Chapter 3 — First Glimpse of Riverbend

Rachel

The morning sunlight streamed through the lace curtains of the room above Clara’s café, painting delicate patterns on the polished wooden floor. Rachel squinted at the unfamiliar stillness. No honking taxis, no muffled subway rumbles—just faint birdsong and the occasional creak of wooden floorboards. She blinked a few times, momentarily disoriented, before realizing her phone battery was still dead. A flicker of unease passed through her chest. No messages, no emails, no connection to her world—her real world. It felt like standing on the edge of a void.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her feet touched the cool floor. The lack of her usual polished routine made her feel unmoored, like she was losing her grip on the persona she’d spent years perfecting. Still, Clara had insisted she come down for breakfast, and Rachel’s usual excuses seemed useless against the warmth Clara radiated. In the mirror, she brushed her fingers through her hair, smoothing it into sleek submission. Even here, where no one wore tailored blazers or expensive heels, she couldn’t let herself fully relax. She settled on a silk blouse tucked into dark jeans—casual by her standards—and descended the stairs.

As she stepped into the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon wraps greeted her like an unexpected embrace, warm and disarming. Clara was already moving behind the counter, a colorful apron tied over a vintage floral dress. Her humming carried through the space, blending seamlessly with the clatter of dishes and the low murmur of conversation.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Clara greeted with a grin that could melt the morning frost. “Grab a seat. I’ll fix you up something tasty. You like your eggs scrambled?”

Rachel hesitated, caught off guard by the cheerfulness. “Uh, sure. Scrambled works.”

Clara didn’t wait for elaboration, vanishing into the kitchen with a purposeful stride. Rachel made her way to a small table near the bay window. Outside, the cobblestone street was beginning to stir with unhurried activity. A man strolled by with a golden retriever, tipping his hat at an elderly woman arranging flowers in front of a general store. Two children on bikes zipped past, their laughter rising above the crisp air. It was all so… quiet, yet vivid in a way Rachel couldn’t quite name.

Her gaze caught on a woman across the street setting up an easel. She had wild, curly blonde hair that seemed to catch the sunlight, and her bohemian dress fluttered faintly as she adjusted the wooden frame. With a charcoal stick in hand, she sketched the scene before her, pausing occasionally to laugh at a passerby’s comment or tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. There was an ease in her movements that Rachel found, to her surprise, a little enviable.

“Here you go, Rachel.” Clara’s voice pulled her back, and she turned to find a plate of golden scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and impossibly crispy bacon set before her. “You’ll need your energy today.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow mid-bite. “Why’s that?”

“Exploring, of course! You can’t stay cooped up in here all day. This town’s full of surprises. It’s better experienced on your feet.”

Rachel sighed, setting her fork down. “I’m not exactly here by choice, Clara.”

Clara chuckled lightly and rested a hand on Rachel’s shoulder in a gesture that was neither pushy nor dismissive but annoyingly reassuring. “Sometimes it’s the places we don’t choose that end up meaning the most. Why not stretch those legs of yours a bit?”

The sincerity in Clara’s tone left no room for argument, even if Rachel wanted to rebut. “Fine. I’ll take a walk. But only because I’m bored out of my mind.”

“That’s the spirit!” Clara’s knowing smile lingered as she returned to the counter to greet a group of regulars.

After breakfast, Rachel stepped outside into the brisk autumn air. It carried a sweetness she couldn’t quite explain, tinged with apples and faint woodsmoke. Her breath condensed into faint clouds as she crossed the street, drawn by curiosity toward the artist she’d seen earlier.

The woman glanced up from her easel, her face lighting up with a welcoming smile. “Hi there! You must be new. I’m Sophie.”

Caught off guard, Rachel hesitated. “Rachel. I’m, uh, just visiting.”

“Welcome to Riverbend, Rachel-just-visiting.” Sophie’s grin widened, her hands smudged with charcoal. “What do you think? Be honest.”

Rachel followed her gesture to the sketch. It was a detailed rendition of the café behind her, complete with flower boxes and the faint silhouette of Clara serving customers. “It’s… beautiful,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Thanks! I try to capture the little things, you know? The quiet details most people miss. It’s what makes this place, well, this place.”

Rachel nodded, unsure how to respond. Her world didn’t have room for “little things.” Deadlines, pitches, and commutes made sure of that. She found herself folding her arms, a reflexive shield against the openness Sophie exuded.

“So, where are you from?” Sophie asked, her tone light but curious.

“The city. I work in marketing. Or at least, I should be working,” Rachel said, her voice clipped. “Right now, I’m stuck here while my car gets repaired.”

Sophie laughed softly. “Stuck isn’t the worst thing to be. I used to live in the city too, but I found the quiet life suited me better.” She tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “You might find you like it here.”

Rachel almost rolled her eyes but stopped when she noticed the sincerity in Sophie’s expression. “We’ll see,” she replied noncommittally.

Sophie gestured toward the town square with her charcoal-smudged hand. “If you’re wandering, you should check out the farmer’s market. The apple cider donuts are a must. And the fountain in the middle? It’s been here since the town was founded. Kind of a big deal around here.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said, already turning toward the market. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the cobblestone path led her into the square, the street opened into a wide expanse, bordered by towering oaks wearing their autumn colors like a fiery crown. Stalls lined the edges, displaying fresh produce, homemade soaps, and hand-knitted scarves. The hum of soft conversations blended with the rustle of leaves and the faint strum of a guitar.

Rachel slowed near a stall of amber-hued honey jars. A boy, no older than ten, stood proudly behind the table. “My mom makes all of it,” he announced, his voice brimming with pride. “We even have our own bees!”

“That’s impressive,” Rachel said, surprised by her own genuine tone as she handed him a few bills. The boy’s grin stretched ear to ear as he placed the jar into a paper bag for her.

She continued toward the fountain, its gentle trickle louder than the market chatter. A man with a guitar sat nearby, strumming a soothing tune that seemed to mirror the unhurried rhythm of the town.

Rachel lingered, her fingers brushing the fountain’s worn edge. The stillness wasn’t stifling—it was something else. Something softer. Her fingers instinctively found her gold compass necklace, tracing its edges. Her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her mind: “You’ll always find your way, Rachel—if you’re willing to look.”

The thought unsettled her. She didn’t have time to look. She barely had time to breathe. With a sigh, she turned away, but the water’s gentle rhythm seemed to follow her, stirring something she couldn’t quite name.

“Found you!” Clara’s voice broke the spell. She carried a wicker basket brimming with fresh bread. “Let me guess—you felt it too.”

Rachel frowned. “Felt what?”

“The fountain,” Clara said, her smile knowing. “It’s the heart of Riverbend. People always find their way here. To think, to meet, to just be.”

Rachel shook her head lightly. “I don’t have time to just be, Clara.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Clara said, her tone light but pointed. Before Rachel could respond, Clara walked off toward one of the stalls, leaving her alone with the thought.

Rachel stared at her reflection in the rippling water. The composed, polished woman staring back didn’t match the unease growing in her chest. The cracks were starting to show.

With a sharp breath, she turned and headed back toward the café. This was temporary, she reminded herself. It had to be.

And yet, as she walked away, she glanced back at the fountain, the faint tug of something unfamiliar lingering just behind her ribs.