The next morning, Emma felt more rested than she had since arriving on the island. She stood at the kitchen counter with her coffee, looking out through the open window while the cool morning air moved easily through the house.
The yard still looked damp from the night before, the grass darker in spots where the shade lingered longer. Somewhere farther down the road, she could hear a screen door shut, followed by the low sound of a truck passing by.
Her laptop sat on the table behind her.
She had noticed it as soon as she walked in the night before. Closed. Waiting.
She took another sip before turning around and setting her mug beside the laptop.
When she opened it, the screen lit the table in front of her. Emails filled the top of her inbox. A few from coworkers checking in. One from a client waiting on updated numbers. Another marked high priority that probably wasn’t as urgent as the subject line made it sound.
Emma tucked one leg beneath her as she sat down and began reading through them.
It was the same kind of work she dealt with every day.
A follow-up she had meant to send before leaving. A spreadsheet needing revisions. Questions she already knew the answers to before opening the message.
She answered the first email carefully, rereading it once before hitting send. The next took less time. Then another.
Outside, the wind moved lightly through the trees beside the cottage. Every so often she glanced up from the screen toward the open window, letting her eyes rest somewhere other than numbers and emails for a minute.
It didn’t take long to fall back into the work. One thing led into the next, and before she realized it, most of the morning had passed.
Her phone lit up beside her hand.
Her mom’s name appeared across the screen. Emma realized they hadn’t talked in a few days.
She reached for the phone before it rang again.
“Hey.”
“Hi, honey,” her mom said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be working today.”
“A little,” Emma said, leaning back in the chair. “I’ve been putting some of it off.”
Her mom laughed softly. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
Emma smiled and glanced toward the open window. “I know. I think I needed a few days away from all of it.”
“How’s everything there?”
Emma turned her head toward the window again. The sky had brightened since earlier, pale blue stretching over the water beyond the neighboring houses.
“It’s been nice,” she said. “Cool in the mornings, but warmer by the afternoon.”
“You sound relaxed.”
Emma looked down at the edge of the table, tracing her finger lightly along the wood grain.
“I think I needed the break more than I realized.”
Her mom let the silence sit for a second before speaking again.
“Have you been getting out much?”
“A little. There was a festival over the weekend.”
“Oh?”
Emma smiled faintly. “Yeah. Music, food stands, people everywhere. It felt bigger than I expected for such a small town.”
There was a warmth in her mom’s voice when she answered. “Your grandmother used to look forward to that festival every spring.”
Emma smiled at that.
“I can see why,” she said. “She would’ve loved it.”
They talked a little longer after that. Small things mostly. Her mom asking if she was eating well. Emma promising she was. Questions about the cottage, whether anything needed fixing, whether she had seen Ruth yet.
By the time the call ended, the kitchen had grown brighter with the late morning sun.
Emma closed the laptop and carried her empty mug to the sink.
For the first time in a long while, work didn’t feel like it had followed her there.
The walk into town felt easier now that she knew her way around.
The breeze coming off the water carried the smell of salt and damp wood from the harbor below. A few gulls circled overhead near the docks, their calls drifting across town as people moved in and out of storefronts along the street.
The bakery door swung open as she passed, the smell of fresh bread following someone out onto the sidewalk.
When Emma stepped into the general store, the bell above the door gave a soft jingle.
Doris glanced up from behind the counter.
“Well, good morning, Emma.”
“Morning.”
“How’re you settling in over there?”
Emma smiled a little as she reached for a basket near the door. “Pretty good, I think.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Doris straightened a small stack of paper bags beside the register before looking back up at her.
“How’d you enjoy the festival?”
Emma glanced down one of the aisles, thinking about it for a second. “I liked it more than I expected to.”
Doris smiled knowingly at that. “That tends to happen.”
Emma laughed lightly. “It just felt easy. Everybody knew each other. Nobody seemed in a hurry to be anywhere else.”
“That’s because half the town waits all winter for something to do,” Doris said with a grin.
Emma smiled again.
“There was more going on than I expected,” she admitted. “The music, the vendors, all the food stands…”
“The pie table usually gets the most attention,” Doris said. “People start asking about it days beforehand.”
Emma laughed. “I believe it.”
Doris rested one hand against the counter. “Your grandmother loved that festival. Every spring she’d come in here talking about who she hoped would be setting up that year.”
Emma could picture it easily.
“She probably knew every vendor there.”
