Chapter 2 — The Reluctant Guest
Rachel
The aroma of coffee and warm cinnamon hit Rachel the moment Clara swung open the door to the café. It was like stepping into another world—one far removed from the polished sterility of office buildings and the ceaseless hum of city traffic. The room was cozy, almost overwhelmingly so, with mismatched wooden tables, the hum of chatter, and a faint dusting of flour still lingering in the air.
Rachel tightened her grip on her designer tote, feeling like an outsider amidst all this rustic charm. Her sleek heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as she followed Clara, who moved ahead with an energy that seemed immune to the long hours she must put in here.
Clara turned back, her warm smile a quiet command. “Now, it’s not the Ritz, but it’s clean, and it’s yours for as long as you need it.”
Rachel forced a polite smile. She hadn’t agreed yet, but the futility of resistance was clear. Her car was still in Elias’s shop, its fate uncertain, and the one motel she’d passed on the way into town looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Reagan administration. This—this café with its upstairs room and its far-too-charming proprietor—was her only viable option.
“I really don’t want to impose,” Rachel said, a note of strained civility in her voice. “I can—”
“Oh, hush.” Clara waved her off, already climbing the narrow staircase leading to the second floor. The stairs groaned in protest, and Rachel hesitated before following, wincing slightly at the sound of her heels against the worn wood. She glanced down at her shoes, briefly considering taking them off, but quickly dismissed the thought. Even stranded, she clung to her polished exterior.
The hallway at the top was short, lined with creaky wooden flooring and illuminated by a single window, where the late afternoon light slanted in golden bars. Clara pushed open one of the doors, revealing a small but welcoming room. A bed with a patchwork quilt sat neatly in the corner, flanked by a vintage nightstand and a lamp with a crooked shade. A small writing desk and an old-fashioned wardrobe completed the modest setup. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air.
“It’s perfect,” Clara declared with a satisfied nod. “Not much, but it’ll do the trick.”
Rachel stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room. The wallpaper was faded, peeling slightly at the edges, but there was something disarmingly earnest about the space. It made her acutely aware of her tailored blazer, her manicured nails, and the uncharacteristic weight of being so far removed from her usual world.
“I’ll pay you, of course,” Rachel said, carefully setting her bag down on the bed. The mattress gave a soft creak under its weight, and she fought back a grimace. “It’s very… cozy.”
Clara chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Honey, I doubt you carry cash, and I don’t take cards. How about you pay me by being a good neighbor while you’re here?”
Rachel blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Neighbor?”
“You know—helping out, sharing a laugh or two. That sort of thing.” Clara flashed a grin, her eyes twinkling with a warmth that felt almost maternal. “And don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you leave me alone with a plate of cookies.”
Rachel managed a small, reluctant laugh, though the concept of “being a good neighbor” felt foreign—something plucked from an era of rotary phones and handwritten letters. Kindness without an invoice attached? She wasn’t sure what to do with that. Still, she bit back a sharp retort. Clara had been nothing but kind since Rachel had stumbled into Riverbend, disheveled and furious at the world. It wasn’t Clara’s fault her life had derailed in such spectacular fashion.
“I’ll… try,” Rachel said finally, her tone guarded.
“That’s all anyone can ask.” Clara pushed off the doorframe with an easy movement. “Now, dinner’s on downstairs in a bit. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee brewing, too, if you need a pick-me-up. You look like you’ve been through the wringer today.”
Rachel couldn’t argue with that. She nodded, murmuring something vague about freshening up, and Clara left her with a cheerful wave.
As the door clicked shut, Rachel exhaled and let herself collapse onto the bed. Her head hit the pillow, and for a moment, she stared up at the ceiling, where faint cracks splintered out from the light fixture like a web. This place moved at a pace so unhurried it felt almost foreign to her. Her fingers twitched as if to reach for her phone, but there were no urgent emails to check, no notifications to clear. No purpose to fulfill.
Her gaze drifted to the window. Beyond the glass, the faint silhouette of rooftops gave way to rolling green hills, stretching endlessly into the horizon. The countryside mocked her in its peacefulness. How did people live like this—without deadlines, without noise, without... purpose?
Purpose. The word sat heavily in her mind, like an anchor dragging her down. Her thumb brushed absently over her compass necklace, the smooth gold surface cool beneath her touch. Her mother had given it to her as a reminder to always stay true to her direction. But lately, Rachel wasn’t sure if she even had one.
A soft knock at the door startled her, and she sat up quickly, smoothing her hair as if Clara hadn’t already seen her at her worst.
“Come in,” she called.
The door creaked open, and Clara peeked her head in. “Forgot to mention,” she said with a mischievous smile, “you’ll want to set an alarm if you’re planning on sleeping in tomorrow. The church bells ring at seven sharp, and they’re not exactly subtle.”
Rachel stared at her, wide-eyed. “Seven?”
“Bright and early,” Clara chirped. “Welcome to Riverbend.”
With that, she disappeared again, leaving Rachel to groan into the pillow.
---
Later, downstairs, Rachel sat at one of the café’s small tables, nursing a cup of coffee that was far stronger and richer than she’d expected. The mingling scents of hearty stew and baking bread wafted from the kitchen, and her stomach growled in response. She realized, with some shame, that she hadn’t eaten all day.
Clara bustled out with a tray, setting down a bowl of stew and a slice of crusty bread in front of Rachel. “Eat up,” she said, her tone light but firm. “You’ve had a long day.”
Rachel hesitated, then took a tentative spoonful. The flavors burst onto her tongue—savory and comforting, like a warm hug in a bowl. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now, and she found herself eating with surprising enthusiasm.
“Good, isn’t it?” Clara asked, settling into the chair across from her with her own plate. “My mama’s recipe. She always said a good stew could fix just about anything.”
Rachel swallowed and managed a small smile. “It’s… really good. Thank you.”
Clara beamed. For a moment, the space between them was filled with the clinking of spoons and the low hum of conversation from nearby tables. Rachel glanced around, noticing the easy camaraderie of the café’s patrons—laughter flowing freely, familiar faces leaning in close. A young man helped an elderly woman with her coat, and a couple shared a quiet laugh over mugs of steaming coffee. The kind of connection she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
“Not so bad, is it?” Clara asked suddenly, gesturing around the room. “Small-town life.”
Rachel stiffened slightly, unsure how to respond. “It’s… different.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Clara chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “Takes some getting used to, I’ll admit. But it grows on you, if you let it.”
Rachel didn’t answer. She focused on her stew, unwilling to admit that, for a fleeting moment, this place felt like a reprieve. But only a moment. She wasn’t someone who could live without Wi-Fi, takeout, and the constant rush of ambition. Was she?
Clara watched her with a knowing look, her voice softening. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “Sometimes all it takes is a little time and the right people.”
Rachel looked up, meeting Clara’s kind eyes. She wanted to dismiss the comment as overly sentimental, but something in the older woman’s tone made her pause. Maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of truth in it.
For now, though, she wasn’t ready to admit that. Instead, she gave a polite nod and returned to her meal, letting the warmth of the food and the café’s glow fill the quiet spaces she usually kept so tightly guarded.
