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The answer lands strangely hard in my chest. She says it with the same certainty adults use when they’ve already accepted discomfort as part of the decision.

I push my hair back from my face. “Okay then. We’ll go.”

Lucy visibly brightens.

Her expression opens slightly around the edges, enough warmth slipping through to make my heart skip inconveniently.

Then she says, very seriously, “You look weird.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

By nine-thirty, we’re heading into town. It’s not raining, there’s coffee coursing through my bloodstream and approximately forty seven emergency snacks in my bag, because caregiving has transformed me into a woman prepared for natural disasters at all times.

The market stretches across Main Street beneath strings of hanging lights and faded banners that flutter softly in the breeze. Booths line the sidewalks, overflowing with flowers, baked goods, handmade quilts, jars of jam, wood carvings, and things involving artisanal soap that probably cost more than small appliances.

Today, Redwood Run smells invigoratingly of fresh bread, hot sugar, strong coffee, and damp cedarwood.

People drift between stalls carrying paper cups and bouquets, while acoustic guitar music floats faintly from somewhere near the café patio.

Lucy walks beside me, clutching Bun with one hand and my coat sleeve with the other.

“There,” she says suddenly.

I follow her gaze toward June’s stall.

Wooden toys cover the tables in neat little rows beneath hanging garlands of dried flowers. Tiny painted foxes, trains, bears, rabbits wearing sweaters expressive enough to imply emotional histories.

June stands behind the display wearing an oversized cream cardigan and knitted hat, one of the twins resting snugly against her chest in a sling.

The second she notices Lucy, her whole face lights up.

“Well, look who came back,” she says warmly when we arrive.

Lucy actually smiles.

Fully.

June notices too because her expression softens immediately. “You brought Bun,” she notes approvingly.

“He likes markets.”

“He has excellent taste.”

I glance toward the sling. “Which twin do you have there?”

“Noah today. Lily’s currently committing crimes with Wayne somewhere near the coffee stand. Evan volunteered to help Fletcher carry some boxes about ten minutes ago. I'm still deciding whether that was kindness or an excuse to disappear for a while.”

“Evan or Fletcher?”

“Probably both.” June laughs then sighs fondly. “Lily learned how much fun it is to remove people’s hats this week and now nobody’s safe.”

Lucy edges closer to the table, studying the toys with careful concentration.

There’s less fear in her movements lately. There’s still caution and careful observation, but not that same constant bracing tension she arrived here carrying.

June catches me noticing and offers me a small, understanding smile over Lucy’s head.