The depot smelled of fresh timber and old metal that morning like someone had tried to scrub the place clean, but years of grease and stories still clung to the floorboards.
Ethan rubbed his eyes and stepped through the wide double doors just as the sun cracked over the eastern ridge. Another early shift. Another stack of inventory forms waiting on his desk. Another day of keeping his head down.
He didn't notice the woman at first.
She was crouched near the back wall, unpacking crates with practiced ease, her sleeves rolled to the elbow and her hair tied back in a simple knot. She looked like she'd belonged here for years even though this was her first day.
"You're Lowe, right?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder with a polite half-smile.
Ethan stopped mid-step. "Yeah. Ethan."
"Marian. I was told to shadow you today."
Her voice was warm, casual. No hesitation, no flicker of nerves. She had the ease of someone who blended in naturally just another cog in the machine.
Ethan offered a faint smile. "They never tell me anything in advance. Hope you don't mind dust."
She chuckled. "I've worked worse. Lead the way."
They moved through the depot together stacking ledgers, checking manifests, guiding deliveries. She asked questions occasionally, but never too many. She laughed at his dry remarks. Made one or two of her own. She even brought coffee bitter, but hot.
She didn't do anything wrong.
Still, something about her was off. Or maybe too right. Too polished. Too prepared. Ethan couldn't place it.
He caught her watching him once just for a second too long but she smiled and turned back to her clipboard before he could think twice.
By midday, he had forgotten about the unease. Almost.
The streets of Elmsworth were alive.
Ribbons fluttered from lampposts. Paper lanterns swayed in the breeze. The schoolyard had been transformed with stalls and painted signs and mismatched chairs pulled from every corner of the building.
Avery darted past the entrance, her ribbon bouncing as she weaved between tables. Her hands were full of flyers, and her smile seemed too wide for her face.
"Miss Hana!" she called, nearly breathless.
Hana stood near the courtyard arch, cane resting against her shoulder, arms folded gently in front of her. "You sound like you've had four sweets already."
"Three," Avery said proudly. "And a pickle. Come on! You have to try the bean pies. Or....or at least let me win something and pretend you're impressed!"
Hana smiled. "I'm always impressed."
"I told Miss Bray and miss Anna-may you'd come," Avery continued, looping an arm through hers. "Miss Bray said she wanted to meet you and that you're practically famous in the village for your lemon cakes. Oh and Mira's coming too!"
As if on cue, Mira appeared at the gate, carrying two jars of lemonade and a woven basket over her arm. Her sunhat was crooked, and she waved as she approached.
"Is this where the party is?" Mira asked, eyes twinkling. "Did I miss anything "
"No you didn't miss anything, soon the apple juggling contest will begin," Avery said, grinning. "And you should totally enter the 'Guess How Many Beans in a Jar' game."
"I'll leave that to the mathematicians," Mira laughed.
Nearby, a string quartet of students fumbled through a cheerful tune. Marlin and Edra the baker's twins juggled apples behind a booth. And beneath the laughter, music, and colors something else quietly stirred.
Two older women stood near the puppet stage, whispering behind fans.
" at the depot, they said. New girl. Working right beside him."
"Just arrived this week. Too friendly, if you ask me."
Cal, the butcher's apprentice, overheard and raised a brow. "You mean Ethan? I saw him and the new woman walking toward the back warehouse this morning. Looked like they didn't want to be seen."
The whispers didn't stop. They never did.
Back at the depot, Ethan glanced at the clock on the far wall.
"Festival today, right?" Marian asked, adjusting the collar of her coat. "The whole town's been buzzing."
"Yeah," he replied. "Wasn't sure I'd get to go."
She gave a friendly shrug. "I think you've earned an early finish."
He hesitated then nodded. "Tell Joel I logged everything. I'll be back tomorrow."
"Of course," she said easily, watching him go with unreadable eyes.
The school courtyard was fuller now. Busier. Hana sat beneath the awning of a shaded booth as Avery guided her hand across the textured prizes on display. Mira stood nearby, arms crossed with amusement as she watched Oliver try (and fail) to throw a beanbag into a painted clown's mouth.
Across the way, a small group of women whispered near the cake table. One of them leaned in, voice barely above a murmur.
"They say he's got a woman helping him at the depot now. Real pretty. Laughs a lot."
"Mm. Seems sudden, doesn't it?"
The comments weren't directed at Hana. But sound travels.
Avery heard them first. She froze, lips tightening, but didn't speak.
Hana merely turned her head slightly, as though listening to the wind.
Then: "People love a good story. Especially when they don't know the ending."
Avery glanced up. "You're not... worried?"
"No." Hana's voice was soft, but steady. "I know him."
And then Ethan arrived.
He looked out of place, in the best way shirt sleeves rolled, collar rumpled, carrying a half-eaten peach he must've bought on the way.
Avery ran straight toward him. "You came!"
"I said I'd try."
"Try isn't the same as show up!"
"Apparently it is," he said, mock serious. "Want to show me what I'm supposed to pretend is impressive?"
She grabbed his hand and tugged. "Everything!"
For the next hour, Ethan was surrounded by sugar-drenched children, paper flags, bean bag tosses, and paper crowns. Oliver made him wear a homemade badge that said "Honorary Giant." Avery made him judge a pie-eating contest and didn't let him leave until he'd sampled two.
He laughed really laughed. Played tag with the kids. Lost to Oliver in a marble game on purpose. Sat beside Hana and quietly translated what the children were shouting from the stage.
At one point, Mira handed him a drink and smirked. "You look like you've been drafted into a tiny, chaotic army."
"I think I'm their reluctant king," Ethan said.
He and Hana stood side by side at the puppet show, Avery leaning against Hana's arm while Oliver clung to Ethan's leg.
"You're really good with them," Hana said.
"I think I just look funny when I panic."
"You don't sound panicked," she replied.
"I'm trying to keep up," he admitted. "With everything. This place. The way it changes, the way it looks at people."
She tilted her head. "It doesn't matter how it looks at you. What matters is how you keep showing up."
Their arms brushed as the children cheered at the stage.
"I'm glad you're here," Hana said quietly.
He glanced over, smile softening. "Me too."
As the sun dipped lower and the lanterns were lit, families began drifting home, carrying tired children and empty plates. Ethan walked slowly with Hana, Avery, Mira, and Oliver now fast asleep on his back.
Avery's mother caught up to them, her arms full of folded decorations and leftover flyers.
"Evening," she said, looking up at Ethan with a small smile. "You survived."
"Barely," he replied. "The pie judging nearly did me in."
She chuckled. "You did good. Avery doesn't talk about many people like she talks about you."
"She's easy to root for."
They walked a few steps in silence, the warm gold of lamplight washing over them.
"She told me you'd be at the festival. I wasn't sure if you would."
Ethan shifted Oliver gently on his back. "Wasn't sure either. But I'm glad I did."
"She's had a tough year," Mrs. Bell said quietly. "I don't know what's ahead for you, Ethan. But if you ever find yourself standing at a crossroads you'll know which ones led you here."
He nodded, eyes on the winding road ahead. "I'll remember that."
Behind them, Mira hummed a soft tune, and Avery skipped a few paces ahead, twirling beneath the falling dusk.
Hana walked just beside him, steady and sure, her steps unhurried, her silence full of presence.
Together, they climbed the hill toward the crooked lamppost and the little shop window still glowing faintly in the dark.
The festival was over.
But something else had begun.