As a newly divorced writer, I have the freedom to stop for ice cream whenever I want. This tiny town has more oddball art galleries than I've seen anywhere. Quirky coffee shops galore. The indie creamery makes their own ice cream from scratch and even offers gelato for dogs. I stroll down the marina street, enjoying my cone, window shopping at yet another quirky gift shop, when a tiny logo catches my eye.
This is a Hallmark Village.
If they take me alive I will be assigned a golden retriever, a fleece jacket, and a coffee shop before the sun goes down.
My glasses have turned darker in the sun. That'll help hide the dread in my eyes.
I straighten my Front Line Assembly hoodie. Protective camouflage, declaring "You don't want this one."
If I can make it back to the car, I'll be fine.
Keep licking the cone. Walk steady.
The guy sweeping the sidewalk in front of the used bookstore gives me a smile. "Good morning!" Giving a cheery greeting will invite conversation. A cold shoulder will invite attention. I settle for a noncommittal nod and a "Hi."
I'm almost past when the bookseller says, "Hey, what's that on your shirt?"
My heart plunges like a brick.
The hoodie has slipped open, exposing the T-shirt from the Capybara Cafe petting zoo. That's not just sweet, it's saccharine.
I pretend I don't hear. Keep moving. Don't let my feet speed up. If I panic, they'll be on me.
Behind me someone mutters, "We have a Grump."
The car is only a block away.
I can make it.
But between us, the coffee shop door opens.
Four men come out. One says, "I don't know where we're going to find another marina volunteer."
My stomach knots.
They've sent the Cinnamon Rolls after me.
#microfic