I pivot right on the spot, my wet heels slipping all over the linoleum floor, just to be certain there's a door behind me and not, in fact, a time-travel portal. Because this place...

The art-deco chandelier, the glass display full of pastries, the dated appliances –it all screams 50 years ago. If walls could talk, well, I'm sure these ones would have great stories about the Nixon administration. Even the walls smell old, like those of some ambiguous rec center or the basement of your grandmother's house, laden with years' worth of dust and germs and stale waffles.

A large coatrack is positioned beside a waiting bench. Taking a hint from the brown-bag colored Seat Yourself sign, I slide into a dingy-in-a-charming-way booth, stowing my suitcase beneath the table and safely out of sight. I'm not sure I'm ready to call attention to the fact I'm from out of town. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion the suitcase is irrelevant. Taking a look around this place, not only do I stick out like a sore thumb –what with my 21st-century wardrobe and unwillingness to abandon my phone even though it's nothing more than a $1000 paperweight at this point –I also get the feeling everyone else knows... everyone else.

"Hiya, hon." An older woman appears at my table. Ellen if you believe the nametag pinned to her mauve apron dress.

"Hi," I smile.

"You must be new to town," she says, smiling.

"What gave me away?"

"Oh, hon, I know everyone that lives between here and the next train station."

"Right," I nod, feeling my cheeks blush and hoping she doesn't ask why I'm here.

"What can I get you?" Ellen asks, eyes raking over the disheveled mess I am.

"A coffee, please. With cream," I add, peeking over her shoulder and doubting very much they have anything but a powdered cappuccino machine back there.

No crème brulée latte for me tonight.

I stare out the window, watching passersby on the cobblestone, watching them laugh and talk as their warm breath creates clouds around their heads. I relish needing to ever leave this cozy diner.

Which reminds me... I need to find some place to stay tonight!

"Coffee, hon," Ellen says.

The tiny ceramic mug warms my hands.

"Do you happen to know the closest hotel or–"

"Hotel?" She almost laughs. "You won't find a hotel around here."

"Motel then?" I tilt my head, glancing between Ellen's exasperated face and the town square. "Bed and Breakfast?"

"Holly House Inn's what you're looking for," Ellen says, picking up my individual creamer cups.

"Yes, yes," I say. "That sounds perfect. Is it close?" I open my phone out of habit.

"About two blocks down there, in that direction," she says, pointing to the right. "Turn right and then it's on the left. A crooked little street named Hollow Lane."

Holly House on Hollow. Sharvi would be having a field day right now. Even I have to admit, it sounds made-for-movie.

"Thank you."

"'Course, you'll be lucky to get a spot now. Really fills up around the holidays. How long you in town?"

"Just one week," I say, stirring my taupe coffee drink.

"Anything to eat with that?" Ellen asks, nodding at my mug.

My eyes drop to the menu Ellen dropped off when she first greeted me. The prospect of having shelter has calmed my nerves and made me hungry, apparently.

I order a grilled cheese and tomato soup combo. It's easy to people watch while I eat –plus it helps keep my mind off tomorrow. I am excited to explore the town again after all these years and looking forward to even seeing the old farm. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a tad anxious about meeting the lawyer. I have no idea what to expect! Will I just be handed the key and sent on my merry way?

I'm not adult enough for this!

Ellen waltzes by my shabby booth holding a plate of oven-roasted turkey and potatoes. No doubt the Thanksgiving special I saw advertised on the door poster. I pass my time rereading the email from Schruter & Brown, Pine Valley Law. I flip through my most recent photos and even brave opening a new Notes page to jot down a few story ideas. Something about a girl walks into a diner...

Ellen introduces me to an elderly couple that sits in the booth next to mine. They come in once a week. Regs, she called them. I read the flyer propped against the napkin holder. It lists all the dates for upcoming holiday events in town. There's a mini Thanksgiving parade, a tree-lighting (because, of course), some fundraisers, reindeer rides, a cocktail making class –you get it.

At some point, a lowkey shady-looking man comes to collect takeout. I can't see his face behind his dark green hoodie, but I notice how large he looks. I meet Mae, a young waitress about my age who works the front counter. (She's twinning with Ellen in a dusty mauve dress that's 100% from this century).

After an hour, once my plate is empty but I'm feeling appropriately stuffed, I decide it's time to pack up. Ellen hands me my coffee in a to-go cup.

"I called ahead from the landline. Holly House is expecting you," Ellen says.

"Thank you again!"

"Not a fuss!"

Ellen insisted she call to reserve me a spot and I eventually gave in.

"Goodnight."

I leave Pine Star Diner –the toasty warmth and the waffle-scented walls –and enter into the cold night.

Town Center, or just town as I'm going to start calling it, is desolate. I am talking creepy ghost town inside a snow globe desolate. Considering it's only 7 PM, I was expecting a larger crowd.  I wander two blocks right, turning at the winding side street. A hanging lantern casts a glow over the antiquated street sign.

Hollow Lane.