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“Sure. The next available time is…” She flicks through the yellowed pages. “February second. Two o’clock. Shall I make the booking?”

“February?” That’s three months away. I lean over far enough to see the page, and there’s nothing written down for the entire month. “You’re sure you don’t have anything else?”

“March ninth?”

“February second will do. Thank you.”

Hazel asks my name and writes it in the book. “We’ll see you then. If you need to cancel, be sure to give the office a call.”

I’ll either still be here, or I won’t.

With a polite thank you, I slink out, defeated by bureaucracy.

Marthe backs out of the kitchen, flour up to her elbows, a wide tray of pie crusts in her arms, as I come through the door.

“Let me grab that.” I set it down.

“Thanks, honey.” She sags against the counter. “Might I ask a favor?”

“Anything.” She could ask me for a kidney and I’d say how many. Which is either gratitude or exactly what Nick thinks it is. I’m deciding it’s gratitude.

“The Fall Festival is tomorrow. Would you be able to help with setting up and take a shift at our booth?”

Marthe asking me makes me feel like I’m a part of her inner circle.

“Happy to.”

“You’re an angel. Let me get my planner.”

She returns with a thick red leather folio and writes out a list, telling me to come back for more when I’m done. Out on the street, I read through it properly. My first task involves picking up a box of free coffee vouchers from Nick.

Trudging down the narrow path to his front door, I reach for the doorbell and stop. I’ve made it my mission to avoid him outside of work hours, and something about turning up at his house feels like crossing a line. My mother would read this as an apology, an admission she was right. With a lungful of freezing air and woodsmoke, I knock.

Footsteps pad down a staircase, and the door swings wide. Nick’s in a thin white T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Hair mussed, like he was asleep. He squints against the watery midday light and rubs a hand down his face. The tattoo on the inside of his left forearm is out in the daylight for once. Circles and maybe a sun, inked in black, and I twist my head to the side, trying to make sense of it.

“Ellery?” He looks me over, checking all my limbs are attached correctly. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think… Late night, of course you’d be asleep. I can come back⁠—”

“It’s fine.” He lets go of the doorframe and rubs his eyes again. It doesn’t seem like he’s been sleeping well either.

Other than my mother, I’ve never met anyone who pushes my buttons so easily, but I’m not here to argue or rehash his opinions of me.

“I’m here to collect…” I make a show of checking the list in my hand to demonstrate I do indeed have a reason for landing on his doorstep. “A box of coffee vouchers you were supposed to get from the printer.”

“Mom said Luca was picking those up.”

“Marthe put it on my list.” I wave the crumpled paper covered in her looping handwriting.

“You don’t have to help with this stuff.” He looks past me, to the street. “Working at the festival isn’t in your job description.”

“I want to help your mom, and the festival sounds fun…”

Then I’m right back in the van, with him telling me not to stay. With him telling me I’m searching for kindness as a way to hide.

“If you don’t want me there, I get it. I’ll do some other jobs on this list and won’t go to the festival so you don’t have to see me. Just deliver the box to your mom, okay?”

I was excited to be part of the festival, but not if it’s a special family thing and this rift between us gets in the way of everyone’s enjoyment. When he doesn’t say anything for what feels like a full minute, I turn around to leave.