“Good,” he said, casual but too pleased, like herding me toward answers was a hobby.
I laughed. “What’s with the twenty-questions routine? You writing my schedule down for posterity?”
“Just interested,” he said. “It’s nice hearing you plan things instead of triaging disasters.”
That silenced me for a moment. He wasn’t wrong. Itwasnice.
After breakfast, he suggested lunch in town—“you’ve earned a meal you didn’t cook”—and I let him drive. We wandered through Everwood’s ordinary bustle, eating sandwiches at the café, browsing the farmers’ market, chatting about nothing important. He asked about a dozen small things: which honey variety sold best, if I’d ever consider expanding the clinic, what kind of dog I’d get if I ever got one.
It felt easy, unhurried. Familiar.
By late afternoon, I realized the day had disappeared somewhere between laughter and errands that never quite mattered.
As we turned down the gravel road toward home, the sun was melting into that golden hour that made everything look like a photograph. The barn sat at the end of the drive, shadows long and soft. Light spilled faintly through the cracks in the big doors.
I frowned. “Alan left the lights on.”
Austin slowed the truck. “Maybe he came back.”
“Not like him to forget. And—” I glanced around—“where are all the cars?”
He parked near the fence, setting the brake with deliberate calm. “Why don’t you check before the electricity bill gives us a heart attack?”
I stepped out, boots crunching gravel, the air sweet with cut grass and something smoky I couldn’t place. Inspector darted ahead, tail up like an exclamation point.
The barn doors creaked when I pulled them open.
Light poured out—warm, golden, dazzling.
“Surprise!”
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. The barn glowed with string lights and wildflowers, a banner stretched high across the rafters:Happy Birthday, Milly!
Cassie was up front, grinning like she’d just engineered world peace. Doc Wilson lifted a lemonade jar in salute. Mrs. Winslow dabbed at her eyes, muttering something about “finally using the good frosting.”
My throat went tight. “You guys?—”
Austin’s hand settled at the small of my back.
“I—” I turned to him, still stunned. “You absolute sneak.”
“Efficient,” he said again, smiling like he’d been waiting all day to get caught.
The barn hummed with life. Music from the loft drifted over the chatter, soft and bright. Mason jars full of lilacs and daisies lined the tables, and the smell of barbecue mingled with fresh-cut hay and sugar.
Cassie threw her arms around me. “You really didn’t know?”
“If I did, do you think I’d have shown up with barn dust in my hair?”
She laughed and spun me toward the crowd. “Everwood loves an excuse to feed people. Sit before Mrs. Winslow makes you give a speech.”
Mrs. Winslow was already tapping a spoon against a lemonade glass. “Attention! Before the ice melts, a few words for our resident miracle worker!”
“Resident what now?” I muttered.
“Quiet,” Cassie hissed. “It’s happening.”
Mrs. Winslow beamed. “When Doc Wilson started talking about retiring, we all worried our critters would have to drive themselves to Red Hollow for checkups. Then along came our Milly—fresh, fearless, and already regretting agreeing to work in a town full of nosy old women.”
