Gemma's POV

I RUN a few errands the next morning, before deciding to grab breakfast at the bakery. Audrey isn't there. But I still enjoy my coffee and muffin.

After breakfast, I take a walk into town. There's a lot that's different, and a lot that's the same, "Gemma!"

Claire waves at me, as she walks next to two other girls, presumably her friends. They're probably heading to school.

I wave back and smile. She continues on her walk, and I head into a boutique. I need to pick up some clothes, since I'm going to be in town longer than I anticipated.

Looking through the racks, a few things catch my eye. I pick out a few pairs of jeans and shirts. Heading over to the counter to pay, I recognize someone I went to school with. I'm hoping that she doesn't recognize me, cause I really don't like her.

"Good choices. You're the modest type," I nod and stay silent, as she scans my items, "that'll be $179.50, honey."

I hand her my card, and she swipes it on her machine, "thanks," she hands me my card back, and the shopping bags.

I head out as quickly as possible, and almost topple onto someone on the sidewalk, "easy there," the woman giggles and looks at me amused, as I compose myself.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," I realize that it's Penny. She narrows her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Were you running away from Helen? I assume you still despise her, even after all these years," how does she know about my feud with Helen? "We all went to school together. I can't believe you don't remember me."

"I'm sorry. It's been so long."

"Okay... I was the girl who sat behind you in Biology. Glasses, and size sixteen jeans," Biology... I had one friend in that stupid class.

"Oh. I do remember you. I'm sorry it took me so long to," she grins at me, "you've lost a lot of weight. I'm impressed," I inhale deeply, "not that you haven't always been attractive."

"Ha, thanks. You're not too bad yourself. I'm going to be late for work. But I'll see you around, Gemma."

She waves, as she walks away. I huff out a breath, looking at her disappear in the distance. Penny and I weren't close friends in highschool. But she has always been nice. I think she leant me a pencil once.

I walk back to the bakery to retrieve my car from the parking next door. I'm tempted to get lunch there, but I decide to head back to my room to drop off my stuff, and go to a nice restaurant instead. I might as well treat myself.

"YOU'VE BEEN in and out a lot. How are you doing?" I notice Veronica standing by the doorframe of my bedroom. I left it open, since I'm just dropping off the bags. And maybe change into something nicer for the restaurant.

"Oh. I'm fine. I'm heading right back out to grab something to eat."

"Okay. I'm wondering if you want to have dinner with us tonight? It's something special that I do for my guests every week."

"Really? That's nice of you. I'm not sure if I'm going to eat dinner after I eat such a heavy lunch though."

She leans against the doorframe, and crosses her ankles. My eyes travel down her long legs, and back up to her eyes. When she smirks at me, I want to hit my forehead against the nearest wall. I guess she caught me staring.

I clear my throat, and look away.

"That's fine. You can still join us for some small talk, and have some salad. I want to get to know you better."

Really? In what way? I look back at her and smile, "okay, I'll be there. What time exactly?"

"I'll be done preparing everything around six."

"Do you need help?" I ask, without even thinking.

"Aren't you heading out?"

"Yeah. But if you need a hand—"

She smiles widely at me, "sure. I'd like that. Only if you want to. I don't want to impose on your—"

"I can do dinner instead of lunch, as long as your cooking is as good as I hope."

Her blue eyes narrows at me, "you'll just have to wait and see," she giggles, "I'll be downstairs prepping. You can join me when you're ready."

"Okay. Just give me a few minutes to change into something more comfortable."

My eyes take another glance down her legs again—it's subconsciously, I suppose. And I love her skirt. I wonder where I can get one of those from—not that I dress too girly very often.

"I'll see you in a bit, Gemma," my eyes meet hers, and she looks at me amusingly, as she shakes her head. I've been caught again. Dammit.

WALKING DOWN the stairs, I contemplate whether I should have gone to lunch instead. I'm starving, but getting to know that beautiful lady might be worth it.

"What can I do?" I ask, as I walk into the kitchen, and towards her. She's chopping potatoes, and looks really good doing it. Her olive skin is gleaming in the last moments of sunshine for the day. She throws an apron at me and crosses her arms over her chest.

"I can use help with these," she directs my attention to the potatoes. I nod and walk beside her, picking up the knife, "I'm going to make some noise with the blender," she taps my shoulder, and walks over to the pantry.

I get to the job, and continue to chop the potatoes into cubes. I take note of how she did it, and try my best to repeat the same size.

"What are we making, anyway?" I turn to see her walking to the adjacent counter, where the blender is, with cilantro, parsley and a bottle of diced garlic. She places them onto the counter, and begins to fill them into the blender.

