The Curious Case of Emma Dreadmore

In the small town of Rustleville, where the scent of fresh-baked pies drifted over white-picket fences and even squirrels seemed polite, lived a woman named Emma Dreadmore. Emma was not an adventurer, nor was she someone you’d find in the thick of a crowd. She was, however, an expert in the art of being terribly afraid. And, coincidentally, she had a heart as big as her fears.

Emma’s fear list was substantial, laminated, and tucked safely into her handbag: heights, public speaking, automatic car washes, mayonnaise (yes, mayonnaise – don’t ask), and above all, falling in love.

Love, she’d been told, was a slippery slope to heartbreak, and heartbreak was something she’d rather avoid, like public WiFi or unlicensed roller coasters. Despite her worries, Emma’s heart had a habit of fluttering over things. Puppies, for instance, made her chest ache with an overwhelming urge to hug them while simultaneously fretting over their chances of contracting rare, fictitious dog diseases. Even flowers in the park evoked a mixture of adoration and terror: their delicate beauty touched her deeply, but what if one of those delicate beauties concealed a wasp?

Her friends called her a romantic with the brakes on. But Emma knew she was simply ‘prepared’. And she might have lived out her days as Rustleville’s most cautious baker if it hadn’t been for an invitation from the library board to take over their monthly storytelling event.

When the email arrived, Emma’s heart began its usual somersault routine. Speaking in public was on the list, but so was reading, and Emma loved reading almost as much as she feared a microphone. After a lengthy pep talk to herself (and a call to her therapist, who assured her that breathing exercises were indeed worth her while), she agreed to fill in.

The day of the event arrived, and Emma stood behind the podium with all the confidence of a leaf in a strong wind. Her audience consisted of exactly six small children and Mrs Fribble, an octogenarian who’d misplaced her reading glasses but enjoyed any excuse to attend a community event.

As Emma opened her book and began to read aloud the tale of "Barnaby the Brave," she felt the icy grip of anxiety begin to loosen, just a little. The children leaned forward, eyes wide, as she brought Barnaby’s adventures to life. By the end of the story, they were laughing and applauding, and Mrs. Fribble had even given a small cheer.

For the first time, Emma felt not just relieved, but happy. So happy, in fact, that she forgot all about her fear until the door opened and he walked in.

Now, he didn’t burst into the room like a gallant knight, but rather in a very sensible manner: with a bag of books he’d just checked out and a gentle smile. His name was Max, a recent newcomer to Rustleville who had a knack for remembering everyone’s names and wore woollen scarves like an art form (think knee-length 'Doctor Who' style ).

And while Max did not know it, he had just become the single most terrifying thing in Emma Dreadmore’s world.

He looked directly at her, and she felt her stomach lurch in a way that suggested both love and gastrointestinal distress. She managed a wobbly smile, and he waved before settling into a seat. What she didn’t know was that Max had been hearing about Emma Dreadmore for weeks: how she was one of Rustleville’s finest bakers, how she’d singlehandedly hosted last year’s pie-eating contest when the original host got the flu, and how she was as sweet as a lemon meringue but as elusive as a butterfly.

Max had always admired women who carried themselves with grace and humour, so naturally, he felt himself drawn to Emma. But what he couldn’t anticipate was the lengths she would go to avoid him.

Over the next few weeks, Max became something of a regular at the library storytelling hour, and while the children and Mrs Fribble welcomed him warmly, Emma’s reactions were a bit… mixed. She would hurry through the stories, half-worried she’d mispronounce a word and half-panicked that Max would make eye contact with her again. To make matters worse, he began visiting her bakery, greeting her with a warm “Hello, Emma” that made her brain fizzle like champagne bubbles.

The bakery became a minefield. Max would order a Danish, Emma would flush, accidentally give him a scone instead, apologize profusely, and then offer him a free cookie. This dance continued until Mrs Fribble, sensing the palpable tension (more like sensing an opportunity for matchmaking), invited Max to a potluck she happened to know Emma was catering.

Emma arrived at the potluck, clutching a massive tray of brownies and fervently hoping she could drop them off and vanish. But as fate would have it, Max arrived at the exact moment she was unloading them.

“Need a hand?” he asked, picking up the tray before she could refuse.

Their eyes met, and Emma felt that now-familiar cocktail of terror and affection bubble up inside her. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “I have a list.”

Max blinked, clearly puzzled. “A list?”

“A fear list,” she clarified, already cringing. “It’s, um, it’s sort of long. Very long. And public speaking was on it, but I took a chance, and… here I am.” She was rambling, but something about his smile made it bearable.

He chuckled. “Well, I don’t have a list, but I’ve got a fair amount of fears myself. Like, uh… dancing in public.”

Emma smiled. “Dancing?” It wasn’t a fearful laugh but an empathetic one.

“Terrifying,” he nodded solemnly, grinning. “But I’ve been working on it.”

Emma stared at him, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, remembering her therapist’s advice: embrace your fears, one small step at a time. So she whispered, “Would you… maybe like to have coffee sometime?”

Max’s face lit up. “Only if you let me order first. I’m afraid of complicated coffee orders.”

Their laughter mingled, and Emma realized something that startled her more than Max’s woolly scarves or his perfect smile. Love, in all its scary, unpredictable splendour, had somehow crept into her heart without her permission. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

As they made plans for their first date, Emma could feel her fear list dissolving, replaced by something else entirely: hope. And while she might never conquer mayonnaise or remember to close her windows during automatic car washes, she found a strange thrill in knowing she was on her way to facing the greatest, most wonderful fear of all.