“Cucumbers are icky, that’s fact.”
June bit back a smile. Two and a half weeks with a seven-year-old had taught her that Lila had an argument for everything,delivered with calm logic that would serve her well in a courtroom someday—or in politics, like her mother.
Like her mother.
She pushed the thought of Senator Brandt aside and held open the door.
The shop was busy for a Saturday morning, a line snaking back from the counter where a young woman with blonde hair in a ponytail was efficiently working the espresso machine. Lina, according to her name tag, was one of the regular baristas there.
“Good morning!” Lina asked when they reached the front. “What can I get you today?”
“Iced oat latte and apple juice, please,” June said.
“Absolutely,” Lina said. “Anything else?”
“A cake pop,” June said, glancing at Lila, who grinned widely. “What color do you want?”
“Pink one,” Lila said decisively. “With the sprinkles.”
They sat down at a small table by the window while Lina prepared their drinks. The shop hummed with conversation—a group of older women in the corner discussing a book club selection, a young couple sharing a muffin, a man in a rumpled suit typing furiously on his laptop.
“Miss Hollis?” Lila was stirring her apple juice with the straw, watching the ice cubes spin. “Why do you like cooking so much?”
The question caught June off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You cook all the time. Even when you don’t have to. And you always look happy when you’re doing it.” Lila tilted her head. “My mom doesn’t look happy when she works. She looks… frowny. But you look happy when you cook.”
“I guess… cooking is how I understand things,” June said slowly. “When I’m stressed or confused, I cook. When I’m happy, I cook. It’s like—” She searched for the right words. “You know how some people write in journals? Or run, or paint? Cooking is my version of that. It’s where I figure things out.”
Lila considered this. “What are you figuring out now?”
Your mother. This summer. What I’m supposed to do with my life.
“Lots of things,” June said. “That’s the nice part about cooking, and life. There’s always more to figure out.”
“I thought adults already figured things out,” Lila said.
“Maybe some do, but I’m not very good at being an adult,” June said with a grin.
Lina appeared with the iced latte and cake pop, pink and covered in rainbow sprinkles, and Lila’s attention shifted immediately. June watched her eat it with methodical bites—even her indulgences were controlled—and felt a familiar ache in her chest.
She’s so careful. So watchful. She shouldn’t have to be, at seven.
“Ready to go shopping?” June asked when the cake pop was gone and the glass of juice empty.
“Ready.”
Fourth of July was less than a week away, and Main Street was already decorated with flags and bunting, red-white-and-blue banners stretching between the old-fashioned lamp posts. June had promised Lila they could pick out supplies for a celebration—sparklers, decorations, maybe ingredients for a festive dessert.
They wandered through the small shops, Lila examining everything with her usual intensity. At the general store, she selected a pack of star-shaped cookie cutters. At the craft shop, she found patriotic ribbon for a wreath she wanted to make. At the boutique on the corner, she fell in love with a red sundress with white polka dots and tiny blue flowers on the hem.
“Can I get it?” she asked, holding it up against herself. “For the Fourth of July?”
“Let me check the price.” June looked at the tag and winced internally—it was more than she’d spend on a dress for herself—but Melissa had been clear that June should use the household card for anything Lila needed. And Lila so rarely asked for things for herself.
“We’ll get it,” June said. “But you have to promise to wear it, not just look at it.”
“I promise.”
