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I look away first, pretending sudden interest in the carved animals near the edge of the table.

Lucy picks up a little wooden otter painted dark brown with tiny carved whiskers. “He has pockets,” she whispers.

The otter does, in fact, appear to be wearing tiny, painted overalls.

June leans forward confidentially. “That’s Bernard.”

Lucy looks up immediately. “He has a name?”

“All important woodland citizens do.”

Lucy starts giggling, the kind that bubbles out unexpectedly and keeps going once it starts. I glance down at her laughing into Bun’s fur and feel warmth spread through my chest.

“I’ll take Bernard,” I say immediately.

Lucy stops giggling, and her head snaps toward me. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You don’t have to.”

I have to swallow once before answering her. “Sweetheart. I want to.”

Her fingers tighten around the otter as she beams at me. “Thank you, Aunt Laurel,” she says politely.

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

June starts wrapping the toy in brown paper while Lucy continues happily examining the rest of the display.

That’s when a man I recognize as Wayne Calder appears behind June and presses a kiss against her temple casually enough to suggest they’ve done it a thousand times before.

“Hey, Wayne,” she says with a smile.

He’s tall. Broad. Ruggedly handsome, with grease still faintly staining his hands despite an obvious attempt to wash it off. He carries a coffee tray in one hand and Lily balanced against his shoulder with the easy confidence of a man completely comfortable with babies.

“Morning,” he says, giving me and Lucy a lop-sided smile. Lily spots Lucy then, and, as if to entertain her, snatches Wayne’s baseball cap from his head with shocking speed and hits him in the face with it.

Wayne retrieves the hat. “Tiny outlaw,” he says, looking unreasonably proud.

Lucy stares at Lily, clearly entranced.

Wayne notices and offers her a solemn nod. “Don’t let the rosy cheeks fool you. She’s dangerous.”

“She tries to eat books,” June adds.

“Only political thrillers,” Wayne says. “She’s got standards.”

Before I can process any of this, another man appears, tall, broad, and rangy with luxurious dark hair. He’s carrying three pastries wrapped in pink paper and walking with a swagger that suggests he’s moments away from either flirting outrageously with the next woman he meets or causing a highway pileup.

Possibly both.

A young boy, presumably Evan, trails beside him, gamely lugging two overflowing paper bags that are obviously too heavy for him.

“That looks scarily like child exploitation, Fletcher,” June says, relieving the boy of the bags.

“He volunteered,’,” Fletcher replies with a mischievous wink. “Hard work builds muscles and character.” He goes to ruffle Evan’s hair, but the boy darts away with a grin.

"You don't have to prove you're stronger every Saturday, son," Wayne tells Evan.