"It's a Caribbean styled dish named beef curry. Have you ever had it?"

I shake my head, "I've had asian curry before."

"It's quite different. I tone it down on the spices for everyone. It can get way too spicy for—"

"White people?" I raise my brow.

"No, most of my guests," she presses a button, and the blender begins to rumble. I continue to do my work, and within a minute or so, the noise ends.

"I think I'm quite capable of handling my spices," I grin at her, "you can say that I'm not like your other guests."

She narrows her eyes at me and smiles, "really? I don't think you understand how intense it can be."

I bit down on my bottom lip, still looking at her, "I do. You wanna bet?"

"Oh," she presses her lips together, and moves her head side to side, "if I lose, what do you want?"

"Dinner."

"I'm already making you dinner," I look into her eyes, holding her gaze.

"No. Just you and me," that's bold of me. I don't see a ring on her finger, so there's no harm in trying.

She laughs, "a date?" She shakes her head.

"Why not? Don't tell me you're straight," why am I always attracted to straight women in this town?

She looks away from me, "I'm not looking for a fling, Gemma. You're going to head back to your life soon. It's not a good idea."

"So you're not straight?"

She rolls her eyes, "we're all on a spectrum, aren't we?" I grind my teeth and nod.

"What do you want if I lose the bet?" I ask.

"We're not going on a date. It's—"

"It's a harmless bet. We can just have dinner as friends, if that's what you want," I grip the counter, and her eyes meet mine again, "so, what do you desire?"

"Let me think," she places her index finger on her chin, "we're having a town fair this weekend. I'd love to have a face painting booth."

"That's a big ask."

"I'm not asking. If I win, you'll have to do it. No ifs and buts. And if I lose, well, we'll have dinner, as friends. Just friends."

I nod, "okay, okay. It's a deal. How are we going to settle this, anyway?"

"I've got an idea," she walks over to the fridge, and grabs a jar from it. From the looks of it, it must be some sort of condiment.

"What's that?"

She smirks, as she walks towards me, "this is mango chutney. It's not the spiciest, but I still bet you won't be able to handle it."

I scoff, "I eat pickled jalapenos as a snack."

She opens the lid, and grabs a spoon from a drawer. Dipping the spoon in, she scoops some of the chutney out of the jar, "open wide. Here comes the choo choo train of death," she giggles. I close my eyes, and open my mouth.

When the spoon surpasses my lips, and I feel the metal touch the surface of my tongue, I know that I'm going to win. But when my mouth wraps around the spoon, and my cheeks begin to move, my taste buds become alarmed. I try to play it off, and swallow it as quickly as possible, trying to get the burning off of my tongue. But I almost choke.

I'm not sure if she can see my agitation, but I think my eyes are watering.

"That's good," I mumble. She shakes her head, and retrieves another spoon from the drawer, before taking a scoop of the chutney into her own mouth. She seems to enjoy it. Gosh, she didn't even flinch, "I need water," I blurt and head for the sink. I don't care about the pH level in the water. I just need it. I quickly pull the tap and stick my head under the facet. My entire face becomes drenched, but my mouth is still burning, "what the hell was in that?" I pant and allow the water to run into my mouth and drain out. I sigh and turn off the tap.

"I'm sorry. It's a family recipe," I hear footsteps behind me, and the opening and closing of the fridge. I run my hand over my face, fix my posture, and turn to see her walking over to me with a cup of yogurt, "hopefully, this helps."

She hands it to me, and I stick my tongue into the container. Immediate relief causes my body to relax, "thank you," I slip my tongue back into my mouth and swallow. I'm a bit embarrassed about my reaction, but am relieved that my mouth isn't burning as much anymore. There's still a tingling, but it's bearable.

"Are you okay?" I nod, "so I guess that means I won?" She looks at me nervously.

"A deal is a deal," I take a deep breath, "although, you definitely cheated."

"What? How?"

"You know that it's too spicy for anyone to handle!"

"Ha. I ate it! It was great, and you're just not capable of handling your spices."

"Whatever. I'll let it slide. It's like making a deal with the devil, with food from hell!" I chuckle.

She opens her mouth wide and nudges my shoulder, "you're just a sore loser. The fair starts at eight in the morning, and ends at ten at night. Be prepared for a long day of work. All funds raised goes towards the high school prom."

"I'm definitely going to be sore after that," I groan, "what happened to the basic nine to five work schedules?"

"I doubt you've ever worked a nine to five job."

