Chief

Chapter 1

*

"Sign here please." The attorney says.

You look down at the thick packet of freshly-printed paperwork in front of you, examining the final page one last time. You take a deep breath and reluctantly reach over to sign your name on the bottom with the expensive-feeling pen that has weighed heavily in your hand for the last hour.

"Alright, that should be everything. Did you plan on seeing the place yourself, or are you hiring a manager for the site?" He asks, sitting upright to collect the papers in a single stack.

"I'm not sure yet." You say, still staring down at your signature. "I feel like at least going to see it is the right thing to do."

"Y/N- we are truly sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man. He and your mother did a lot of community work up in Forks, and I think you'll find his name is very respected in town."

You feel a smile teasing at the corners of your lips, followed by a soft wave of grief. "He really was."

After collecting the keys to your father's business, you return home to finish tying up loose ends, taking up as much time as you can. For a while it feels like the longer you take, the less-real this will all feel. But once you had decided you'd procrastinated enough, you begin the drive up to your new home in Forks, Washington.

The drive from California takes around two days. It isn't until the evening of your second day that you approach the big wooden sign stating that you were entering the small town. The city of Forks welcomes you. It reads. You check your car's thermostat- 45 degrees outside. Almost as if you had summoned it, rain begins sprinkling down, pounding on your windshield by the time you hit the center of town.

Because you weren't sure if you'd be staying in Forks, you had decided to rent a house not far from the café. As you pull into the driveway, you see the movers had beat you there, proven by the boxes you see stacked up in the window. You open your car door and step onto your gravel driveway before grabbing your road trip luggage and quickly dragging it up the driveway through the rain, still dressed for your hometown's weather and unprepared for the cold.

You step inside your new home, brushing the water droplets off of the shoulders of your sweater as you take a deep breath of the warm air; to your relief, the movers had turned on the heater before you'd arrived. You had previously selected a house very different from your old home back in California- a quaint, cabin-like space that could fit a small family. You find there's a sliding glass door that leads out to the backyard, where there's a porch with a set of rocking chairs overlooking the entrance to the forest. Something about the depth of the forest makes you feel uneasy while staring at it in the darkness of the evening.

The next morning, you rise early and begin your drive into the cafe. The morning light makes for a much better view of the town. Much like your new home, the town is small, quaint, and woodsy. You pass most of the major buildings such as the town hall and police station within moments of each other throughout the drive.

"Carver Cafe." You read the sign aloud to yourself as you pull into the parking lot. Even from the outside, you can tell that the cafe has the same character as your father.

The cafe is colder inside than you'd expected. There's a green and teal theme wood paneling throughout the walls and faded yellow curtains that cross each window. Antlers and old photos line the walls above the breakfast bar- you avoid looking up at them for fear of old memories bringing on more grief. It's been months since your father passed, and his passing was expected, but you promised yourself you'd get through today with the focus and care that the cafe needs.

"Good morning." A woman with dark, curly hair says with a smile. "You must be Miss Carver."

"Good morning." You extend your arm to shake her hand. "Please, call me Y/N."