Chloe in Willowmere

While the heritage committee deliberated somewhere in a room she'd never see, life in Willowmere resumed its soft, unhurried rhythms. Chloe found herself at Marco's bakery before she'd quite decided to go there, drawn by the smell of butter and the warmth of the lights. Marco slid a croissant across the counter without ceremony — same as yesterday, same as the day before — and she realized she'd stopped bracing for the moment to end. She sat by the rain-streaked window with her little blue notebook open and watched the neighborhood move: a neighbor with a bag of groceries, a child sprinting through puddles, a cat balanced imperiously on a fence post. Later, in the community garden, she stood among the quiet beds and looked out at the rooftops she had come to know. At some point — she couldn't say exactly when — she had stopped asking how she came to be here. Willowmere had become the answer to a question she'd simply forgotten to keep asking.