“He’s like a brother to you, Viola, so stop your nonsense.” Caro shot me a pointed look before frowning at her friend.

Mischief sparked in Viola’s gaze. “True, but I was speaking for Evie.”

Realizing Milly had probably filled her daughter’s head with speculation about Roane and me, I rolled my eyes and wandered over to my stall, calling over my shoulder, “I’m perfectly able to speak for myself, thank you.”

“I’m so happy I’ll be home to be there for the day you do,” Viola called back with a wink.

I laughed and shook my head, thinking she reminded me a lot of Milly.

The market opened minutes later, and the day began.

My concentration was split between running my stall and watching out for Caro. I soon learned, however, that Viola was the best person for that job. She was bright and shining, her friendly appeal bringing people to Caro’s stall, and Caro’s baking bringing them back for more. When Caro’s smile grew pained under the praise of strangers, Viola would deflect with questions about where they were from and whether they were on vacation.

Safe in the knowledge that my friend was in good hands, I moved my focus elsewhere, to the bakery. Tony, the baker, kept popping his head out of the door to shoot Caro dark looks. I’d seen very few customers approach the store once word of Caro’s amazing cakes and treats filled the market. I reminded myself to keep an eye out and let Roane know Tony clearly wasn’t happy about this development.

Another distraction came in the form of the Fosters. I watched with a growing ache in my chest as Maggie Foster stared at her daughter. There was a slight tightness to her mouth that might have pointed at disapproval if it weren’t for the melancholy sentiment I caught every now and again in her eyes.

As for Annie, she never once looked her mother’s way.

Liz did. She would shoot Maggie worried looks before shifting that anxiety to her wife.

It wasn’t right. A mother and daughter separated by the prejudices of the father. Something surely could be done to mend the breach.

I pondered the problem between customers, and it was only after lunch that something new caught my attention.

“What do you want, Lucas?” Viola’s snappish tone brought my head around in surprise. She’d emphasized the last syllable of the name so it sounded like “ass.” A tall young man stood in front of Caro’s stall, his arms crossed as he perused what was left of the baked goods, and there wasn’t much.