I smiled, then typed back.
Madison
Breathe first. Coffee after I pick up Olive from Evie. I will call you around ten.
She answered with a heart and a string of star emojis that made me laugh into my mug.
By eight, I had changed into soft shorts and a knotted tee. I tucked Olive’s favorite cardigan into my tote out of habit, even though the air was already warm. The walk into town took fifteen minutes when I cut through the path along the fence line. Honeysuckle climbed the posts in unruly waves. Birds chirped like static in the trees. I traced the dirt trail with the toe of my sandal and thought about the way Seth had watched me last night when I invited him in. Not hungry, not desperate. Present. Like he had decided that if this was going to be real, it would be built with patience, and not rushed.
The Beanery was busy, even for a summer morning. Evie’s chalkboard menu leaned against the brick wall by the door, letters slanted and cheerful. Inside, the cool air smelled like espresso and vanilla syrup. Bells chimed when I pushed in, and Evie lifted a hand from behind the pastry case.
“Look who survived her big night,” she called, eyes bright with a secret I had not told her, but she somehow knew anyway. “Olive is in the loft. She said she would only come down after she finished frosting her imaginary cupcakes.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “Thank you. For everything.”
Evie rounded the counter and pulled me into a quick hug. “You do not have to thank me. You looked lighter when you left. I decided to take that as a good sign.”
“It was,” I said. The words felt simple and true.
The tiny loft above held a nest of quilts and a basket of picture books. Olive sat cross-legged in the middle of it, hair a soft halo of sleep and sugar. Glitter clung to her cheek in a single star.When she saw me, she scrambled forward on her knees and launched into my arms.
“Mommy,” she said against my collarbone, “we made cookies shaped like flowers and I got to stir the pink icing and Miss Evie let me use the big spoon and I did not even spill.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I am very proud of you. Are you ready to go home and check on our real flowers?”
She nodded fast, then paused, studying me with the seriousness only a child can carry. “You look happy.”
The truth wobbled in my throat. I cupped her face and pressed our foreheads together. “I am.”
Back at the register, Evie slid a paper bag across the counter with a conspiratorial smile. “Three blueberry scones, one for later. No charge. Consider it an investment in romance and carbohydrates.”
I rolled my eyes and tried to pay her anyway. She swatted my hand away. “Go on, before the heat gets mean.”
We took the long way home. Olive told me about her dreams, about cupcakes that floated like balloons, about a cat that lived in the ceiling at the coffee shop, and only came down when you whispered. She picked three tiny white flowers from the edge of the path and tucked them into my braid. When the guesthouse came into view, she broke into a run and beelined for the garden, arms wide like she could hug the whole garden at once.
The main house porch creaked. I looked up and found Seth there with a mug in his hand and a shadow of a smile that made my pulse leap. He lifted his free hand in a quiet wave. I would have gone to him, but Olive shouted that the flowers were thirsty, so I set my tote down and followed her to the spigot.
We worked in the dirt for a while, me with a real watering can and Olive with her dinosaur-shaped one. She hummed a song she made up about sun and soil. The back of my neck was dampened with sweat. Dirt was caked under my nails. In thecorner of my eye, I could feel Seth on the porch, watching me, as if he knew we would circle back to each other in our own time.
We did. When Olive decided the flowers were full, she clapped and announced she needed to draw them immediately. I spread a blanket in the shade and handed her the tin of crayons. She folded herself in concentration. I turned toward the main house and found Seth already stepping off the porch.
He stopped an arm’s length away and searched my face, as if checking for any sign that last night had been a mistake. I let him see every answer I had. He exhaled, long and quiet. The lines at the corners of his eyes softened.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I echoed.
“You sleep at all?” His mouth tipped up like he already knew the answer.
“Some,” I said. “Enough.”
“Me too.”
The awkwardness I had half expected never arrived. We stood with the space of one careful breath between us and looked out over the bed we had planted. A dragonfly skimmed the surface of the birdbath. A single cloud drifted across a high, blue sky.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” I told him. “About not wanting to screw this up.”
His gaze cut to mine. “I meant it.”
