Sawyer hasn’t seen it yet.
But he will.
After the opening, we’re going to take a drive. Not away. Not out.
Just… through.
He wants to show me a piece of land he’s been working on. Said it has a porch big enough for painting, and a window that catches the morning light like forgiveness.
For once, I didn’t ask how long we’d be there.
Because I already know I’ll stay as long as it feels like truth.
Harper
The bakery opensin twelve minutes.
Yes. A bakery.
It started with the kitchen drawer Sawyer fixed. Then the sourdough starter Willa named "Yeast Witherspoon.” Then the list June made of every single person in town who missed Iris’s lemon bars.
Now we have a schedule, an espresso machine, and a line out the door on Saturdays.
And I still have my planner.
But it holds different things now.
Lily’s school calendar.
Willa’s gallery schedule.
Grant and June’s ridiculous “date night rotation.”
Weekly dinners on the porch.
A blank page every Sunday to do absolutely nothing but rest.
Sometimes I wake up and wonder how I got here.
But then I smell cinnamon.
And I hear laughter.
And I remember—I didn’t fall into this.
I chose it.
All of Us
On the lastwarm night of the season, we gather on the porch.
Lily’s in the swing with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn. June sits cross-legged on the floor, sketching the way the light hits the windows. Harper’s curled up with a book, one leg tucked under her, reading aloud a passage we all laugh at but never remember the next day.
And Willa?—
Willa leans forward with her Polaroid and says, “Okay. One more.”
We pose.
