By the time the sun climbed high enough to bake the porch rail, we were halfway to town. The truck rattled down the back road.
I had my planner open on my lap, cross-referencing lists I’d rewritten twice already: replacement hinge oil, and a stop at the town hall to drop off the latest “community improvement forms.”
“You’ve got enough sticky notes in there to label items in the house,” he said, glancing at the rainbow of tabs sticking from the pages.
“They’re color-coded,” I said, flipping one for emphasis.
“You have a note for labeling the notes?”
“Don’t mock the system.”
He didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched, which in Austin language meant I’d scored a point.
Our first stop was Carl’s Hardware, where the air smelled like sawdust and metal and the faint memory of a thousand small-town conversations. Carl waved us in from behind the counter, his cap tilted at an angle.
“Milly! You still saving the town one pet at a time?”
“Trying to,” I said, resting my hands on the counter. “You’ve got that hinge oil we talked about?”
Carl reached under the counter and handed me a small can. “Pulled this for ya this morning. Thanks for helping my wife’s cat from scratching the wall.”
Austin’s eyebrow lifted. “How’d you manage that?”
“Spray deterrent and a laser pointer,” I said proudly.
Carl chuckled. “Also, Mason was lookin’ for you,” he told Austin. “Said he’d swing by the feed store. Something about missing tools.”
Austin’s posture shifted just enough for me to notice, alert but calm. “Thanks,” he said, tucking the information away.
“I’ll meet you there?” Austin asked, already making his way to the door. I got the rest of the items on my list, checked out, and followed five minutes later.
At Everwood Feed & Supply, the scent of hay and molasses hit me before the door even swung open. Austin was talking to an older man with a veteran’s hat on. After he saw me, he met me in the aisle, and we made a beeline for the alfalfa pellets stacked in burlap towers near the counter.
“I’ve got it,” I said, already reaching for a bag.
“You had it,” Austin corrected, easily sliding in beside me. He caught the edge of the sack and hoisted it up. “Now,” he huffed, “I’ve got it.”
“Control freak,” I muttered, brushing dust from my jeans.
“No, gentleman.”
I shook my head, but when he carried it to the counter one-handed, I didn’t argue. Control freak or not, he still had it handled.
Angel rang us up with her usual grin. “Town’s talkin’ about you running the Veterinary Inspection and Livestock Health Screening for Founders’ Day.”
I laughed, sliding my card across the counter. “Yep. Just need the paperwork squared away first. And Dr. Wilson’s blessing.”
Austin glanced at me. “Paperwork?”
“The county requires a temporary event permit,” I said, tucking the receipt into my planner. “Health and safety inspections, liability waivers, all that thrilling bureaucracy.”
“Sounds like your version of a combat zone.”
“Hey, I survived the first one.”
“Barely.”
I gave him a look. “You’re supposed to say I nailed it.”
