Chapter Seven: New Faces, New Beginnings

The first friend Mia made in Everdale was Clara, the café barista with a permanent smile and a tendency to overshare.

Clara's Café wasn't flashy — just a cozy little corner shop with mismatched chairs, checkered tablecloths, and a worn-out menu board behind the counter. It smelled of coffee beans, cinnamon, and freshly baked pastries — a scent that somehow felt like comfort.

"Fresh start, huh?" Clara asked one morning, sliding Mia's usual order — a chamomile tea and a buttery croissant — across the counter.

Mia blinked in surprise. "How did you—?"

Clara shrugged, a playful smirk on her face. "You've been here three days in a row and haven't touched the coffee. Figured you were either a tea person or trying to avoid caffeine."

Her heart lurched at the unintentional hit to the truth — but Mia simply smiled softly. "I guess I'm a tea person."

Clara didn't buy it — Mia could tell by the way her gaze lingered just a second too long. But to her relief, the barista didn't press.

"Well," Clara said, wiping her hands on her apron, "people don't come to Everdale unless they're running from something."

Mia's stomach tightened. She gripped her teacup a little harder. "Not running — just… starting over."

Clara tilted her head, that same knowing look in her eyes, but she let the subject drop. "Well, you're in the right place. This town's got a way of making people stay longer than they planned."

And stay Mia did.

Her days began to fall into an easy rhythm. Mornings started with a quiet walk along the seaside, the cool air brushing against her skin as the distant cries of seagulls echoed in the sky. From there, she'd stop at Clara's for tea and a pastry, settling into the same corner seat by the window — the one where the sunlight hit just right.

And slowly but surely, Everdale began to draw her in.

Mrs. Jenkins — her elderly neighbor — had appointed herself Mia's unofficial guardian. It started with a pie — apple, still warm from the oven — and then evolved into casseroles, soups, and even loaves of homemade bread.

"Young girls like you forget to eat properly," Mrs. Jenkins said one evening, thrusting a glass dish of something cheesy and golden into Mia's hands. "You can't live on tea and croissants."

Mia had tried to protest — tried to insist she was fine — but Mrs. Jenkins had simply waved her off and shuffled back into her apartment, already muttering about what she'd cook next.

And then there was Sam — the quiet yet kind owner of the bookstore beneath Mia's apartment.

Sam wasn't much for small talk, but his presence was steady, comforting. Whenever Mia wandered into his shop, he'd glance up from behind the counter and give a brief nod — never asking too many questions, never pushing her to explain why she'd moved to Everdale.

One afternoon, as Mia ran her fingers along the spines of the romance novels, Sam slid a book across the counter without a word.

She blinked at the cover — a love story, soft and bittersweet.

"You noticed what I read?" she asked, a bit startled.

Sam adjusted his glasses. "It's a small town, Miss Carter. We notice things."

We notice things.

The words lingered long after Mia left the shop.

Everdale was quiet, yes — but it wasn't blind. People here saw more than they let on, and though they might not ask questions right away… they always noticed.

The thought haunted Mia more than she cared to admit.

But the most unexpected moment came at the park — a small slice of green tucked between the old library and the town hall.

Mia had gone there to sketch — something she hadn't done in weeks. Her journal, filled with rough designs of dresses and coats, rested in her lap as she absently sketched lines and patterns, losing herself in the familiar rhythm.

Then — a voice. Small, curious.

"What are you drawing?"

Mia looked up to see a little girl — no older than six — standing beside her bench. She had two messy braids and a gap where her front tooth should've been. Her big brown eyes were fixed on the sketchbook, wide with interest.

Before Mia could answer, a flustered woman hurried over — the girl's mother, clearly.

"I'm so sorry!" the woman gasped, grabbing the girl's hand. "She wanders off whenever she sees someone doing something artsy."

Mia laughed softly. "It's okay. I don't mind."

The little girl beamed up at her. "I like your drawing."

Mia's heart clenched.

That night, sitting on her small balcony with a blanket draped over her shoulders, Mia realized something.

She wasn't just building a life for herself — she was slipping into Everdale's rhythm, slowly but surely. She was becoming part of something again — part of a place where people noticed and cared and offered casseroles without asking why you needed one.

But even as the town began to embrace her, the weight of her secret pressed heavier with each passing day.

She hadn't told anyone about the pregnancy. Not Clara. Not Mrs. Jenkins. Not Sam.

It was still her secret — hers and Lily's — tucked away beneath flowy dresses and oversized sweaters. But Mia knew it wouldn't stay hidden for long.

Her stomach wasn't as flat as it used to be — the curve was subtle, but there. A quiet reminder of the life growing inside her.

And when the truth did come out… when people noticed what she could no longer hide…

Would Everdale still feel like home?