“Cunningham,” a familiar voice called. Maddox waved from the coffee cart, sunglasses pushed into his hair, grin wide. “Did you finally decide to join the land of the living on a Saturday morning?”
“Something like that,” I said.
He ambled over and looked between the three of us with unmasked satisfaction. “Well, would you look at this? The family parade. Cole, you look happy. Olive, you look like a sugar bandit. Cunningham, you look less like a haunted house. I approve.”
Madison laughed and shook her head. “Do you approve of anything without teasing first?”
“I believe in balance,” he said, already buying his second espresso. “Also, I heard rumors. Are the rumors true?”
Madison arched a brow. “Which rumors?”
“That you two made it official in the domestic sense,” he said, lowering his voice just enough to be theatrical. “No pressure. You can tell me to get lost. I will not leave, but you can tell me.”
Olive beat us to it. “We are staying at Uncle Seth’s. Forever. We are a trio.” She held up three sticky fingers as proof.
Maddox pressed a hand to his heart. “A trio. I love the certainty. Congratulations, Little Boss.” He tipped his chin at me. “Good for you.”
“Good for all of us,” I said, and I meant it.
We were two stalls down when Blair and Greyson appeared through the crowd, a bag of tomatoes in his hand and a bouquet of sunflowers in hers. Blair took one look at us and grinned like she had been in on the secret from the beginning. Which she had.
“I knew it,” she said, passing the sunflowers to Olive. “For your room.”
Olive accepted them like a queen receiving her crown. “I will give them compliments so they grow brave.”
Greyson shook my hand and clapped my shoulder. “You look happy, Seth. It suits you.”
“It feels like it suits me,” I said. He nodded as if I had just confirmed something he had always known.
We reached the honey stall, and the old man in the straw hat called Madison by name, called Olive darling, then handed me aspoon dipped in the darkest honey I had ever seen. “Buckwheat,” he said. “For sore throats and biscuits.” We bought a jar. Olive wanted the kind in the tiny bear bottle, so we bought that too. She tucked it into the tote with serious care.
The string band finished tuning and slid into a soft waltz. Kids chased each other around the maple, and a few couples turned slowly under the leaves. Madison caught my sleeve, almost shy.
“Dance with me,” she said.
I am not a dancer. It is not in my bones. Work had always been steps and lines and measurements, not music and sway. But she was looking at me with that smile that loosened every knot in my chest. I set the tote on a bench and held out my hand.
We turned under the shade like we had done it a hundred times. Olive plunked down with her cinnamon roll and watched us with a quiet sort of delight, eyes round, cheeks smeared with sugar. The band shifted to something faster, then drifted back to slow again. I kept my hand at the small of Madison’s back, felt the warm press of her palm in mine, and forgot about the crowd. Her cheek brushed my shoulder. The scent of her shampoo rose up, and the world dimmed to the color of shade and sun.
“Look at us,” she murmured, not teasing, only full of quiet wonder. “We make this look easy.”
“It is easy,” I said. “With you it is.”
Her eyes brightened. I kissed her temple without thinking. It felt like the most natural movement in the world.
We wandered again once the band took a break. A boy with a lemonade stand convinced Olive that his lemons were the juiciest in the county. She drank with both hands on the cup and a little shine on her mouth. We stopped at a table where a woman sold handmade soaps that smelled like rosemary and sea salt. Madison lifted one to her nose and smiled. I bought it for her and she tucked it into the tote like a secret kept safe.
Near the square’s far edge, a contractor from a job site caught my eye and asked for five minutes. Madison told me to go ahead, that she would take Olive to see the herb pots. I spoke with the man about lead times and joists, about a client who needed to hear that patience now would mean fewer problems later. The practical part of my brain woke up and did its work. When I turned back, I saw the two of them at the herb table. Olive was naming every plant by smell and getting three wrong in a row. Madison laughed and corrected each guess with a gentle touch to Olive’s shoulder. The morning slid into my chest and found a permanent place to sit.
By late morning, the heat rose off the bricks and the crowd thinned. We carried our bags to a shady patch of grass and sat. Olive built a fairy picnic out of clover and a bottle cap. Madison stretched her legs and crossed her ankles, the paper of the flower bundle whispering against her skirt. I leaned back on my hands and watched them, content in a way I had not trusted for years.
“You know what I want to do this afternoon?” Madison asked, eyes half closed against the sun. “I want to put those zinnias in a jar on the kitchen table, and I want to slice peaches, and I want to read on the porch while Olive makes up a game that has a thousand rules.”
“I can ensure all of that happens,” I said. “The porch is ready for rulemaking.”
She tipped her head toward my shoulder until it rested there. “Good.”
Olive popped up, serious again. “Can we get muffins at The Beanery, please?”
