Erica walked gently beside Alex and the girls, her hands tucked behind her back. It made space for him and the girls. Most eyes went to Alex or to the twins first. That suited her. She could watch without being watched in return.
He stopped at a ribbon stall. The woman behind it had a pin between her teeth and two spools in her hand. Bettie leaned over the table with both palms flat. Katie bounced on her toes and tried to touch everything at once.
“I want the blue one,” Bettie said, certain.
“Red one,” Katie said, louder.
“Ye can both be heard,” Alex said. “One at a time.”
They fell quiet at once, and for a peaceful moment, none of them spoke. Then, Bettie tried again. “Blue for me.”
“Red for me,” Katie said, softer.
Alex looked at the woman. “Ye heard the wee rascals. Can we get what they asked for?”
The woman nodded with a bright smile, then slid a pair free and set them down where small hands could not steal them. “These will last,” she said. “A good weave. I have them in multiples if ye like.”
“Nae today,” Alex said. “These two only.”
Bettie and Katie looked at each other as if a secret plan had failed, and Erica bit back a smile.
Alex crouched to their height so he could see their faces. “One rule,” he said. “If ye speak at the same time, I hear neither. I willnae split me ear in two.”
“Aye,” they chorused.
“Good,” he said, then rose.
That was what unsettled Erica the most. Not the noise or the eyes. Not the way vendors bowed, or the way old men measured him as he passed. It was the trust. The quick, deep trust that sat in the girls like a fixed star.
He knew how to speak to them, and they knew that to them, he was just their father. It did not matter how renowned or revered he was. All they saw was their father. Not Alex Murray or Laird MacMillan. They sawDa.
Alex checked the knot at the back of Bettie’s head and straightened the ribbon tail with a careful hand. He then brushed dirt from Katie’s knee with the pads of his fingers. Erica watched as he did it without ceremony. He did it because it was what came next. A father’s habit, not a trick.
Soon, the girls were two ribbons full as they walked across the square once again.
The normalcy stirred an ache deep inside her. She could only imagine what these people thought, seeing them all together. The fact alone slipped past the hard shell she had built and sat where it could do damage.
As they passed by a fruit stall, a boy with a crate tripped and caught himself on the edge. Alex reached out and steadied the load with one palm.
“Mind the floor,” he said, not sharp, only clear.
The boy nodded fast and tried again.
They moved on. A woman with herbs tucked thyme into Erica’s hand before Erica could pay. “For the lassies,” she said.
Erica paid anyway and thanked the woman, after which she asked for her name.
The woman’s face lit up at the display of familiarity. “Bless ye,” she said, and turned to the next buyer with better cheer.
Erica watched Alex navigate the market with nothing but ease. He stopped to talk to people at almost every stall, and at some point, it became utterly tiring. She could see, even in the girls’ eyes, that the enjoyment they had envisioned for this outing was beginning to dry up because their father wouldn’t stop talking to every person he knew. Which was almost everyone.
Katie tried to slip away, and Erica watched as he caught her wrist with two fingers.
“Close,” he said, and she did as instructed.
Erica was amazed by the ease of it. He did not press his size into the square. He did not need to. People opened a path because it felt natural to open it.
She reached for a basket she had bought on one of their stops and folded the thyme inside. It felt like she was holding proof of something simple. Something she was clearly never going to get.
