She thrusts the tray up for inspection. “My carrot soaps. They’re sweating and losing their shape.”
Sure enough, the soaps look like they’ve given up on life. “Okay. Let’s move you closer to the shade. I’ll get Henry from the bakery to help reorganize your table.”
She lets out a shaky breath and follows me as I point her toward a better spot. Once she’s settled, I keep moving through the festival, making mental notes about which booths need umbrellas, where the crowd is pooling too tightly, and where the music is a little too loud for anyone with functioning ears.
By the time I circle back toward the main walkway, the bakery booth is already swamped. It makes sense. Their booth looks like the place everyone wants to hover around, it’s warm, busy, filled with sugar and men who know how to work with their hands. I’ve been here long enough to know exactly how women talk about Spice Spice Baby in group chats.
Mark is in full performance mode, telling someone an animated story with enough hand gestures to qualify as exercise. Chris is frosting cupcakes so quickly I’m half convinced there’s magic involved. Jonah is slicing sourdough like he’s conducting a meditation class. Henry’s charming a line of customers like he’s personally responsible for their happiness.
But it’s Liam who draws my eyes first.
He’s focused on a tray of pastries, his sleeves are pushed up, his hair is a little unruly, and when he glances up and sees me, his smile shifts from polite to something deeper.
I feel it everywhere.
I start walking toward him, but I don’t get more than two steps before something small collides with my hip.
“Charlotte!”
Maisie throws herself at me with full enthusiasm, her forehead is dusted with pink frosting, which tells me she’s been left alone with Chris or she decided her head deserved a treat.
“You came!” she says, grabbing my hand like she owns me now.
“I told you I’d be here. It looks like you’re having fun.”
“I had one cupcake,” she says proudly. “Daddy said one, but I think he forgot how numbers work.”
I lower my voice. “I won’t remind him.”
She grins so wide it practically squeaks and pulls me toward the back of the booth. When we stop near a stack of bakery supplies, she digs into her tiny backpack with dramatic flair.
“I made you something.”
My chest softens immediately. “You did? Can I see?”
She hands me a folded paper stiff with glue. I open it carefully, and my heart stumbles.
It’s a picture of the three of us holding hands in front of the bakery. I'm wearing a crown, Liam has a cape, and Maisie is covered in glitter.
“This is beautiful,” I say, my voice catching a little. “Thank you.”
“It’s us,” she says simply. “I wanted you to have it because me and daddy like you.”
I swallow. “He does?”
She nods, completely confident. “He smiles differently when he sees you, not a regular smile, a squishy one.”
“A squishy smile,” I repeat, trying not to laugh.
She attempts the expression. It’s… intense. I’m not sure what emotion it’s supposed to be, but I adore her effort.
“I’m going to keep this,” I say. “Forever.”
“You can,” she says proudly. “It’s not even sticky anymore.”
I have questions about why it was sticky in the first place, but I decide not to follow that thread. Before I can ask anything else, someone calls for help from the front of the booth and Maisie darts away to assist like she’s part of the staff.
I’m still holding the drawing when I hear footsteps behind me.
