Page 8 of Pictures in Blue
“It’s a game between me and my uncle.”
“Oh?” I say with extra excitement to match his tone.
He leans even closer, his nose almost touching my cheek. “Ever heard of capture the flag?” He whispers.
I answer with a nod and wait for him to continue.
“Well, we have a game that never ends around town. He hides his flag. I hide mine. And whoever finds the other person’s flag first gets a point. I’mat leastten points ahead of Uncle Hud. Heneverfinds my flag…because I’m a good hider,” he adds.
“And where are you going to hide it this time?”
“That’s what me and Granny were just whispering about. I have the perfect place.”
Without waiting for a response, he heads for the dining room, the silence the complete opposite from last night. He zig zags in-between the tables until he reaches the one in the furthest corner of the room. The table is clean and set for the day’s meals with a small round piece of wood covered with a doily and a mason jar of wildflowers on top. Ethan picks up the jar and doily and spreads his orange-colored flag on top of the wood. He places the items on top of his flag obscuring it from view almost completely. No one would know it’s there unless they were specifically looking for an orange flag.
“Nowthatis the perfect hiding place,” I tell him.
“I know! Uncle Hud will never find it. If you see him, you better play dumb.”
I hold up my right hand, “Scout’s honor. My lips are sealed.” He looks at me dumbfounded.
“You’re strange, Dory. I like you.”
“I like you too, kiddo.”
The bell above the door chimes as I step out of Cordie’s inn and onto the sidewalk, camera in tow. There is something about this town. A presence I can’t shake, similar to trying to recall a memory and it slips away on the cusp of recollection.
Before I head to find the coffee shop Cordie mentioned, I take a photo of the front of the building, documenting its weathered appearance. I wonder if there is something I can do for her while I am here. The inn definitely needs some updating on the exterior and I don’t think it’s something Cordie can do on her own. I’ll have to remember to ask her when I come back later if there is anything I can pitch in with while I’m here. My stay isn’t expensive, and I have a feeling Cordie hasn’t adjusted her prices since she opened.
Taking the ribbon I chose this morning, white with yellow polka dots, out of my back pocket, I tie up half my hair to keep it out of my face. That was one thing I couldn’t leave California without: my box of ribbons. I’ve been collecting them for years and lost count of exactly how many I have a long time ago. There’s just something about actually tying my hair up that is satisfying, and seeing how many unique patterns I can find is a fun game. Stripes, polka dots, flowers, sometimes animals. Hedgehogs being my favorite. Sometimes hedgehogs with flowers. The cutest.
After walking down the long gravel driveway, I look around main street and see that it is lined with a collection of businesses. A few doors down from Cordie’s driveway is an outdoor shop with a deep blue sign, white letters striking against the background.Sky’s the Limit. I walk slowly past the windows and get a glance of the merchandise. From the window, I spot canoes, fishing and hunting gear, a big fish tank and what I hope is hiking gear near the back. Making a mental note to stop by later, I take a quick picture of the front door covered with loopy lettering displaying the store’s hours on it. They don’t close until six, which gives me plenty of time to familiarize myself with the town and my surroundings before coming back to get hiking gear for tomorrow.
Just the thought of being among the trees on a path I’m not entirely certain on where it ends fills me with so much joy; more joy than I have felt in years. Losing my connection with the woods and the creeks is one thing I do regret about my move to California, but it’s also one I can fix over the next three weeks.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see Charlotte’s face, tongue sticking out, looking back at me. She must have changed her contact picture the other night.
“Hey!” Enthusiasm coats my voice and I find that for once, I’m not faking it.
“Hey Mountain Girl! How’s the trip so far?”
“It’s good,” I say. “Everyone in town is really sweet. I feel like I’m in Stars Hollow, to be honest. Huge small town Stars Hollow vibes.”
“Is there a grumpy diner owner who only wears flannel and a backwards baseball cap? Or have you met your lumberjack?”
I laugh. She’s never letting that one go.
“No and no,” I continue walking across the street and spot a wooden sign in the shape of a coffee mug sitting on top of a stack of books with words scrawled on the spine,Books & Beans Coffee Shop.Coffee, finally. Peppermint latte, here I come. Summer weather be damned. My craving for a hot latte comes first.
“I’m actually out exploring the town right now. First stop, coffee.” I flip the camera so she can see the sign.
“Booksandcoffee? Can I join you on your trip and live there please?”
“Maybe next time,” I laugh and turn the screen back to my face.
Charlotte’s mom used to own a bookstore and I know she tried to convince her mom for years to combine it with a coffee shop, but she never got the chance to before she died. I don’t know much about her mom, but I know enough to know she was the complete opposite of mine.
The bells above the double glass doors chime as I enter. This town clearly has a thing for bells. The overwhelming smell of espresso fills my senses and I take a deep inhale of the bitter roast, the best smell in the entire world.
