Just Adrian

SmallFavors

For a long moment, I just stood there in the middle of the cabin, the key warm in my hand. I probably should’ve felt ridiculous; a billionaire, renting a drafty little cabin with a stove older than I was, walls that creaked like they were holding on by a thread. But I didn’t. All I felt was…free.

I dropped my bag on the worn couch and wandered over to the nearest window, pushing it open. The air rushed in, sharp and clean, carrying the scent of pine needles, damp earth, and a faint sweetness of wildflowers that I hadn’t noticed existed outside a city park. No exhaust fumes. No concrete dust. No noise except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. For the first time in years, I could actually breathe.

That evening, I settled into the chair by the fireplace, a half-empty cup of coffee warming my palms. Outside, crickets sang, punctuated by the whisper of the wind through the trees. My phone sat silent on the counter, forgotten. No assistants checking in, no cameras, no obligations waiting to pull me away. Just me.

I thought of Amanda, of her smile when she told me not to argue, and for a moment, I felt the kind of calm that usually only came in dreams. I leaned back, listening to the fire crackle, letting the warmth seep into my chest, imagining what life could feel like without the endless chase, the constant pressure.

Could this quiet, this simple life, be more than temporary? Could it actually be enough?

The thought didn’t scare me. It tempted me. It whispered of mornings without alarms, of evenings spent watching the sun dip behind the trees, of conversations that didn’t feel like transactions. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to run. I wanted to stay.

And maybe, just maybe, I could.

…………………………………………………………………………….............……………………............………..............................

The first morning in the cabin hit me like a shock of cold water. Literally. The shower sputtered awake with a blast that could’ve been melted snow straight from the ridge. I swore under my breath, teeth chattering, but there was something oddly satisfying about it. Like the cabin was testing me, asking if I really meant to stay.

I passed. Barely.

After a quick breakfast of burnt toast (the toaster and I hadn’t come to an understanding yet), I stepped outside, mug of coffee in hand. The air was crisp, sharp with pine and damp earth, the kind of cold that pricked at your skin but made you feel alive. Down in the valley, I could hear the town waking up, a dog barking somewhere, a truck rumbling down the far road, the faint hammering of wood.

It was quieter than I’d ever known. Quieter, and louder at the same time, like the kind of silence that fills every corner so completely you can hear your own heartbeat echoing back at you.

In the afternoon, I found myself taking a stroll on Main Street with no destination. Each step was deliberate, slower than in the city, as if the town itself was asking me to breathe. The bakery smelled like heaven, a mix of sugar, yeast, and butter, and I couldn’t resist stepping in.

“Morning!” the woman behind the counter chirped. Her apron was dusted with flour, hair pulled back in a messy bun, eyes bright and curious. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Adrian,” I said, offering a small, hesitant smile.

She studied me for a beat, then grinned. “Maggie. Don’t think you’ll get away with sneaking into Edinburgh quietly. Folks talk.”

“I’ve noticed,” I admitted.

She laughed, brushing flour from her hands, and handed me a paper bag with a still-warm cinnamon roll inside. “On the house. Consider it a welcome gift.”

I reached for my wallet. “I should…”

“Don’t,” she cut me off with a teasing wink. "Save your money for when you come back tomorrow. Because you will come back tomorrow.”

I walked out grinning, the cinnamon smell trailing behind me, and for the first time in ages, I felt… light. There was something about this place. People weren’t guarded. They weren’t calculating. They just gave. Without expecting anything in return.

By the time I wandered past Amanda’s salon, I wasn’t even surprised when the door swung open and she stepped out, broom in hand.

“Back already?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Depends,” I said, holding up the bag. “Do you take bribes in the form of cinnamon rolls?”

Her lips twitched, leaning on the broom handle. “Depends. Are they Maggie’s?”

“They are.”

“Then yes. Always yes.”

I handed her the bag, watching as she peeked inside and broke off a piece. She looked happy. She put it in her mouth, then gave me a look that was half-amused, half-skeptical.

“You’re settling in fast for someone who said he was just passing through.”

“Guess I’m good at adapting,” I said with a shrug.

Her eyes softened, but before I could say more, a woman rushed up to the salon door, panic written all over her face.

“Amanda, thank God you’re here. The dryer in my place went out, and I’ve got three heads of hair under foil right now. Can you spare one of yours?”

Without hesitation, Amanda handed me the broom and rushed inside to grab a portable dryer. She returned a minute later, dragging it out to the woman’s car.

“You’re a lifesaver,” the woman said before driving off.

Amanda dusted her hands together and gave me an innocent smile. “Small-town rule number one: everyone collaborates when something breaks.”

I held up the broom. “Guess that makes me part of the system now?”

“You’re holding a broom,” she said with a straight face. “You’re officially employed.”

I laughed, surprised by how easy it came. “Should I expect my salary?”

“Payment comes in gossip and pie. Take your pick.”

That night, back in the cabin, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she teased without trying, the spark in her eyes when she wasn’t hiding behind professionalism. I’d come here to disappear, to strip away all the noise of my life. Instead, I was finding myself leaning into it, the warmth, the connection, the slow pull of something I hadn’t allowed myself to want in years.

And with it came the guilt trip.

Because Amanda didn’t know who I really was. Not the real me. She didn’t know that the man standing on her porch, sweeping her steps, buying her cinnamon rolls, wasn’t just “Adrian.” She didn’t know that behind the easy smile, the casual banter, was a life that existed in the headlines and boardrooms she’d never walk into.

Every day that passed, the secret grew heavier, but strangely, the pull of the town, the people, and Amanda’s effortless kindness made it worth carrying. Here, in Edinburgh Ville, I could hide in plain sight, but at the same time, I was discovering a version of myself I hadn’t met in years. A version that laughed easily, lingered in conversation, and wanted things beyond wealth and control.

And somehow, even with the guilt gnawing at the edges of my thoughts, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere fast.