“Excuse me?” An uncertain voice interrupted.
Rosie blinked, awareness flooding back. A woman stood at the edge of the booth, eyeing Rosie's herb bundles with interest.
“Sorry.” Rosie wiped her eyes quickly, that bright smile returning as she turned to greet the customer. “Hi! Looking for anything specific?”
“I wanted to ask about your basil...”
I released Rosie's hand, stepping back to give her space. She launched into an explanation about varieties and uses, her enthusiasm infectious. The woman nodded along, asking questions, picking up bundles to smell.
I led Pudding to a shaded corner of the booth where he promptly curled up, exhausted from his big moment. Then I moved behind the table, scanning Rosie’s setup. Bouquets needed wrapping—simple enough. I grabbed the brown paper and twine, working through the pile while Rosie finished with her customer.
“That'll be twelve dollars.”
The woman handed over cash, tucking her purchases into a tote bag. “Beautiful flowers. I'll be back next week.”
“I'll be here.” Rosie waved as the customer left, then turned to me. Her eyes softened when she saw the wrapped bouquets I'd lined up. “You didn't have to?—”
“I know.” I secured another bundle with twine. “But we're a team now.”
Her smile could've lit the entire valley.
The mountains rose around us, solid and unchanging. The market hummed with life, familiar voices calling greetings. Rosie's shoulder brushed mine as she reached for more twine, and I caught her hand, threading our fingers together.
This, I thought. This is what home feels like.
Not the clinic or the town. This. Her hand in mine, Pudding dozing at our feet, the promise of Sunday mornings and Friday nights and all the ordinary, extraordinary moments in between.
Settling, finally, where we belonged.
Epilogue
Rosalie
“Rosie!What's taking you so long?”
“Just a second!” I called back, swiping one last coat of mascara across my lashes. The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized from six months ago—cheeks flushed pink from the crisp October air, freckles more pronounced after a summer of farm work, eyes bright with the kind of happiness I'd forgotten was possible.
I bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time like I used to as a kid.
“There she is.” Walt beamed from the kitchen doorway, his arm wrapped around Barbara's shoulders. “Thought you'd fallen asleep up there.”
“Just making myself presentable for the Falcons' big game.” I grabbed my jacket from the hook by the door. “Can't have people thinking I don't know how to dress for Friday night lights.”
Barbara laughed, patting her silver hair. “Honey, I've been to plenty of high school football games, and trust me—nobody's looking at anything but the field.”
“Speak for yourself,” Walt said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I'll be looking at the prettiest lady in the stands.”
I made gagging noises. “You two aredisgusting.”
“We earned that,” Walt said, squeezing Barbara's shoulder. “Took us sixty-eight years to find each other. We're making up for lost time.”
“Don't make me sound ancient, Walter Sullivan,” Barbara said, swatting his chest playfully.
I grabbed my purse, checking for my phone and wallet. Through the front window, I could see Cal leaning against his truck, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Pudding sat beside him, all legs and floppy ears now—a far cry from the terrified puppy who'd trembled in Cal's truck six months ago.
“You ready?” Walt asked.
“Almost.” I pulled on my jacket, then paused. “Wait, are you two sitting with us, or are you doing that thing where you disappear to the concession stand for an hour?”
