Love Makes Me Want Canes

Welcome to Cheddar Valley

In the small, sleepy town of Cheddar Valley, life moved at a slower, more deliberate pace. Tucked away between rolling hills and the whispering expanse of the ocean, it was the kind of place where everyone knew each other's names, and gossip spread like wildfire. Secrets were rare, not because the townsfolk were particularly virtuous, but because privacy was a luxury few could afford. The secrets that did exist were kept deliberately, guarded like precious artifacts from prying eyes.

At the edge of town, in a quaint white cottage with a wrap-around porch and railings that bore the subtle craftsmanship of a time long past, now lived Brianna "Brie" Sanders. The cottage, with its peeling paint and the weathered charm of a place that had seen many seasons, was now hers—an inheritance from an aunt she barely remembered. But to Brie, it represented a new beginning, a fresh start far away from the life she had left behind in Ontario, Canada.

Brie was a woman of contradictions. Tall and striking, with auburn hair that gleamed like freshly polished copper in the Texas sun—some might describe it as the fiery hue of BBQ sauce. Her outward confidence was a façade, a well-practiced mask that concealed the deep wounds she carried within her. Once, she had been at the pinnacle of her culinary career, a rising star in the Canadian food scene. But all of that had crumbled in a single, devastating moment.

It wasn't just the lack of decent fast-food chains that had driven her from the icy grip of the North; it was the betrayal that cut her to the core like a steak. She had walked in on her fiancé—her once-beloved partner—entwined in the arms of her own sister. The image of them together had seared itself into her memory, an indelible scar that no amount of time could erase. That was the day she knew she had to leave, to escape the city that had given her so much and taken away even more.

Now, as she returned to that white cottage after all these years, Brie exhaled a long, weary sigh. The air here was different—lighter, cleaner, and carrying the faintest hint of salt from the nearby sea. She dropped her bags unceremoniously at the door. The moving truck was late, of course, but it didn't matter. Nothing felt urgent here. Not like the rush of the city where everything moved at a breakneck speed and time seemed to slip through her fingers like sand.

She slipped off her shoes—because, despite everything, she was not a ruffian—and settled on the cool hardwood floor of the empty living room. The silence was almost oppressive, a stark contrast to the cacophony of thoughts swirling in her mind. Pulling out her phone, she noted with a sigh that it was nearly dead. Naturally, she had chosen to sit right beside an outlet. Some habits, at least, hadn't changed.

As her phone charged, she began her usual ritual of doomscrolling, a guilty pleasure that she couldn't seem to quit. She swiped through a never-ending stream of food recipes, videos of Texan men meticulously smoking brisket, and millennial blonde women baking impossibly perfect cakes. Occasionally, a picture would catch her eye—mozzarella sticks oozing with cheese, deep-fried delights that looked like they could bring even the healthiest immune system to its knees. And then there was Cane's—the holy grail of fast food in her eyes.

Her mouth watered at the sight of crispy fried chicken, golden fries, buttery Texas toast, and that magical Cane's sauce. She could practically taste it, and for a moment, she let herself indulge in the fantasy. If she were a cartoon, she would have started floating toward the screen, pulled by the sheer force of her desire. But as her fingers grazed the screen, she accidentally refreshed the page.

"FUCK!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the empty house.

Brie curled her knees to her chest, setting the phone down as if it had betrayed her. How could she have been so careless? She had been so close to indulging in her fantasy. Now, all she had was the bitter taste of disappointment. With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and headed to the kitchen. It was a beautiful space, filled with potential, but the empty cabinets and bare countertops made it feel desolate. She might as well have been staring into a void.

She ran her hand along the smooth wood of the counter, feeling its coolness beneath her fingertips. There was nothing here—no ingredients, no utensils, not even a loaf of bread. The thought of turning into a termite and devouring the wood crossed her mind, but she dismissed it with a shake of her head. She needed to get out of her own head, out of this empty house.

Moving to the window, she opened it wide, letting in the cool breeze that swept in from the ocean. The light curtains fluttered gently, like a sigh of relief from the oppressive heat of the afternoon. She leaned against the windowsill and gazed out at the view—a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills to her left and the vast, endless sea to her right. It was beautiful here, in a way that was so different from the cold, grey streets of Ontario. This place, at least, felt alive.

In the distance, she saw a flock of seagulls soaring through the sky, their white bodies a stark contrast against the deep blue of the ocean. Did seagulls flock? Or was that just something birds did in cartoons? She remembered seeing them in parking lots, always fighting over scraps like feathered thugs. Maybe they didn't flock so much as congregate, like unruly teenagers at the mall. Whatever the case, there were a lot of them, and they reminded her of something... Chicken... Oh, fuck, Cane's...

She tore her gaze away from the birds, shaking her head as if to clear it. She couldn't afford to keep torturing herself with thoughts of food she couldn't have. She looked down at the ground, at the worn wooden planks of the porch, and sighed again.

As she was entranced with nature like a normal and atoned human, she heard the sound of rustling. She looked over and realized that the "little privacy" was no joke. An elderly woman was knitting on her porch, she seemed to be glaring, judging. Brie thought it would be kind to introduce herself,

"Hello there! I'm Brie, I just moved in-" She was cut off by the raspy voice of the woman.

"I don't give a damn who you are, all I know is that you're going to be just as annoying as the last woman who lived there." The old woman said rudely.

Brie was in shock, about to speak again, but interrupted by the abrupt smoker's cough of the woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I just thought-" She was yet again cut off.

"Go back inside you little shit. Aint nobody here wants to see you tweak off of shrooms or whatever you got going on." The old woman flipped her off.

Brie just stared forward at the woman; this was strange.

"Do you think im...im high? I promise, im not a junkie, if that's what you're worried about. Hey, I don't even have enough friends for a party." She tried to defend herself.

"I can tell." The old said without hesitation. "You're drooling over some seagulls like you've never seen the damn bird. Touch some grass you little shit." The old woman went back to knitting.

Brie just stood there before re-entering her house. Maybe it was better inside.