The transformation is remarkable. Gone is the stiff, formal child who sat at breakfast in her starched pinafore. In her place stands a little girl who looks ready to run and play and get delightfully dirty.
"Shopping is fun," she says, spinning so the mirror catches her from every angle. "Can we shop every day?"
I laugh, imagining Cameron's reaction to daily shopping expeditions. "People don't shop every day, Posey. It's a special thing people do when they need clothes."
"Not true," she says with the confidence of someone stating an obvious fact. "Mrs. Bellows says that when she gets her paycheck on Fridays, she goes shopping because she needs a pick-me-up."
Oh boy. She's four years old and already understands retail therapy. "Well, some people shop for that reason too. But I don't think it's the best reason. Spending money doesn't always make you happy."
Her little face scrunches in concentration. "Then what makes you happy?"
"You make me happy. And singing makes me happy too."
"Sing something now!" she demands, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
"Not in the dressing room," I tell her, laughing at her enthusiasm. "There's a time and place for singing."
We pay for her outfits—she's chosen three pairs of jeans and an assortment of bright tops. Posey insists on having everything wrapped in colorful tissue paper with ribbons, not realizing it costs extra.
On our way down Main Street, I suggest ice cream for our shopping spree celebration.
"Yes! Orange sherbet, to match your blouse. And strawberry for me because of my pink top."
Once the vendor delivers our treats, I turn to him. "Could you take our picture with our matching cones?"
"Sure thing," he says, snapping several shots of us holding up our treats like trophies.
"Will you send it to Daddy Cameron?" Posey asks.
"Good idea," I say, taking a selfie of us, our faces squished together, our pink and orange dessert merging.
Then I text Cameron the pictures with the caption: "Shopping mission accomplished!"
"Tell Posey she's my little fashionista," he texts back immediately.
"Your little girl is a winner," I return.
"So are you," he messages back.
Something about those three simple words makes my heart flutter in a way that has nothing to do with ice cream or shopping trips.
Posey tugs on my jeans. "Do we have to go home now? Or can we check out Main Street?"
"Sure. Let's keep walking," I say, taking her sticky hand in mine.
As we walk toward the small park at the end of Main Street, I can't shake the feeling that something significant has shifted today.
Not just Posey's wardrobe transformation, but something deeper. The way she called me mommy so naturally. The easy domesticity of our first real morning routine. And oddly, even the text communication we shared.
It all feels as though we're building something real together.
Something that might be harder to walk away from when my time with Cameron and Posey is over.
CHAPTER 24
CAMERON
Edison and I walk through downtown Nantucket at a rapid clip, parting sunburned tourists as we press forward through the crowded streets.
