The last funeral I'd been to had been my mother's.

Just over a year ago, on a Tuesday near the middle of May, it'd been a day like any other until I received a phone call from my dad with the news. My mom—the woman I'd looked up to and leaned on my entire life—had passed away after an unexpected heart attack. The doctors had said it was caused by a heart condition that'd gone undetected; had given both me and my dad stat after stat to explain how it all had been unlikely, but not impossible.

I hadn't been all that interested in listening, however. All I cared about was the fact that I'd seen her the previous night when I'd visited my parents' house for dinner and there'd be no signs pointing toward her impending death. She'd been smiling. Laughing. Living.

Then less than twenty-four hours later, she'd suddenly been gone.

And similar to today, the town of Neptune Bay had gathered on the sloped, grassy hillside two streets east of the marina to say goodbye.

I'd returned since then of course. Once a month I came to place a small bouquet of flowers in front of her gravestone. To let my words run rampant as I updated her on my life. It was therapeutic, and in the beginning, helped to lessen the grief that had burrowed itself in my chest. Now it simply gave me an outlet to miss her. Because there was no hoping or wishing that would bring her back, and I'd accepted that, but I didn't know if I'd ever fully let go of the speck of sadness that accompanied my memories of her.

Standing no more than a handful of feet away from her resting place, I had to hold back the tears that threatened to fall and control my breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

It took a few moments, but when I finally zoned back into the event at hand, I heard the tail end of the eulogy Liam's brother, Ryan, was delivering.

"...so much I wish you could've lived to experience. I wish you were here to cheer me on next season. I wish you were here to make our family whole again. And most of all, I wish you could've been here to watch Bowen grow up. See him graduate, fall in love, and have kids of his own someday."

I saw his tear-lined eyes fall to his nephew—who stood with his hand wrapped tightly in his grandma's in the front row—and noticed how he paused and swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"He's going to remember how great you both were—how much he was truly loved by his parents—because nobody is going to let him grow up knowing anything different. And when those big events happen in his life, I hope you'll both be watching, hand-in-hand from your front row seat in the sky."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, the words "I love and miss you" quietly drifting through the air before he moved to stand beside his family.

Lifting my hand to my face, I used my index finger to dab at the tears that threatened to escape, not unlike those surrounding me. Because despite the clear, blue sky and calming ocean breeze, nothing could lighten the somber mood that hung over the crowd of people here today—neighbours, friends, and family all gathered in a cemetery to say goodbye to Liam and Thea Nyberg.

Thea had been a transplant in our small town about ten years ago now, falling in love with Liam shortly thereafter, and while the two of us had never been close, we'd certainly been friendly. Hellos when we bumped into each other in town, the odd drink at town events, and considering I'd been her son's kindergarten teacher, there'd been a boatload of conversations between us when she picked him at the end of each day.

But Liam I'd known since I was young. He'd been four years older than me, sure, but most of the kids in town had stuck together. From the playground to the beach, it didn't matter who you were, you were welcome. He'd been smart, a total goofball, and was one of the handful of kids who'd stuck around town into adulthood when others had chosen to flee. We'd been friends. Less so in recent years as his life had become focused around Thea and Bowen, but friends nonetheless.

It had been a shock, to say the least, when I'd heard they'd died in a drunk driving accident, especially in our small town, but I'd known immediately I'd want to pay my respects.

So, standing near the back of the crowd in a black dress, I listened to the speeches, the prayers, and the memories. Watched as the pastor blessed both urns that sat near the top of the hill, near the cliffside and overlooking the ocean, knowing that soon enough those ashes would be scattered into the water below.

It was what they'd both wanted, though that would come once most of the crowd dispersed and only the families remained.

And half an hour later, the crowd did just that. Including me.

Not having driven, I made my way on foot along the shore, humming quietly. The waves rolling in against the sand were soft and rhythmic, and with each step I took towards what the locals considered out downtown, I felt my mood slowly start to lift. All because of this town. The affection I had for Neptune Bay was the reason I'd returned after college. There were no bright lights, skyscrapers, or traffic jams. Instead, it was a closely-knit town where, anywhere you went, you were never a few minutes away from the ocean. The town was a part of me—where I felt the most at peace.