“Most of them,” Doris said. “And the ones she didn’t know, she introduced herself to anyway.”
That made Emma smile.
Emma wandered through the aisles slowly, gathering a few things she needed. Coffee filters. Fruit. Bread. A carton of milk she nearly forgot until the last minute.
At the counter, Doris folded one of the paper bags closed while glancing toward the front windows.
“Storm’s supposed to move in later today,” she said. “You can feel it already.”
Emma looked back toward the glass. The sky still looked clear from there.
“Really?”
Doris nodded. “Spring storms come in fast around here.”
Emma smiled. “I guess I should get those flowers planted before then.”
“Probably not a bad idea.”
Doris handed her the bag.
“Your grandmother used to do the same thing,” she said. “Soon as the sky shifted, she’d be outside gathering things up before the rain set in.”
Emma could picture it immediately. Margaret hurrying across the yard with an armful of cushions or flower pots while the wind picked up around her.
“That sounds about right,” Emma said.
“She liked taking care of things.”
Emma nodded softly.
Doris slid the paper bag across the counter toward her.
“Well, you stay ahead of that storm if you can.”
Emma smiled. “I’ll try.”
“Have a good afternoon, Emma.”
“You too.”
As she stepped back outside, the air felt different than it had earlier. Warmer somehow, but heavier too.
The kind of weather that made you look up without meaning to.
By the time she made it back to the cottage, clouds had started gathering farther out over the water.
Emma carried the groceries inside and set them on the counter before heading back out to the yard with the flowers she had bought from Lilly earlier in the week.
The soil was still soft from the recent stretch of rain, easy to work beneath her hands. She knelt near the flower bed beside the porch, loosening the dirt before setting the first plant into place.
A breeze moved across the yard, lifting a few strands of hair loose from where she had tucked it behind her ear.
The wind chimes stirred overhead.
Emma glanced up at them for a second before returning to the flowers.
She worked slowly, adjusting each one until it looked right. Stepping back now and then to see how the colors sat together against the cottage.
By the time she reached the last section near the walkway, the sky had darkened noticeably.
The breeze that had felt good an hour ago now carried a sharper edge to it.
A low rumble of thunder rolled somewhere out beyond the harbor.
Emma looked up.
“Well,” she murmured, brushing the dirt from her hands.
That moved things along faster.
She carried the empty pots to the shed first, then came back for the small garden tools she had left scattered near the porch steps.
The wind picked up harder as she crossed the yard again.
This time the chimes knocked together louder, twisting against themselves.
Emma reached up and carefully lifted them from the hook.
“I know,” she said softly, almost smiling to herself.
She carried them inside and leaned them gently beside the door.
By the time she stepped back onto the porch, the first drops had started to fall.
Slow at first.
Then filling in.
She hurried toward the shed with the last tarp tucked beneath her arm, pulling the door shut just as the rain came down harder around her.
The sound changed all at once.
Rain striking the roof. The gravel. Leaves rustling sharply in the wind.
By the time she reached the porch again, her sleeves were spotted with rainwater.
She stood beneath the overhang catching her breath while the storm rolled across the island.
The flowers bent beneath the rain but held their place.
Water streamed from the edge of the roof in uneven lines.
Thunder sounded again, closer now.
Emma folded her arms loosely and watched it move through.
The storm passed almost as quickly as it arrived.
By early evening, the rain had slowed to a light drip from the trees surrounding the cottage.
Emma stepped carefully into the yard, the ground softer beneath her shoes now.
Everything smelled fresh again. Wet earth. Salt air. Cedar from the soaked shingles overhead.
She walked slowly along the side of the cottage, glancing up without thinking much about it at first.
That was when she noticed it.
One of the wood shingles near the corner of the roof had lifted loose from the wind.
Not enough to cause damage yet. Just enough to catch her attention.
Emma stood there a moment with her hands resting against her hips.
“Alright,” she said quietly.
Later, she stood near the edge of the yard looking out toward the water as the last of the daylight settled across the harbor.
The chimes rested safely inside.
The flowers were planted.
The storm had passed.
Only one small thing remained waiting for tomorrow.
Emma glanced once more toward the roof before looking back out toward the water. The evening light still lingered longer than it had only a few weeks earlier, stretching across the grass and catching along the tops of the trees beyond the cottage.
The days were stretching a little longer now.
And for the first time in a while, she found herself hoping they would.
She stayed there until the sun slipped lower beyond the water and the porch light behind her flickered on through the screen door.
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