I always thought small towns had two speeds: slow and stop. But Sugar Fork, USA—population nosy—manages to feel both sleepy and wide awake at the same time. As I ease my car down Main Street, the same strip I haven’t seen in twenty-five years, the town greets me with a new coat of paint and the same old gossip. I can almost hear the whispers drifting from behind lace curtains and screen doors: Ella Brooks is back. Didn’t she leave with a bang? Didn’t she win some big-deal award for a chocolate soufflé? What’s she doing here now? The storefronts look both familiar and strange, like someone snapped a Polaroid of my childhood and tinted it with Instagram filters. Lottie’s Florals still spills with geraniums and ivy, though the “o” in Lottie’s burned out years ago, so the sign just reads L ttie’s. The drugstore still boasts the same sun- bleached sign promising Sodas & Sundries. Across the street, a boutique trumpets Shabby Chic with Southern Sass in glittery paint. And overhead, banners flap from lamppost to lamppost, proclaiming Sweetheart Bake-Off Coming Soon! complete with red hearts, icing swirls, and what looks suspiciously like Mayor Caldwell’s face photo shopped into a chef’s hat.
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