Passing the marina and a few fancier beach houses located right on the water, it took me about twenty minutes to reach my family's store, pushing open the door to hear the all-too-familiar jingle of bells. A bright note in this drab and dreary day.

A mix between a general store and a bakery, Wilma's—named after my grandmother—had been in the family for seventy years. For years my mom had kept things running while my dad acted as a member of the local fire crew, but with her passing and my dad's early retirement and diagnosis a year prior, the business had been left to me—a former teacher with not much of a mind for business.

But I'd stepped up. How could I not?

This place was my family's legacy, and I didn't think I'd be able to live with myself if I'd told my father to sell. Or worse, had left it to wilt away.

So instead of teaching these days, I spent my time here, within the four walls of our quirky town staple located along the boardwalk. There were definitely worse ways to live than being surrounded by the delicious aromas of our homemade sweets and interacting with friendly-faced customers day in and day out.

Speaking of delicious aromas, before the door could even close behind me, I noticed June emerge through the swinging doors at the opposite end of the store that led to the kitchen, a fresh tray of lemon raspberry donuts in her hands.

They were our latest concoction, brought about by wanting to experiment with our offerings as well as increase our selection in time for the annual wave of tourists that visited every summer. A mixture of citrus and sweetness that, if the way we were selling out before noon each day was anything to go by, were an instant hit.

"Oh, hi," June said once she slid the tray into the display case and looked up. A slight sheepish expression graced her features as she straightened out her apron. "Sorry about not staying out front, but I figured since we're expecting a bit of a rush with the funeral, we should have a full stock of fresh treats for everyone. You know—" She bounced on her toes. "—a way to perk up the customers."

The corners of my mouth tugged upward. "June, I've told you so many times, it's nothing to worry about. Especially when you're the only one behind the counter. It's impossible to be two places at once."

Nodding, she mumbled to herself, "Right. Right."

While June was honestly someone I considered a saviour most days, I almost always forgot how young she truly was. Having arrived in town three years ago all on her own, newly eighteen, she'd been incredibly closed off but looking for a place to call home. It'd been my mom who'd taken a chance on her, putting her to work in the kitchen and offering her the studio apartment above the store. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, my mom had told me June showed up each day, doing whatever was asked of her and never blinking an eye. She'd been a model employee as far as I'd known, and after my mom's passing, she'd stepped up big.

While my father and I were grieving, she worked twelve-hour days. Preparing food, handling supply orders, and even finally stepping out from behind the scenes to take orders and deal with customers. She'd done it all despite both of us insisting it was okay to shut down the store for a few days. That the town would understand.

But she'd refused. She had said she wanted to prove to my mom that she'd been right to give her a chance. That she'd been worth the effort.

At which, I'd shed several tears.

She was the definition of a hard worker, as well as a loyal friend, and when I'd taken on the store, I'd spoken to her about taking on more responsibility. She'd proven herself as a whiz in the kitchen and seemed to have a gut instinct about the business, but that wasn't to say she hadn't been hesitant about stepping up. At her core, she was still shy, and at times—like today—it was easy to see when her confidence wavered. But I also knew there was a bubbliness about her that shone when she felt comfortable, and as of late, I'd been seeing it more and more.

"How were things this morning?" I asked, walking past the few tables we had set up indoors and sliding behind the counter. "Was there much of a rush?"

"Not really," she responded. "Like you predicted, the usual early birds came in from about six to eight, but after that there weren't many customers. I only made half our usual morning stock, but made sure to increase this afternoon's." I nodded in understanding, peeking over at the display case to see that it was, indeed, brimming with food to sell. "Oh! And I was able to go through the shelves and the stockroom to make note of what you'll need to order tomorrow morning. I'm pretty sure I got everything, but if you want to double check—"

"I trust you," I said, hopping in to encourage her. "And thank you for doing that, you really didn't need to."

