Asher:At the south rows. Fuel’s fine. Don’t worry.
I smirked at the “don’t worry” part and sent back. . .
Me:Keep your laces tied.
He sent a picture of tied boots and a middle-finger emoji made of pears. That actually made me laugh.
By ten, the sidewalk woke up: contractors, strollers, coffee regulars who didn’t need to say their order. I ran the oven while Maya kept the line moving. The new kid almost pulled a trayearly; I lifted an edge with a spatula and shook my head. “Color first. Smell second. Timer last.”
Across the street, Sandy taped a smallFestival Hourssheet inside the flower shop window. Harmony carried a crate to the counter and started trimming stems. She didn’t glance over. I didn’t either. We were neighbors. That was the deal.
A middle-aged guy in a fleece took his coffee and stared at our glass like the street owed him a story. “Hard to trust that flower shop,” he muttered to nobody in particular. “Bellerose’s kid.”
I set a to-go lid down a little harder than normal. “Hard to trust rumors,” I said casually. “Sandy runs a tight shop. What do you need, milk, sugar?” I asked, trying to keep my cool but I still felt my jaw pulsing.
He flushed, shrugged, and got out of the way. Sandy popped in ten minutes later with a pint jar of greens for our counter. “Good morning,” she greeted. She set the jar beside the register and lowered her voice just a touch. “We’re fine. But if you hear anyone spinning stories, redirect them to me, not Harmony.”
“I’m already there,” I replied. “Want coffee for the walk back?”
“Two smalls, double-double,” she ordered. “You know us.”
I poured them, added two blueberry scones to a paper bag, and handed it over. “For your morning mood.”
“Consider us bribed,” she teased, her grin quick and warm.
The morning kept a steady rhythm as a high-school teacher bought muffins for a rehearsal. A landscaper ordered four cinnamon knots and called them “crew fuel.” Somewhere after nine, aLaurentian Community Trustguy stopped on the sidewalk, held his tablet up to check the little QR sticker they had us place near the door, took a picture of our street side, and moved along. Boring, the way it should be. When the line cleared, I caught Harmony outside sweeping a few leaves fromtheir step. A woman I didn’t recognize walked by, slowed, and said, just loud enough, “You belong in prison with your father.” Then she kept going.
Harmony didn’t lift her head. She didn’t get a rise. She finished the sweep, stepped inside, and got back to the counter like she didn’t hear a thing. My jaw went tight anyway. I boxed a shortbread I didn’t need to box and set it down harder than necessary. “Want me to take a treat across?” Maya asked, reading me. She clearly heard the comment too.
“Later,” I said.
At eleven, Dad walked in. He did what he always does, checking the exits, corners, faces, then leaned on the counter like a normal customer.
“Bean texted,” he said, referring to my younger sister’s nickname. “Don’t let anyone talk you into a roof you can see from space. These guys sound fancy but good.”
I wanted to laugh at how my dad was getting involved in my build like I couldn’t handle it alone.
“I want a roof that keeps rain out,” I quipped. “That’s my whole list. Nothing fancy, just something sturdy and mine.”
His hand landed on my shoulder, solid and brief. “You look better.”
“I stole an extra hour of sleep last night.”
“Keep it,” he urged, and headed out.
My phone buzzed.
Isabelle:Contractor A’s good with orchards and radiant floors. Contractor B is careful but slow. Luc says A. Also, eat something green.
I snapped a picture of the pint jar Sandy left.
Me:Handled.She attached a laughing emoji.
Isabelle:I’m so excited for the wedding. Elyna called and said they decided on a chocolate cake.
Me:I would know, Thorne’s Bakehouse is making it.
She replied with a dagger emoji and a heart. I grinned into the oven. I couldn’t believe my baby sister was a married woman. Where was the time flying? I was always so absorbed in work and volunteering that it just felt like my life was passing me by.
