his grocery bag when he doesn’t take it from my hand.
“Jacob,” he says in a mutter that sounds more like a grunt. I frown again. No ‘thank you.’ No ‘you really don’t need to do that.’ No ‘well, then, nice to meet you, Mia.’ Nothing. Everyone else I’ve met so far in this town has been so sweet, so pleasant, like when I was a child, but this Jacob seems to have no manners at all.
“Well, Jacob,” I say, putting an extra sickeningly-sweet note of cheer in my voice just to spite him. “Give me a call about the bill, will you?”
He doesn’t respond again, and I’m tempted to really give him a piece of my mind about it all. But I look back at the chocolate shop window, getting a whiff of something sweet from inside, and I try to make my anger melt away with it. Don’t let some random grouchy man ruin your day, Mia, I tell myself. He’s just not worth it. I’m better than that, I remind myself. After all, I have so many more important things to focus on about my day than a man like him.