Page 45 of Shattered Melodies

Every day, it seemed like there was some new problem to deal with, some new obstacle to overcome. Leaky pipes, faulty wiring, a termite infestation in the attic, it was like the universe was conspiring to make my life as difficult as possible.

But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that came with each new challenge, each step forward in the process of making this place my own. Because that’s what it was, really. My own. My home, my sanctuary, my chance to start over and build something new. Even if it meant dealing with a few or headaches along the way.

I sighed, glancing at the clock again. I needed to get moving if I wanted to shower and get out of the house before they shut the water off.

But first, coffee. Definitely coffee.

Twenty minutes later, I was showered, dressed, and feeling marginally more human. I grabbed my keys and my wallet, then paused, realizing I had no idea where I was going to go.

I couldn’t exactly hang out at the house all day, not with the construction crew tearing things apart and making a racket. But it wasn’t like I had a ton of options in a town as small as Oakwood Grove.

I headed back downstairs, figuring I’d ask the renovators if they had any suggestions. They seemed like local guys, the kind who knew every inch of this town like the back of their hand.

I found them in the kitchen, huddled around the coffee maker like it was some kind of holy relic. They looked up as I walked in, their faces breaking into friendly grins.

“Hey, Mr. Denison. Heading out for the day?” one of them asked, a burly guy with a beard that could put Santa to shame.

I nodded, leaning against the counter. “Yeah, I figured I’d get out of your hair while you guys work your magic. Any recommendations on where to go?”

The guy thought for a moment, scratching his chin. “Well, there’s not a ton of options, to be honest. But if you’re looking for a good meal, you can’t go wrong with the diner on Main Street. Best pancakes in town, hands down.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The diner, huh? I think I saw that place when I first got into town. The one with the big red sign?”

He nodded, a fond smile on his face. “That’s the one.”

I nodded, already sold on the idea. “I think I will. Thanks for the tip, uh…”

“Jim,” he supplied, holding out a hand. “Jim Hawkins. And it’s no trouble at all. Us locals gotta stick together, right?”

I shook his hand, feeling a sudden, unexpected warmth in my chest. It was a small thing, just a friendly conversation and a recommendation for breakfast.

I hopped in my car, feeling a strange mix of excitement and trepidation as I turned the key in the ignition. It had been so long since I’d driven these streets, so long since I’d seen the familiar sights and sounds of Oakwood Grove.

As I made my way towards the high street, I couldn’t help but marvel at how little the town had changed in the past twenty years. Oh, sure, there were a few new businesses here and there, a fresh coat of paint on some of the old storefronts. But overall, it was like stepping back in time, like walking into a memory that had been preserved in amber.

I parked my car in front of the diner, the same one that Jim had recommended. “The Grove,” the sign read, in big, bold letters that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the eighties.

I reached into the glove box and grabbed my hat, a battered old baseball cap that I’d had since college. I didn’t know why I’d brought it with me, really. It wasn’t like I needed to hide my face or anything. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

But somehow, it felt like a shield, like a way to keep a little bit of distance between myself and the world. Like if I could just keep my head down and my eyes hidden, maybe I could make it through this day without anyone recognizing me, without anyone asking too many questions.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then I pushed open the door of the diner and stepped inside.

The first thing that hit me was the smell, that classic diner aroma of coffee and bacon and syrup all mingling together in the air. It was comforting, in a way, like a warm hug from an old friend.

I made my way over to a booth by the window, sliding into the cracked vinyl seat and picking up a menu. I wasn’t really hungry, but I needed something to do with my hands, needed a way to distract myself from the nerves that were jangling in my gut. I was just about to flag down the waitress when I heard a voice that made my heart stop dead in my chest.

“Liam? Oh my God, it’s you!”

I looked up, my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open. Because there, standing in front of me with a coffee pot in one hand and a look of utter shock on her face was Sarah.

Sarah, who I hadn’t seen or spoken to in twenty long, lonely years.

“Sarah,” I managed to choke out, my voice cracking with emotion. “I… what are you doing here?”

She laughed, setting down the coffee pot and sliding into the booth across from me. “I work here, dummy. Have for the past ten years.”

I shook my head, feeling like I was in a dream. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re here, that you’re still in Oakwood.”

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