She was cutting across the park with a canvas tote slung over her shoulder, hair loose, sweater sleeves pushed up like she’d been busy and forgot to be anything else. She slowed when she spotted us, lifting a hand in a small wave.
“Hey,” she said, stopping near the bench.
“Hey,” I replied.
Tilly skidded to a halt in front of her, eyes bright. “We went tothreestores,” she announced. “Daddy is fixing the fence because Lois keeps trying to escape, and also he’s thinking about buying her a crate, but he feels bad about it.”
I closed my eyes. Briefly.
Eliza’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a lot of information.”
Tilly nodded. “Lois chewed up a shoe once. But it was an accident.”
“It wasnotan accident,” I muttered.
Eliza laughed, real and warm, crouching to Tilly’s level. “What kind of shoe?”
“One of Daddy’s good ones,” Tilly said solemnly. “Not the running one.”
Eliza winced in sympathy. “That’s tragic.”
“She also snores,” Tilly added. “And Daddy talks to her like she’s a person.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay.”
Eliza looked up at me, smiling. “I talk to my coffee machine. I think you’re safe.”
Tilly seemed pleased by this common ground and immediately launched into a detailed explanation of our house—how Lois liked the backyard but didn’t understand fences, how I cooked but sometimes forgot the importance of ketchup, howwe were having grilled cheese for dinner again “because it’s a comfort food year.”
I let it happen. Mostly because stopping her would’ve taken effort I didn’t have.
Eventually, Tilly darted back toward the slide, satisfied she’d shared everything she knew.
Eliza stayed. “She’s amazing,” she said quietly.
“She is,” I agreed. “Thank you.”
Sunlight caught in her hair as she smiled at me, and I stayed on the bench, watching Tilly climb like the world was nothing but possibility. Lois would probably chew something. The fence would get fixed eventually. And for once, the unfinished parts didn’t feel like failures.
They felt like proof we were settling in.
Eliza lingered instead of leaving right away, shifting the tote higher on her shoulder. Up close, I noticed the details I always did—the soft sweater in a chocolate brown that brought out her eyes, the way her hair was half-tamed and half-defiant, like she’d run out of time and decided not to apologize for it. She looked tired, but in a way that made me want to offer her a chair and something warm, not in a way that dulled her. If anything, it made her feel more real.
“Heading in?” I asked, nodding toward town.
“Yeah. The Coffee Cabin,” she said. “My grandma opened this morning. I woke up with a headache, and she staged a full takeover.” Her mouth curved. “She’s dramatic, but effective. I’m better now.”
“Good,” I said, meaning more than just the headache. “I was going to ask if you were okay.”
She smiled at that—small, but genuine. “I am. Thanks.”
Tilly reappeared long enough to announce, “Grandmas fix everything,” before racing off again.
Eliza laughed softly, watching her go. “She’s not wrong.”
We stood there for a beat, the sounds of the park filling the space between us—laughter, the squeak of swings, leaves stirring overhead.
“I should get going,” Eliza said, though she didn’t move yet. “But… good luck with the fence.”
