A Love In The Small Town

Four

The days in Cloverbrook began to fall into an easy rhythm for Harry. Mornings were spent enjoying the stillness of the cottage, with coffee on the porch as the mist lifted off the fields. He found solace in the simplicity of it all—no rush, no appointments, just time to breathe. And most afternoons, he found himself back at Louis' woodshop.

It became an unspoken routine. Harry would wander down the gravel road, his steps less tentative each day, and Louis would be there, working on some new project. There was no need for fanfare or explanations—just a quiet understanding between them. Harry would pitch in where he could, sanding, hammering, learning how to carve delicate patterns into the wood. Sometimes they'd talk, but often, they worked in companionable silence, both appreciating the absence of expectations.

Harry had to admit he liked it. He liked the feeling of being just a guy working in a small woodshop, where the only pressure came from trying to smooth out the grain on a piece of oak.

A week had passed since Harry first walked into the shop, and today, Louis had decided it was time for Harry to see more of the town. The two of them had finished assembling a rustic table, and as Louis wiped the sweat from his brow, he suggested grabbing a bite at The Bluebird, the local café where everyone in town seemed to gather.

"Trust me, they've got the best pie you'll ever taste," Louis said, smirking as he saw Harry's uncertain look. "It's a small town thing—you can't stay here without trying it."

Harry grinned. "Well, if it's that good, I guess I've got no choice."

The walk to The Bluebird wasn't far, and as they made their way through the streets, Harry noticed that the town seemed even smaller when you were walking through it with someone who knew everyone. People waved at Louis from their porches or stopped to say hello as they passed, giving Harry curious glances. But there was no whispering, no sense of recognition—just mild interest in the newcomer walking alongside one of their own.

Louis seemed completely at ease with the attention, exchanging friendly banter with the locals. "That's old Mrs. Peterson," he said at one point, nodding toward an elderly woman in her garden. "She's lived here longer than anyone. Always has a story to tell if you're in the mood for one."

"And do you ever ask for them?" Harry teased, glancing at the woman as she waved back.

"Not unless I'm trapped," Louis joked, earning a laugh from Harry.

When they reached The Bluebird, Harry was struck by its charm. It was a small, cozy place, with checkered tablecloths and wide windows that let in the afternoon sun. The walls were lined with photos of the town throughout the years, and a small bulletin board near the door was covered in flyers for local events and services. It was the kind of place that felt lived in, like it had seen generations come and go, but never lost its warmth.

They found a table by the window, and Louis greeted the waitress—someone he clearly knew well—with an easy smile. "Two of your finest slices of pie, please, Sophie."

Sophie, a woman in her mid-thirties with bright eyes and a quick smile, winked at Louis. "You know I've always got the best for you, Tomlinson. Who's your friend?"

"Harry," Louis introduced him. "He's new in town. Figured I'd show him the local cuisine."

"Well, welcome to Cloverbrook, Harry," Sophie said warmly. "You're in for a treat. Best pie this side of the county."

Harry smiled, trying to relax into the friendly atmosphere. "Looking forward to it."

Once Sophie left to grab their order, Louis leaned back in his chair, looking out the window at the quiet town square. "So, what do you think of it so far?"

"Honestly?" Harry paused, searching for the right words. "It's different, but in a good way. Everything here feels... slower. Less complicated."

"That's because it is," Louis said with a smile. "People here don't worry about much. Life's pretty simple when the biggest news is whether or not the market ran out of apples."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not sure I've ever lived that kind of life."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "And why not? You've got the time, don't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the question hit him harder than he expected. Did he have time? In a way, yes—he had carved out these months to escape the rush of his usual life. But what about when it was over? When the world came calling again, with its endless demands and pressures? Could he ever truly slow down?

Sophie returned with two plates of pie, interrupting Harry's thoughts. She set them down with a flourish. "Two slices of my famous blueberry. Enjoy, boys."

Harry stared at the pie, its warm crust glistening in the sunlight, and picked up his fork. "Alright," he said with a grin. "Let's see if it lives up to the hype."

The first bite melted in his mouth, sweet and tart, with just the right amount of crunch from the crust. Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and Louis chuckled, clearly pleased by his reaction.

"I told you," Louis said, taking a bite of his own slice. "This place is the real deal."

Harry nodded, savoring the flavor. "Okay, I'll give you that one. This might actually be the best pie I've ever had."

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, watching as the locals came and went from the café. A group of older men sat on the porch outside, playing cards and laughing, while a young couple walked past with a dog, holding hands as they strolled down the street. The simplicity of it all was striking to Harry, and for a moment, he wondered what it would be like to live like this—to have roots in a place, to be part of a community where everyone knew your name and your story.

Louis seemed to sense Harry's thoughts. "It's not for everyone, you know. A lot of people leave this town when they get older. They want bigger things, faster lives."

"Like you?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Louis paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something Harry couldn't quite place. But then Louis shrugged, his expression easy once again. "Maybe once. But I think I've found my place here."

Harry didn't press. He understood the feeling of wanting more, of being torn between two worlds. But for some reason, it felt like Louis had come to terms with his decision in a way that Harry hadn't.

After they finished their pie, Louis paid the bill—despite Harry's protests—and they walked out into the fading afternoon light. The town square was quiet now, with only a few people lingering around the edges, talking in low voices. The warmth of the day had started to cool, and the golden hour cast long shadows over the cobblestone streets.

"Thanks for bringing me here," Harry said as they walked back toward the woodshop. "I think I needed this."

"Anytime," Louis replied, glancing at him. "I told you, this place has its charms."

Harry nodded, feeling a sense of gratitude he hadn't expected. He wasn't sure what it was about Louis, but being around him made things feel easier. Like maybe, for once, he didn't have to carry the weight of everything on his own.

As they approached the turnoff for Louis' shop, Harry paused, glancing back toward the center of town. The small buildings, the quiet streets—it all seemed to glow in the fading light, like something out of a storybook.

"Maybe this place has more to offer than I thought," Harry murmured, mostly to himself.

Louis gave him a small, knowing smile. "You'd be surprised."

And as Harry walked back to his cottage that evening, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—Cloverbrook was starting to feel a little like home.