Page 54 of Everything Has Changed
One of my regulars stops by for a refill on drip coffee, and I break away from Mary, who gets into a discussion with a group of young women in town on a bachelorette trip. They overheard her talking about tarot and eagerly requested to book a visit while they were in town. I smile to myself, loving yet another moment when being part of a small town is beautiful.
“Hey, Gwenny.” Ophelia pops through with a tray of fresh treats for me to set up in the bakery case. “Will you be okay by yourself for a bit before Piper gets in?” She glances at her watch and winces.
I glance over at my grandmother, as effortlessly beautiful as ever in her jeans and oversized sweater. Her long silver hair twisted into a claw clip. She has a natural youthfulness to her that we were always reminded by locals on how grateful we should be to get her genes. Only in her mid-sixties, Ophelia was still young no matter anyone’s standards. It was always amusing to see people’s faces when they found out she was actually a great-grandmother.
She had our dad at eighteen, then our mom had Jackson at eighteen as well. It was always an unspoken question surrounding our family if one of us would follow in their footsteps. Jackson was only twenty when he found out his girlfriend at the time was pregnant with Rowan.
I look at my grandmother now, and a niggling worry in the back of my mind starts to pop up. The last few months I had been noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the mild weight loss. When I brought it up previously, she assured me it was just old age catching up to her. But something in my gut told me that wasn’t the whole truth.
She rubs at her head now; her face pinched in pain.
I reach out, moving her to get a better look at her eyes. “Are you okay?”
She drops her hand and plasters on an easy smile. “Of course. Just a bit of a headache. I think a little too much time in that hot kitchen lately is getting to me.”
“I told you I can do some more of the baking, Grandma.”
Ophelia waves a hand at me. “And I told you that you already have too much going on. Besides, you know the kitchen is my happy place.”
I nibble on my lip, trying to catalogue all the miniscule differences on her face to see if I’m missing something.
“I promise, I’m okay.” She grabs my upper arms, rubbing them as if to ease my worry with comfort. “I’m just going to head home and take some medicine. I bet that and a nap before I have to pick up the rug rat from dance later will knock it right out.”
I nod my head slowly, skeptical but trusting her judgment. “Okay. Promise to let me know when you get home. And when you wake up.”
“Of course, my girl.” She pecks me on the forehead as she crushes me in a hug.
“You should try those new bath bombs Kennedy sent you for your birthday.”
She grins at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, which are looking dimmer by the minute as her headache clearly grows. “I like the way you think.”
She grabs her bag from the office, and I watch as she dons her sunglasses and steps outside. The flinch that goes through her as she takes in the brightness has me more concerned than before. I keep my phone within my eyesight during the ten minutes I know it would take her to get home, promising myself I’ll call at minute eleven after if I haven’t heard from her. I finally breathe again when I get the text telling me she is home.
I’m so focused on watching for her text that I don’t hear the bell go off overhead the front door.
“Excuse me?”
I jump out of my skin so aggressively that my phone falls out of my hand. I scramble to grab it, but I’m not quick enough, and it loudly clatters to the ground.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath as I pick it up, praying it’s fine. But the spiderweb across the screen puts that prayer to rest.
“That’s embarrassing,” the voice on the other side of the counter snickers, and I’m ready to curse again.
I glare in Camila’s direction, not bothering to cover up my annoyance.
“What do you want?”
She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “I don’t think that’s how you should speak to a paying customer. Especially one so–-”
“Bratty? Conceited? Mean?”
“I was going to say influential. But keep it up, little Prescott, we can test my influence in real time. I think Daddy might have the number for the local health inspector lying around. Never know what might be lurking back there.” She flicks her fingers towards the kitchen.
My muscles freeze at the threat. Camila has always been a grade-A mean girl, but that was a hardcore threat even coming from her.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I grit out. My hand clutches around my shattered phone so hard, I can feel the edges of broken glass cutting into my skin.
“Oh, nothing,” she checks out her fingernails, which are painted a perfect pale pink. “Just making sure you understand where you stand in this town. Just because Mrs. Spencer has taken a weird liking to you, don’t think it’ll change your status around here. And you can forget about sinking your dirty claws into Logan.”
