At eight o’clock, the church bell echoed across the square. A sharp wind swept through the stalls, and Lucas stopped in front of a produce stand bright with red tomatoes and freshly washed lettuce. Behind it stood a woman arranging everything with patient care, humming an old tune that sounded older than the town itself. Her name was Emily Harper. She had chestnut hair tied back, a gentle face, and a small beauty mark near her eyebrow.
When she looked up and met the boy’s gaze, something shifted.
Lucas stared at her as if he had found a memory hidden in plain sight. He took a slow step closer. She looked so much like someone he had loved—same softness in her eyes, same curve of her smile. His small chest tightened.
Emily felt it too. Not pity. Not simple concern. Recognition.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
Lucas swallowed. His voice came out barely above a whisper. “You look like my mom.”
Emily knelt so they were eye level. A light drizzle began to fall, dotting his hair.
“What was your mother’s name?” she asked.
He searched his thoughts carefully. “Grace.”