“I’m glad you’re here,” Melissa said softly.
“I’m glad I’m here too.”
Their shoulders were still touching. June could feel the heat of it, the gentle pressure, the way neither of them had moved apart even though there was plenty of room on the porch.
This is dangerous, she thought.This feeling, this closeness—it’s going to hurt eventually.
But she didn’t move away.
And neither did Melissa.
Chapter 9
Fourth of July
Melissa
Saturday, July 4
The stage at Redwood Hollow’s Memorial Park was draped in bunting, red and white and blue fabric catching the afternoon breeze. Melissa stood behind the podium, microphone in hand, delivering a speech she had memorized—gratitude for the community, pride in their shared values, hope for the future. The words came automatically, polished by repetition, while her eyes scanned the crowd for two familiar faces.
She found them near the back, beneath the shade of an old oak tree. June in a white sundress with tiny red flowers, her hair loose around her shoulders. Lila beside her in the polka-dot dress she and June had bought last weekend, bouncing on her toes with barely contained excitement.
“—and so on this Independence Day, let us remember not just the freedoms we celebrate, but the responsibilities that come with them. Thank you, and happy Fourth of July.”
Applause rippled through the crowd. Melissa shook hands with the mayor, posed for photographs with the city council, accepted congratulations on the infrastructure bill’s progress from constituents who had opinions about broadband access they were eager to share. She smiled until her cheeks ached, nodded until her neck was stiff, and all the while she was aware of June and Lila waiting at the edge of the park, patient and unhurried.
“Senator Brandt?” David appeared at her elbow. “The Rotary Club president wants a photo, and then the Herald is hoping for a quick statement about the festival.”
“Five minutes. Then I’m done for the day.”
“But the Chamber of Commerce—”
“Five minutes, David.”
He retreated, and Melissa finished her obligations with ruthless efficiency. Photo with the Rotary Club. Thirty-second soundbite for the Herald about community spirit and small-town traditions. A final wave to the crowd before she extracted herself from the stage area and made her way across the grass.
June saw her coming and smiled—that warm, easy smile that Melissa had been cataloging without meaning to. The way it started in her eyes before reaching her mouth. The way it made small lines appear at the corners of her eyes. The way it felt, inexplicably, like coming home.
“You survived,” June said.
“Barely.” Melissa crouched down to Lila’s level. “How’s my favorite constituent?”
“I’m not a constituent. I’m seven.”
“You live in my district. That makes you a constituent.” Melissa straightened. “Even if you can’t vote yet.”
“Politics is boring,” Lila declared. “Can we get ice cream now?”
“After the parade.” Melissa glanced at June. “Did you find a good spot?”
“We have a blanket under the oak tree. Prime viewing location.” June gestured toward the main street, where barriers were being set up along the parade route. “It starts in about twenty minutes, if you want to grab a seat.”
They walked together through the crowd, Lila between them, her hands reaching up to hold both of theirs. Melissa’s chest tightened at the casual intimacy of it—the three of them linked together, moving through the festival like any other family.
We’re not a family, she reminded herself.June is an employee. This is a job for her.
But it was getting harder to remember that.
