“Just bring layers,” Emily added. “It gets a lot colder here than in Seattle. Fall in Alder Creek can be brutal.”
“Yeah, you'll want a good jacket,” Nate agreed. “Once September hits, those night games get freezing.”
I nodded, still smiling, but something shifted inside my chest.
September.
I'd never actuallybeenhere in September.
Every summer, every single year from six to sixteen, I'd arrived in early June and left before Labor Day. Before the leaves turned. Before the first frost.
September always happened somewhere else. School started and I was back in Seattle watching the seasons change through city windows.
What if I'm gone before September?
The thought lodged itself somewhere behind my ribs.
Laughter erupted across the table. Nate had said something that made Emily throw a napkin at him, and Abby was covering her mouth trying not to snort, and Evan looked quietly pleased with himself for reasons unclear.
I laughed, too, a beat late, catching just enough of the tail end to follow along. Nobody noticed.
Frank, the diner's owner, appeared at the edge of our table, dish towel over one shoulder, looking like a man with an agenda.
“All right, guys.” He set both hands flat on the table. “I need opinions. Honest ones.”
Emily sat up straight. “Always.”
“I've been testing a new brownie recipe. Dark chocolate, sea salt, a little kick of espresso.” He said it the way a person announces something they already know is good. “First batch just came out. You're my guinea pigs.”
“Yes,” Abby said immediately.
“Absolutely,” Nate said.
Frank pointed at me. “You in?”
Dark chocolate, sea salt, espresso. Obviously yes.
Except I'd been half-present for the last ten minutes, laughing a beat late, reaching for my phone over nothing. The sensible thing was probably to call it a night. Get an early start tomorrow. I had greens to cut, a truck to load, and I'd promised myself I'd be in bed by ten like a responsible adult who had a farmers' market in the morning.
But gooey, delicious brownies.
“Go on,” Frank said. “They're warm.”
“Yes,” I smiled. “Definitely yes.”
He disappeared toward the kitchen, satisfied.
The conversation drifted into whether Frank should add the brownies to the permanent menu, which became a debate about whether the diner menu needed updating at all, which somehow became Emily and Evan disagreeing about whether their mom's lasagna was better than Frank's chili, which was clearly a very old argument with very established positions.
I pulled out my phone. Two hours had gone by already. The market started at eight, but I needed to be up at five to have time to do my morning chores.
One brownie. Then home.
Frank reappeared with a plate. Six brownies, cut thick, still steaming faintly at the edges. He set them in the center of the table.
The smell hit first. Dark and rich, with something underneath it, the espresso, warm and slightly bitter, cutting through the sweetness just enough.
I reached for one.
