After we finish eating, I insist on helping June clean up. She resists at first, waving me off with a smile, but I persist.

“Please, let me help you. I need to stretch my legs—I’ve been sitting far too long. Besides, I enjoy tidying up. You shouldn’t have to do it all alone.”

June sighs with mock exasperation, tossing her rag down on the counter. “Oh, fine,” she relents, but I catch the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

And so here we are, side by side in the modest country kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes. June tells me she thinks it would be fun to make dessert together—ice cream, specifically. She explains that she’d been planning for us to milk the cows, then use the fresh cream to make it from scratch. She calls it a bonding activity for the two of us, something wholesome and old-fashioned. Edward and Clement, of course, are not included in this plan—“They’d probably ruin the whole thing,” she jokes, drying the soup pot while I arrange the cutlery into its drawer. “Men have no clue what they’re doing in the kitchen. They’d make some butchered, inedible version of ice cream.”

I laugh along with her, shaking my head. It feels strangely natural, this domestic scene, like I’ve known her much longer than a day. As we clean, I learn bits and pieces about her life. She and Clement married six years ago—she was twenty, he twenty-seven—and they had Genevieve and Grace a year later. The twins are five, though I would’ve guessed younger based on the photograph I saw earlier. When I mention this, she chuckles, waving her hand.

“That picture’s ancient,” she says. “Taken two, maybe three years ago. They still wore diapers back then. Just stopped about six months ago, actually. You should’ve seen them—couldn’t do anything for themselves!”

We both laugh, and I shake my head at myself. “I thought they were just incredibly independent three-year-olds!”

“No, just regular five-year-olds who’ve finally found their footing,” she says, laughing so hard she nearly drops the bowl in her hands.

“Careful!” I say, reaching out instinctively.

Another detail she shares takes me by surprise—she thinks she might be pregnant. She’s missed two periods, has been nauseous in the mornings, and noticed a slight weight gain in the last couple of weeks.

“Congratulations!” I say brightly, but she doesn’t exactly glow with excitement.

“I don’t know,” she replies, wiping her hands on a towel, though they’re already clean. “Clement wants another child, preferably a boy, but I always imagined just two girls. That was my plan. If I’m pregnant, well… that changes things.”

I try to reassure her. “Maybe it’s not what you planned, but it could still be something beautiful. You love children, and I’m sure this one would be no exception. The twins will be older sisters. That could be something special for them, too.”

June gives a little sigh, half-smile still on her lips. “I’m being dramatic, I know. I’ll love this baby, I will. It’s just… having another child is a lot. Rewarding, yes, but overwhelming too. You understand, right?”

“I’ve never had a child of my own, and I won’t for a while, but… I think I understand,” I say softly.

After that, we fall into a quiet rhythm, both of us working with focused diligence so we’ll have time left for our ice cream adventure.

I tuck the last spoon into its drawer as June hangs the dish rags to dry. She turns to me with a playful grin. “Ready?” she asks, dusting off her hands though there’s nothing on them.

“Yeah,” I reply, smiling back.

We head into the living room, where Edward and Clement sit comfortably, laughing about something. They seem worlds away from our kitchen conversation.

“We’re going to milk the cows,” I announce. “We’ll be making homemade ice cream. Care to join us?”

Edward glances at me, then back at Clement. “I think we’ll stay here and keep talking,” he says. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

I pout, crossing my arms. “But you said you’d milk a cow with me.”

He winces a little, clearly regretting that promise. “Next time. I promise. We’re visiting another farm tomorrow or the day after—we’ll do it then.”

“Fine,” I say, not hiding my disappointment, and follow June out through the back door.

The door opens onto a charming little patio ringed with wildflowers and pots of roses and monsteras. A dainty metal table with two matching chairs sits in the center, touched by the golden light of the afternoon. We descend from the patio onto a dirt path fenced on both sides, leading through the small farm’s collection of animals—two sleek horses grazing lazily, six woolly sheep, a pair of runner ducks with six fuzzy ducklings toddling after them, and finally, at the far end, four cows: two mothers and their calves.

“What happened to the bull?” I ask as June opens the gate into the cow pen.

“He passed away last month. Some illness—we tried everything, but nothing worked. At least he’s not suffering anymore.”

“I’m sorry. Will you get another?”

“Maybe, but not soon. Especially if I really am pregnant. We need to save money for the baby.”

June grabs a little stool and I carry the metal bucket. She approaches one of the cows, who lifts her head and snorts softly in recognition. June strokes her gently.

“This is Betsy. She’s our oldest—eight years old. That one over there’s Cassie, she’s six.”

“They really love you,” I say, petting Cassie despite the swarm of flies that buzz around her. I barely notice them. It’s peaceful here—simple, grounding. I find myself wishing I had a farm of my own. A small one, nothing grand.

“Do you know how to milk a cow?” June asks, crouching beside Betsy.

“Yes. It’s been a couple of years—I was sixteen, the last time I visited the countryside.”

“Want me to go first?”

“No, I remember. I actually enjoy it—it’s relaxing.”

I sit on the stool, adjust myself, and begin to milk Betsy. My fingers find the rhythm quickly, and soon, the milk streams steadily into the bucket. As I work, I spot the calves—one napping on the grass, the other grazing lazily.

“The one laying down is Edna. The grazer is Bella,” June says before I can ask.

Once the bucket is about halfway full, I let June finish the rest. This is her tradition, after all—we’re in it together.

Just as she’s finishing up, Clement walks into the pen, leaving the gate open behind him.

“What is it?” June asks, standing up.

“It’s Edward. He says he feels awfully tired. We need to go home.”

“Oh no,” I say. “He wasn’t feeling well yesterday either. I’m not surprised.”

June’s face falls, her smile vanishing. I turn to her, guilt rising in my chest. “I should’ve warned you we might have to leave early. I’m so sorry.”

She walks over and hugs me tight. “I was just looking forward to making the ice cream together. Come again, will you? We’ve all really enjoyed having you here. The girls did, too. Promise me you’ll come back?”

“Of course. We may have to cut our honeymoon short, but next time we’re in Dawsbury, we’ll visit.”

She smells faintly of lavender, and I close my eyes for a moment, just breathing her in. The hug lingers until Clement clears his throat.

“Thank you for everything,” I say again, following him back to the house.

Inside, Edward is dozing on the couch, mouth open, snoring softly.

“Well then,” I murmur, “he’s really knocked out.”

I gently shake his shoulder. “Wake up. We’re going home.”

He opens his eyes, confused. “What? Why?”

“You’re sick. Clement has a carriage. Let’s go,” I say, helping him up.

I loop my arm through his and guide him outside. As we step onto the porch, Grace and Vivi appear at the top of the stairs.

“Bye!” Grace calls, waving.

“See you soon!” Vivi adds with a tiny smile.

“Bye! We had so much fun with you two!” I call back as we head toward the carriage.

“I didn’t see the carriage earlier. Did you just bring it out?” I ask Clement as he opens the door.

“I did. And no need for directions—I know this town like the back of my hand.”

I nod and help Edward in.

The ride back is quick—five minutes by carriage versus the twenty we took on foot. Edward manages to stay awake the whole way, though I can see the exhaustion tugging at his features.

Clement pulls up in front of the house and we climb out. “Have a good day. Feel better, Edward,” he says.

“Wait!” I call after him. “Are there any doctors nearby?”

He pauses. “Not any good ones. If you can, go back to Bashayle. The doctors there are better.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course. Come back soon.”

And with that, he turns the carriage around and rides off into the fading light.