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "There were no customers and all the desserts had gone in the oven, so I figured it was the least I could do to help out."

"You came in at five to start baking, opened, handled the store all by yourself for ten hours, and did this week's order. I think you've pretty much maxed out on your ability to help today."

"Well," she started, a soft pink tinge gracing her cheeks, "I didn't want you worrying about what was happening here while at the funeral."

"And I wasn't, because I knew I didn't have to by leaving you in charge," I replied, bumping her hip with mine as I reached around her to grab my apron. "Speaking of, you've definitely done enough for today, so feel free to head out."

She looked at me carefully, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I know we're expecting a surge of customers. I can stick around and help out."

"I'm sure," I assured her. "You've been here since before the sun rose, so scoot. Skit. Skedaddle."

Stepping back as I waved her away, she laughed. "Alright, but if you need any help, I'm right upstairs."

"Noted," I said with a smile, though I knew I wouldn't be calling her even if we did get slammed. She deserved to take the night and relax, not having to worry about anything other than choosing what trashy reality show to turn on.

Though it was a good thing I'd sent her home when I did, because not even ten minutes later, the beginning of a constant stream of customers started to fill the store. If June would've lingered any longer, I would've never been able to stop her from wanting to help, but luckily, I didn't have to worry about that.

Instead, I turned my focus to the customers, offering everyone a friendly grin as I took their order or checked them out. Cookies, donuts, pastries, and pie all flew off the shelves, the limited selection of beer and wine we had stocked began to dwindle, and a decent number of people chose to pick up the ready-to-cook meal kits we kept stocked in our fridge.

For hours, I was constantly in motion, never faltering a step or noticing as my previously pristine black dress began piling up with smudges despite the apron I wore—which was the downside of coming into work straight from the funeral. I kept things moving, and when the last customer finally big me adieu as the time edged closer to six, I felt like I could breathe easy again.

It'd been over a year, and yet working in the hospitality industry still hadn't quite become 'normal' to me. It was like I was stepping into someone else's shoes—my mother's—and I couldn't help but wonder how long it'd take me to adjust.

Though not one to dwell on the circumstances, I popped open the cash register to start adding up today's bank deposit when I was interrupted by the bell above the front door alerting me of another customer.

It was nobody I knew from around town, and he was easily at least a decade older than me, his short dark hair turning a salt-and-pepper style on the sides. He was dressed quite formally—with black slacks, dress shoes, and a dark blue dress shirt—so I presumed he'd come into town for the weekend to attend the funeral.

As he stepped further into the store, slowly perusing the aisles without any real cause, I glanced over my shoulder to see the clock on the wall read 5:58.

Which meant I was technically still open.

"Hi there," I said politely, grabbing his attention as I nudged the cash register closed. "Can I help you find something? I'm actually just about to close up."

One of his greying eyebrows lifted with surprise. "So early?" he asked skeptically.

Definitely an out-of-towner.

I nodded. "We're the busiest in the mornings and afternoons, and once dinner time rolls around, most folks around here tend to prefer the local bar or restaurants."

"Interesting," he mused. "So, you cater directly to the townspeople then?"

"You betcha, considering they're my most loyal customers."

"Well then, I apologize for the intrusion. I'll keep that in mind for next time." He offered me a crooked smile with a hint of a secret behind it, though I didn't have any time to decipher what that meant as he gestured to the display case. Where one sole blueberry muffin remained. "Any chance I can get that to go?"

"Sure," I responded, ringing him up quickly and dropping the muffin into a disposable paper bag. When the debit machine beeped, approving his card, I handed him his bag and said, "Have a nice evening."

"You as well."

And with the store empty once more, I walked around the counter to the front door, activating the lock and turning the sign on the door to 'closed'. There was leftover pizza calling my name back at my house, which meant getting the deposit sorted quickly so I could fuel my growling stomach.

Figuring out what was up with the mystery man's elusiveness could wait for another day.