“Over hard eggs, rye toast, no butter,” she said. “Got your spot ready.”

He gave a tight nod, that being his version of a hug.

Louisa followed, her laugh arriving a full second before she did. Former Army nurse, retired on paper but still checking every first-aid kit in town like it was her personal crusade.

“You burn the biscuits again, honey?” she called out.

“Only the ones you asked for,” Grace shot back.

The town outside rolled along like something out of a painting. Oak-lined sidewalks. Flags on every other porch. An ancient hardware store that still sold nails by the pound and kept a Polaroid camera behind the register for no good reason anyone could explain.