Tessa shaded her eyes and turned in a slow circle, taking it in. The wonder on her face was unguarded in a way that made her look younger. Less burdened.
"It's not like Chicago," she said.
"No," he agreed. "It's not."
"People look at each other here. They actually make eye contact."
"Small town. Hard to avoid it."
She turned to face him, and the sunlight caught the gold in her hair. "Thank you. For agreeing to let me stay. I know it's not what you wanted."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's three days. I'll survive."
"Still. You didn't have to."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Instead, he nodded toward the street. "You need anything else in town?"
"Maybe tea." She smiled at herself, like she knew how small that sounded. "And laundry detergent. I can pick both up later."
"Tea's at Harbor Bean." He pointed down the block. "Detergent at the market. We'd need to walk; parking's impossible right now."
They walked. The crowd parted around them, and Brian found himself matching his pace to hers, slowing down in a way he didn't usually do. She stopped at a jewelry booth, running her finger along a row of silver pendants with pressed flowers inside. She didn't buy anything, but she looked at them like they meant something.
At the bulletin board outside the bookstore, she paused to read a flyer. Turquoise paper, bold black letters. A charity concert on the green next Saturday. Come sit with us by the water.
She touched the corner of the paper with one finger, the way you might touch something fragile.
"Thinking about going?" he asked.
"I might." She let her hand drop. "If I'm still here."
"You could be." The words came out before he could stop them. He wasn't sure what he meant by them, and from the look on her face, neither was she.
An older couple waved from across the street. The woman's hair was snowy white and pulled back in a tidy bun. The man wore suspenders and carried two paper bags like they weighed nothing.
"Brian!" the man called. "You still coming Saturday to look at that railing?"
"Yeah, Bill. After noon."
"Bring your drill," the woman added. "He swears he doesn't need help, but I don't want him on a ladder."
Brian's mouth tipped up before he could stop it. "I'll bring the drill."
The woman's gaze cut to Tessa, curious and warm at once. "Who's this?"
"A friend," he said, surprising himself with the word. "Tessa. She's staying a few days."
"Welcome to Copper Moon." The woman smiled like she meant it. "I'm Ruth. Don't let him forget to eat lunch. He gets mean."
Bill snorted. "I do not."
"I didn't mean you, Bill. I meant Brian." Ruth's hand slipped into her husband's elbow. "The man needs to eat."
They moved on, their voices fading into the crowd. Brian watched them go, watched the way Bill's hand covered Ruth's where it rested on his arm. Fifty years of marriage, probably. Maybe more. The kind of partnership that looked effortless because they'd put in the work to make it that way.
"You help them a lot," Tessa said. It wasn't a question.
"Sometimes." He started walking again. "Bill built half these porches forty years ago. Knees don't like ladders anymore. So I help when I can."