"Yeah, but one can only hope. Let's finish dinner, I'm starving," I look down at my cup of yogurt, "the food's not as spicy as—"

"I always tone it down for my guests," she laughs and walks over to the blender. I head back over to the potatoes, and we continue our work.

I can't believe I thought I'd win.

"WE'LL BE married for forty years come tomorrow. Time has a way of flying by," Gloria, one of the other guests here, smiles widely as her husband places a kiss on her cheek. I look at them in awe. They seem so in love. Is it just an illusion? Are they really that happy? They could be pretending...

"That's really inspiring," another guest, Riya, looks at them in awe as well. It's only the four of us that's here for dinner with Veronica—Gloria and her husband, Riya and myself.

I believe there is another couple staying at the bed and breakfast. I've seen them around. But they aren't here tonight. I guess they have something special planned.

"Are any of you ladies married?" Gloria looks around the table. I focus on eating, because I have nothing to say on that topic. This beef curry is actually really good. It's apparently a specialty in the Caribbean. I wonder if Veronica is from one of those islands. Or maybe her parents are? She does have that gorgeous, brown skin. But her eyes are blue. She's gotta be mixed.

"Yes, I suppose. But I'm getting a divorce," Riya mentions.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear," Gloria sympathizes.

"No. It's okay. Might be the best thing that's going to happen in a while. My son started college last year, and I'm finally able to travel, and take care of myself for a change."

Riya seems to be in her early fifties. Older than me and Veronica. But, most likely, younger than Gloria and her husband. They seem to be in their seventies.

"That's great, as long as you're happy. I know you will find someone new who will make you happy," Gloria says.

"Yeah, maybe. But it's harder when all the men my age are running after young women that look like those two," Riya looks between me and Veronica.

I laugh. And Veronica does too.

"I'm almost forty and I have to dye my hair every month. So no, I'm not young at all, and no one is chasing me either," I answer.

"I find that hard to believe," Veronica says as she looks at me with a grin, "you look like a heartbreaker."

"She does," Gloria agrees and smiles, "I'm sorry. But you're good looking enough to break a lot of hearts. You too, Veronica. All the guys in town are probably head over heels for you."

"Not that I know of. But I'll take any compliment I can get," Veronica laughs.

"So what about you, Gemma? Do you at least have someone special in your life?" Gloria persists.

"No. Never been married. And I'm currently focusing on my career."

"Stefan isn't my first husband. I was married with two kids. Then I got divorced, and met the love of my life," she looks at her husband, "love comes unexpectedly, and when you need it the most. You girls will see what I mean with time."

I might end up as one of those old ladies, in the nursing home, who has no family to visit her.

"I was married a long time ago. It didn't last very long. It happened right after highschool. We were young and in love, and didn't know the first thing about a healthy relationship," Veronica explains.

"Why did you two split?" Riya asks.

"Well," she rubs the back of her neck, "I realized that he wasn't the one for me."

"Just like that?" Gloria asks.

Veronica sighs, "I was brought up in a very conservative home. You know, no sex before marriage, and no suggestive hair cuts... It took me a while to understand who I really was... as a person. And men just weren't on the list of things that I want."

"Oh," Stefan leans back in his seat, "our youngest came out to us a few years ago. He changed his name from Emily to Victor, and he's currently transitioning."

It's nice when someone explains their ties to the lgbtq+ community. In other words, saying that they don't have a problem with it, or that they support it.

"That's great. Pretty expensive too," I say.

"Yes. Our insurance helps. But it's still very expensive. Good thing I've made some good investments over the years."

Dinner continues. And the small talk travels around the table. I look at Gloria, and wonder if my life will turn out anything like hers, or will I grow old alone? I know, for sure, that I don't need someone to love me, but maybe it's something that I want...

The older I get, living life without love is unsatisfying. I've enjoyed the luxuries of life so many times, but does it mean something more when you enjoy it with someone?

I then look at Riya. My life would never turn out like hers. For one, I've never wanted kids, and can't bear the thought of giving birth, even if I do decide that I want them. She might have lived a typical suburban life, from the looks of it—a husband, kids, and probably a white picket fence. I'll never have those things—not that I want them. Now, she's divorced, her kid is off living his life, and she's here... enjoying what's left of her life? Does she regret anything? Maybe she wishes that her life took a different turn, where she wouldn't be single in her fifties. But, maybe she's happier this way—happy that she got her suburban life, and also able to live the rest of her life on her own terms.

I don't like the thought of wanting my life to be different. I don't want to be unsatisfied about my choices. But I am. I run from conflict. I ran away from this town—this life. Who would I have been if I'd never left? What path would my life have taken a turn on?

