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For now, I'll take the distraction.

By the time we get to Redwood Run Market, half the town seems to have had the same idea.

June spots us immediately and waves from her stall. Across the square, Evan can be seen helping Casper Britt wrestle a stack of boxes twice his size. Nearby, Casper’s twin Cyrus is explaining the piece of reclaimed wood in his hands to a man who appears to regret making initial eye contact. Marco is circulating, handing out hot pizza samples. Lorna drifts through the crowd carrying flowers in one hand and a clipboard in the other, managing three conversations at once without missing a beat.

Lucy takes off the second she spots June's toy display.

"Walking feet!" Maggie calls after her.

Lucy keeps running.

"We both know that was performative," I say.

"It was for the witnesses."

We laugh.

A few people smile their approval at the joke.

Maggie points at them. "See? Community support."

We weave through the crowd at a more reasonable pace, keeping Lucy in sight as she bounces from booth to booth. The market buzzes around us, familiar faces calling greetings as we pass. It feels easy being here with Maggie. A few weeks ago, every conversation felt fragile, like we were testing boards on a bridge neither of us trusted.

Now we simply walk.

After a while, Maggie bumps her shoulder against mine. "You look like you got buried and someone dug you up.”

I give her a hard look. "Gee, thanks, Sis. You really know how to make me better about myself."

"I’m a concerned sister."

I laugh despite myself. “I thought I was looking moderately functional today.”

The grin she shoots me is so familiar it catches me right in the chest. “Moderately being the operative word.”

"I've been tired lately."

"Sure."

"And stressed."

"Also sure."

I cock a brow. "You don't sound convinced."

"I’ve seen raccoons with food poisoning that look healthier.”

I stop walking, stung, even though I know there’s truth in it because I saw my face in the mirror this morning after I had to race for the bathroom again. "You’re seriously comparing me to a sick raccoon now?”

"I stand by it."

She folds her arms and studies me, her amusement fading into something more thoughtful.

The shift puts me on edge immediately.

I know that look.

I've seen it directed at strangers in grocery stores, women on television, and at least three characters in romance novels she forced me to read in high school.