Milly
By late June, the air smelled like sunshine and wild mint. The ranch had found its rhythm—Austin with his morning patrols, me with my controlled chaos, and half-finished lists.
I stood in the kitchen barefoot, humming along to Frank Sinatra, spooning batter into tins for Janet’s hiking group. The house smelled like lemon and vanilla.
Across the table, Austin’s notebook lay open, neat columns of dates and numbers marching in perfect lines. I didn’t have to read them to know they were about fence repairs and supply inventories. My notes, on the other hand, were mostly reminders.
“Are you talking to your planner again?” he said without looking up.
“I find her very understanding.” I tapped the page with my pen. “Unlike some who—” I looked over at his notebook and cringed, “—practice the muggle version of the Dark Arts: math.”
That earned a small twitch at the corner of his mouth—the Austin version of a smile. That tiny twitch shouldn’t have tugged like it did. But it did.
“Inventory, not voluntary math.”
I poured the rest of the batter and grinned. “Still the Dark Arts.”
The oven beeped before he could answer. I pulled the muffins out. Perfectly golden. Not burned. A miracle.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are they edible?”
“Better than edible.” I tore one open, handed it to him. “Go on. Be impressed.”
He bit in slowly, considering like a critic. Then: “Good.”
That single syllable hit like a standing ovation. I did a small shimmy of triumph. Austin huffed out a laugh, and the sound filled more of the room than the morning light.
Before I could thank him, the screen door banged open, and Sue Carter swept in like a weather front. “Morning, my darlings!” she sang, plopping a basket of fresh lemons and five pounds of sugar on the counter. “Don’t panic, I come bearing sugar.”
“Hi, Sue,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“You’ll want to start planning your next pop-up clinic, Milly dear,” she said, waving a notepad as if it were an official decree. “After how smooth the last one went, you simply must do another before Founders’ Day. People are still talking about it.”
“Everwood already has a vet, remember?”
“Yes, well, not for long,” I opened my mouth, but Sue kept talking like she didn’t just drop a bomb. “Nevertheless, you finished it with flair.” She winked, dropped off a recipe card for lemonade, and breezed back out with a farewell that seemed faintly like a diversion.
When the screen door stilled, Austin looked at me over his coffee mug. “Another pop-up?”
“Apparently.” I blew out a breath. “Sue makes it sound easy. I barely survived the first one.”
“You did more than survive,” he said quietly. “You impressed them.”
Something warm fluttered in my chest. Compliments from Austin were rare, but becoming more frequent.
I turned to hide my smile, fiddling with the stack of sticky notes by the stove. “Well, I guess I should addplan chaos sequelto the list.”
“Addbackupwhile you’re at it.”
“Backup?”
He set down his mug. “Chaos needs logistics.”
“Fine,” I said, scribblingBackup: Austinat the top of the note. “But you’re in charge of the logistics.”
“Deal,” he said.
Outside, Sherlock bleated when butting the fence didn’t work like usual. The sound made both of us laugh.