Finally, I look at Veronica. I could have made similar choices as she has. I might have gotten married to a man I didn't love, just to please my grandfather. But, instead, I rebelled, and left. Now, she's divorced, probably regretting that marriage. Though, her life doesn't seem that bad. She seems happy.

All three of these women seem happy, and they all went down different paths in life. I should be happy too, at least I thought I was.

Now, I'm not so sure.

"Gemma, are you okay?" Veronica places her hand on my shoulder. I notice everyone looking at me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," she smiles at me, and continues to talk to Stefan.

THE NEXT day, Mr. Johnson calls and asks me to meet him at his church. I'm uneasy about going there. But it's not like anyone's going to condemn me... right?

I wonder why he wants to see me. Is it about the deed of the church?

"Gemma! Great to see you," he meets me halfway down the altar. I can't remember the last time I was here. It was probably one of the many times my grandfather made me attend.

"Hi," I look at the gigantic cross on the podium, "nice to see you too."

"Come, come," he leads me to the front bench and we sit. His eyes are crinkled from smiling. It's like everyone around me is so genuinely happy.

"Not that I don't like seeing you. But why did you want to meet, Mr. Johnson?"

"I don't mean to take up your time," he reaches for something inside the undercoat pocket of his blazer, "but I wanted to give you this."

"Oh," he hands, what seems to be, a photograph to me.

"I thought you'd like to have it."

"Yes, of course," I can feel a tear almost slipping down my cheek, "thank you."

It's a picture of me, back when I was a baby—maybe a year old, or less, with my family. I press the pad of my thumb against my mother's head, as she holds me tightly in her arms. I don't even remember her, yet I feel drawn to her.

"I'm sure you have many photos like this. But I still wanted to give you it."

"Actually, I don't. I only have a half burnt one. I can barely make out their faces on it. But this..." I don't want to look at him, because of the tears in my eyes, but I still do, "this means a lot, thank you."

All of their faces are just a distant memory now, my parents' faces more so. I never got to know them, or love them. But I'll probably cherish this picture forever.

"Your grandfather kept it in his bible, maybe for years. I have the bible too, if you want it."

I sigh, "you can keep it. You'll get more use out of it—something for you to remember him by."

He smiles, "thank you."

I HEAD over to the bakery to grab a cup of coffee. I have a huge urge to crawl into bed for a few days, and stay there, but I will persevere.

"Gemma! Hey, you okay?" Penny walks towards me with a worried look on her face.

"Hey—yeah, why?" She continues to look worried, and places her hand on my shoulder.

"Sit with me," I allow her to lead me to a booth at the far end of the bakery, "wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" I almost snap, looking up at her, feeling my muscles tense. I have no reason to be rude at her, but I just can't help it. I feel so frustrated.

"Anything," she gives me a comforting smile, "I know it's been rough since, you know... I'm here if you need a shoulder to cry on," she tilts her head to her right shoulder, "or two," she then tilts her head to her left shoulder.

I take a deep breath, calming myself down. This is what happens when I get too emotional. I turn into a walking snob. But thankfully, Penny got me out of the funk before I got to hurt anyone's feelings.

"That means a lot," I say. She stretches her hands across the table, and places them upon mine. I look down at our intertwined hands, and can't help but wonder what it means.

"We should get dinner sometime. Are you free tonight actually?"

"I—uh," realizing what this is about, I pull my hands away, "Penny, I'm not looking to date anyone—"

"Who said anything about dating?" She retracts her hands, and tilts her head to the side. A playful grin falls upon her face, and what I thought was a friendly conversation turns into something sexual.

"Well then, I'm not looking for that either."

"Really? Are you sure about that?" I look around, hoping that Audrey isn't here, "Gemma?"

Looking back at her, I notice the ring on her finger, "you're married?"

She sighs and looks at it, then back at me, "yes, it'll be nine years in December."

"Then why are you—"

"Why can't I?" She smirks, "he'd love to have you too."

This conversation is getting worse by the minute, "wow," I shake my head, hoping that it's just a dream, nightmare per se, but it isn't.

"What? Don't tell me that you're monogamous."

"I might be. But, regardless, I don't sleep with couples. I'm sorry, I have to go."

I get up and dash to the door without looking back. Fuck coffee. I can't believe that just happened. The people in this town are getting more interesting by the minute.

My reasons to crawl under the covers, and stay there for the rest of the day have been fully justified now. I head into my room as quickly as I can when I get back to the bed and breakfast. I hope if anyone notices me, they'll excuse my rudeness of rushing past them.