Chapter 22 #2
“Every Saturday, rain or shine,” I said. “Walt and Ruth started the farmers market thirty years ago, and it stuck. Feels like half the town comes through.”
She nodded slowly, and I could see her cataloging it all—the laughter between neighbors, Mrs. Durbin passing a cookie into a kid’s hand, the way folks hung around just to chat. It wasn’t just about vegetables. It had never been.
For me, it was routine. For her, it looked like a revelation.
Mrs. Durbin waved us over the second she spotted us. “You two—don’t just stand there gawking. Grab those crates before the lettuce wilts.”
Before I could so much as shrug, Lily had already marched forward, wedges clicking against the packed dirt. “On it,” she said brightly, hefting one end of a wooden crate. She wobbled a little under the weight, but her grin didn’t falter.
I sighed and grabbed the other side before she dropped it. “You really don’t have to—”
“Shh. Let me,” she cut in, tilting her chin up. “I’m practically a professional crate hauler now.”
I bit back a smile. The girl could barely sweep a stall without sneezing herself inside out, but she was nothing if not determined.
When we set the box on the table, Mom looked up from bundling radishes, her face softening with recognition. “Well. So this must be Lily. Hi, dear. I’m Ethan’s mother.”
Mom had a habit, one she insisted wasn’t a habit, of getting attached to anyone she thought might be good for me. Even when I was thirteen, she’d save the biggest slice of pie for whatever girl she’d decided was “sweet on Ethan.”
Lily smoothed her hair and stuck out her hand. “Oh my gosh! It’s so nice to meet you. Your son’s been very patient putting up with me.”
Mom’s laugh rang out, warm and mischievous. “Oh, I imagine it goes both ways.” Then she shot me a subtle, pointed look—the same one she used before she’d ask if she should “set an extra place at dinner—just in case.”
Carol leaned in, sliding a few bills into the cash box. “I’ll say this much—I love having Lily next door. She’s already given me fashion advice twice this week. Makes me feel like I’m living beside a movie star.”
Lily flushed, laughing as she adjusted a stray strand of hair. “Oh, please. You’d look good in anything, Carol.”
But I didn’t miss the way her shoulders straightened at the compliment, like it hit deeper than she wanted anyone to notice.
“Good,” Mom said, passing her a bundle of wildflowers. “Then you can help me make these look pretty. The crowds don’t just want food. They want charm.”
Lily’s eyes lit, and she jumped right in, arranging flowers in a chipped pitcher like it was her own stage. And as she chatted with Mom about colors and balance, I realized she wasn’t just watching the community this time. She was slipping into it.
Carol leaned toward me, wiping her hands on her apron, voice pitched low like Lily wouldn’t notice. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
I glanced at Lily, who was fussing over a daisy stem like it was the most important decision of her life. “She’s… loud,” I muttered, but even I heard the lack of bite behind it.
Carol smiled knowingly. “Loud isn’t always bad. She’s got a way of making people feel brighter just standing next to her. I think this town could use that. Maybe you could too.”
I shifted, suddenly more interested in the stack of berry cartons beside me. “She’s just here for the fair.”
Carol smiled, soft but sharp. “Maybe. But sometimes people show up for one reason and end up staying for another.”
Before I could answer, Lily held up the pitcher of wildflowers, beaming. “Ta-da! Willowbrook chic, right?”
The sight of her radiant smile ignited something deep inside me, a longing to be the one to make her smile like that—even if I wasn't sure how to start.
Mom clapped her hands, delighted. Carol winked at me.
The next hour blurred into the kind of work I’d done a hundred Saturdays without ever thinking twice. Only this time, Lily was in the middle of it.
We unloaded baskets of cucumbers and tomatoes from the back of Walt’s pickup, lined up jars of honey on the gingham-covered tables, propped hand-painted signs so the wind wouldn’t knock them over. Lily dove in without hesitation, sleeves pushed up, asking questions and laughing as she went.
Mrs. Durbin fussed with her crates of bread until Lily suggested stacking them at an angle, “so they look irresistible.” Sure enough, two customers walked off with loaves five minutes later.
Mom moved back and forth with armfuls of flowers, Carol kept the cash box running, and neighbors stopped in a steady stream.
Old Mr. Bodin argued over the price of honey before buying twice as much, a gaggle of kids darted between tables chasing a runaway balloon, and Sarah brought Ava by just to sample peach preserves.
And Lily? She treated every person who approached like they were the most important one at the market.
Bright smile, quick joke, leaning in with that confidence she wore like armor.
But every now and then, I caught something else flickering through—like when a little girl shyly handed her a daisy, and Lily froze for half a breath before tucking it behind the kid’s ear.
I told myself I was just keeping an eye on things, making sure she didn’t knock over a stack of berry flats. But the truth was, I kept watching her because she was… different here. Less polished, more present. Like Willowbrook was rubbing off on her, whether she meant for it to or not.
By the time the last carton of eggs was tucked into Lily’s tote and the honey jars she’d insisted on buying were balanced in her arms, the sun was leaning heavy in the late afternoon sky. She laughed at herself, wobbling a little under the load. “I might have gone overboard.”
“You think?” I arched a brow, already reaching to steady the jars before they toppled. “I’ll pull the truck around so you don’t have to haul all that down the drive.”
She didn’t argue—too busy letting one of the little girls slip a bouquet of wildflowers into her elbow. I shook my head, turned for the barn lot, and found Walt leaning against the fence rail, watching the whole scene like he’d seen it a hundred times before.
“Good seein’ ya, kid,” he said, watching Lily with a soft grin. “She’s got a spark. The town needs that.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “She’s different.”
“Different’s not bad.” He shifted his weight, joints stiff but steady. “A place like Willowbrook can get set in its ways. Someone who asks questions, looks twice at things—we could use that. I like her. So don't scare her off, Calloway.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Not sure she’s the type who scares easily.”
Walt’s eyes twinkled, like he knew more than he was saying. “Good. Then she’ll do just fine.”
I eased the truck up by the porch. Lily was still out front, hugging Mrs. Durbin like they’d been friends for years. She laughed, head tipped back, and for a second the whole yard seemed brighter just for it.
I cut the engine, let the quiet settle, and rested both hands on the wheel. “You seeing this, Dad?” I muttered, low enough that no one but me could hear.
It had been days since I’d said anything out loud, but the habit was still there. “You’d have liked her.”
She crouched to fix a little boy’s cap, then stood, waving like she belonged here. My throat tightened.
“She’s a handful,” I went on, thumb rubbing the worn groove in the steering wheel. “Anyway. I’ll keep showing her what Willowbrook’s made of. You’d like that part, I think.”
I drew in a long breath, let it out slowly. Lily spotted me then, lifting her hand in a mock salute before juggling her haul toward the truck.
“Guess that’s my cue,” I said quietly, a little smile tugging at my mouth. “Thanks for sticking around, Dad. Even if it’s just in here.”
I tapped the wheel once, like I always did, and climbed out to meet her.