mailman.
Christmas had provided a quiet contrast. Lila had stayed in California; she had that romantic getaway with Phillip, of course. Shellshocked and marooned on the West Coast, she’d accepted a coworker’s offer to join her and her parents. They’d had a quiet Christmas, the four of them eating in silence in front of the TV. Grim and impersonal, it had suited Lila just fine.
“You should have joined us!” Annie chided her. Lila realized it hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d been so caught up in her loss spiral.
The evening ended early. Annie made apologies but admitted that she pretty much had trouble staying up past nine. Charlotte was a harsh taskmaster, waking with predawn ferocity regardless of when she was put to bed. Lila didn’t protest. Those romance novels back in her empty hotel room weren’t going to read themselves.
* * *
Walking down Redwood Cove’s main street, Lila buried her chin down into the warmth of her dark green scarf. The thick fog felt almost palpable as it enveloped her and the surrounding town. It muffled the noise, with only the clanging of a buoy and the rhythmic blare of the foghorn cutting through. Not much traffic made its way down the street, either cars or people, and Lila took her time ambling along.
A gem in the crown of the Northern California Sonoma County coast, Redwood Cove took the downtown charm of Carmel—minus the highest-end shops—and blended it with the foggy, dramatic coastline and relative sleepiness of Mendocino—without the billion-dollar marijuana industry. About an hour and a half northwest of San Francisco, it was far enough away to embody relaxed, country living, yet close enough to lure the city’s foodies, wine enthusiasts and outdoor adventurers and maintain a thriving economy.
A right off Highway 1 led to the downtown: essentially a five block long, four block wide grid dotted with shops, restaurants and offices. The town community center, a giant red barn converted into a multipurpose room, sat in the midst of the town green which also boasted a newly-constructed playground and park benches. A large parking lot at the end, between the green and the ocean, hosted the town’s seasonal Farmer’s Market.
Main street, Lila’s thoroughfare at the moment, had shops all along one side. Along the other, a white picket fence demarcated a rocky decline. Less steep than at the B&B, it was still a fair drop into churning surf. The stretch Lila walked was covered in cobblestone, dating back to The Gold Rush she learned from a plaque. Historic cobblestone. She remembered how adamantly she’d fought with the man she’d thought was the groundskeeper at the vineyard, and his total indignation. So smug and superior, as if she were some kind of crazy lady.
Slipping a bit on a stone, Lila murmured, “see” as if proving her point to Jake Endicott of Endicott Vineyards. Just because you had a vineyard named after you didn’t give you the right to look down at all the little people. He’d probably like Axelle, too, Lila thought. At least she had a spreadsheet named after her.
A hat in the window of a store caught her eye. It looked the sort a flapper might have worn in the 20s, with a bit of netting. The whole store was filled with hats, pillbox hats and cowboy hats and big Russian military-style faux fur hats with flaps. The next store was all maps. A giant one on display featured the local region’s hiking trails. It looked as if you could set out on a different one every day for months and never repeat a mile.
Annie’s chocolate shop, or at least the one she worked at, was a bit further down but she wasn’t working today. She had every Sunday and Monday off, she’d explained, and Pete was usually able to arrange his work schedule to have Tuesdays and Thursdays off, and then his mom looked after Charlotte the remaining days. Lila hated to admit it, but she felt a pang of envy. Annie had
Christmas had provided a quiet contrast. Lila had stayed in California; she had that romantic getaway with Phillip, of course. Shellshocked and marooned on the West Coast, she’d accepted a coworker’s offer to join her and her parents. They’d had a quiet Christmas, the four of them eating in silence in front of the TV. Grim and impersonal, it had suited Lila just fine.
“You should have joined us!” Annie chided her. Lila realized it hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d been so caught up in her loss spiral.
The evening ended early. Annie made apologies but admitted that she pretty much had trouble staying up past nine. Charlotte was a harsh taskmaster, waking with predawn ferocity regardless of when she was put to bed. Lila didn’t protest. Those romance novels back in her empty hotel room weren’t going to read themselves.
* * *
Walking down Redwood Cove’s main street, Lila buried her chin down into the warmth of her dark green scarf. The thick fog felt almost palpable as it enveloped her and the surrounding town. It muffled the noise, with only the clanging of a buoy and the rhythmic blare of the foghorn cutting through. Not much traffic made its way down the street, either cars or people, and Lila took her time ambling along.
A gem in the crown of the Northern California Sonoma County coast, Redwood Cove took the downtown charm of Carmel—minus the highest-end shops—and blended it with the foggy, dramatic coastline and relative sleepiness of Mendocino—without the billion-dollar marijuana industry. About an hour and a half northwest of San Francisco, it was far enough away to embody relaxed, country living, yet close enough to lure the city’s foodies, wine enthusiasts and outdoor adventurers and maintain a thriving economy.
A right off Highway 1 led to the downtown: essentially a five block long, four block wide grid dotted with shops, restaurants and offices. The town community center, a giant red barn converted into a multipurpose room, sat in the midst of the town green which also boasted a newly-constructed playground and park benches. A large parking lot at the end, between the green and the ocean, hosted the town’s seasonal Farmer’s Market.
Main street, Lila’s thoroughfare at the moment, had shops all along one side. Along the other, a white picket fence demarcated a rocky decline. Less steep than at the B&B, it was still a fair drop into churning surf. The stretch Lila walked was covered in cobblestone, dating back to The Gold Rush she learned from a plaque. Historic cobblestone. She remembered how adamantly she’d fought with the man she’d thought was the groundskeeper at the vineyard, and his total indignation. So smug and superior, as if she were some kind of crazy lady.
Slipping a bit on a stone, Lila murmured, “see” as if proving her point to Jake Endicott of Endicott Vineyards. Just because you had a vineyard named after you didn’t give you the right to look down at all the little people. He’d probably like Axelle, too, Lila thought. At least she had a spreadsheet named after her.
A hat in the window of a store caught her eye. It looked the sort a flapper might have worn in the 20s, with a bit of netting. The whole store was filled with hats, pillbox hats and cowboy hats and big Russian military-style faux fur hats with flaps. The next store was all maps. A giant one on display featured the local region’s hiking trails. It looked as if you could set out on a different one every day for months and never repeat a mile.
Annie’s chocolate shop, or at least the one she worked at, was a bit further down but she wasn’t working today. She had every Sunday and Monday off, she’d explained, and Pete was usually able to arrange his work schedule to have Tuesdays and Thursdays off, and then his mom looked after Charlotte the remaining days. Lila hated to admit it, but she felt a pang of envy. Annie had
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