Mia walked through the doors of Captain Cook’s Coffee, or the Tri C to locals, and sat at the counter. She loved living in a town where her coffee order would be up and running before she said a word, and true to form, Lizzie put her cappuccino down in front of her.

“Gotcha covered, Miss Mia.”

“Thanks, hon.” Mia tucked her long brown hair behind her ears.

“How are you this morning?” Lizzie said.

“Good, I’m good.” A weak smile crossed her lips. Why couldn’t she answer truthfully? She felt as if she were crumbling inside. This time of year always made her feel off, unsettled, and she didn’t know why. Lizzie was good at making things seem fairly normal.

Mia and Lizzie both grew up in the Harbor, and as with any small town, they felt it was more a family than a community. Being Homecoming weekend, spirited people were in fine form. Parents took part in the festivities this year as much as the children. Grandparents wore school sweatshirts, too. The town involved anyone and everyone who had or were about to graduate from Harbor High.

A newspaper lay on the counter next to Mia, and she picked it up.

The front page had a picture of the magnificent, albeit old school. The article talked about tearing down the old school and building a new one in its place. Harbor High was built in 1941, but the alumni felt it could hold on for a few more years. Not a soul wanted it to happen, and not being well-versed in all things political, Mia wasn’t sure how it got passed by the council in the first place. But progress was progress.

After serving other customers at the counter, Lizzie walked back to Mia while wiping her hands on a towel, then adjusted her kerchief on her head, tilting her chin toward the newspaper. “Unbelievable that they will tear her down. We had some good times there, didn’t we, Mia, my girl?” She picked up a pot of coffee and warmed up a customer’s mug.

A group of cheerleaders came in and sat in a booth. Mia envied their carefree laughter, their unadulterated joy of living.

She put a five on the counter and bidding her friend goodbye, lay the paper just where she had picked it up. She smiled at the little group of young girls as she passed their table. They wore mums, Mia’s least-loved flower. They reminded her of fall. Their giggling was the last thing she heard before the ding of the door ushered her out.

Was I once that innocent? Was I ever that happy?

She wrapped her jean jacket around herself. Fall had come early this year, and she needed more layers to stay warm. Although it was only a short walk to her own shop, she hated the cold. If it dipped below seventy, she’d be taking all her sweaters out of the trunk at the end of her bed and hanging them up. Fall left her with a sense of… She couldn’t quite put it into words. Something undone. That was it. She felt there was something she needed to do but didn’t know what it was. It lurked around the corner every year at this time.

She put her skeleton key in the lock and turned. The door to her shop swung open, and the tingling of the bell announced to no one she was there. The smell of cinnamon hit her, and she smiled. It was her favorite fall smell. Others preferred candles named banana muffin or peach cobbler, but cinnamon comforted her. She walked around the small store, turning on lights and starting her CD player housed underneath an antique gramophone. The soothing sounds of Billie Holiday filled the room and always made her smile. Her friends told her to change up her music, but she played Billie all the time. Customers asked if the music was coming out of the gramophone, and she’d smile and say she wished it was.

Bridge Street, right on the water, was where she had set up shop. The street had seen a lot during its time. Brothels and saloons slowly died out in the early 1900s, and the area went through many a metamorphosis. Today, when a new, younger, hipper crowd of people opened stores and restaurants, it proved a popular place. She liked to think of herself as young and hip, and although she was only thirty, it puzzled her why she felt she wasn’t.

Mia had opened the store one year earlier. After spending years in corporate America, she grew bored. Shuffling papers and the constant travel had gotten to her, so she quit. Just up and quit it all. She realized it was fall when she had made that choice, and she shouldn’t have made such a rash decision that time of year. It was foolish, but she’d done it anyway.

She sold art now. Much of it her own. With complete and utter confidence in herself, she started her small business with gusto. Now that it was her main source of income, however, the joy of painting changed. It was no longer fun and spontaneous. It was a job. She made enough to keep her in painting supplies and then some.

The bell above her door jingled, and she winced. How can one like something and yet dislike it at the same time? Never very outgoing, when people came into her studio, she had to remind herself to put her game face on.

“Hi, can I help you?” She walked toward the customer shading her eyes from the sunbeam hitting her face. “Welcome.”

A man of about her age smiled slightly. The first thing she noticed was his looks. His black hair was windblown, and a piece hid one of his eyes until he brushed it away. Beautiful blue eyes stared back at her. He wore a pair of tight jeans and a flannel shirt. The second thing was how nervous he appeared to be.

“Hi,” he said. “I, umm, yeah. I heard about your paintings and how good they are, so I thought I’d look around if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Please make yourself at home, and if you have any questions, just ask. I’ll be over by my desk.”