Four loaves of sourdough sat cooling on the counter. Billy was shaking a jar of cream, turning it to butter.

“Oh, there you are,” he said when he saw me. “Julia stole you away.”

Lee glanced up from his comic. “Where did she take you?”

“To the ocean.”

The sloshing sound ended. “Finally!” Billy said. He unscrewed the lid, set down the jar, and rubbed his bicep. I noticed a gold bracelet on his wrist, a simple chain. Terry uncovered a giant pot and the scent of tomato soup filled the kitchen. Lee licked his lips and said, “Yum-yum!”

Terry ladled the soup into bowls on the counter and placed the lid back on the pot. “Billy, how is that butter coming along?”

“Stirring in the salt,” Billy said. “Patience, old man.”

A little later, Liz appeared from the living room. She crossed to the sink and washed her hands before grabbing a bread knife. “How was your first day?” she asked without turning around.

“I enjoyed it,” I said.

“You don’t have to say that just because we’re all here,” Billy said.

“Agreed,” said Terry. “First days are often difficult.”

But I thought of it—the early morning and the breakfast and the pencil sharpening and the lessons, even the mistake of looking too long at Lee’s broken finger, even his moment of fear—and I was sure I was telling the truth.

“I really did,” I said.

Lee shut his comic. “Let’s play high-low.”

Liz finished slicing and I noticed that each piece of bread was perfect, as though she’d sliced hundreds of loaves. She set down the knife and said, “Sure, Lee. Let’s. Want to go first?”

“My high was meeting Mila. It’s been hard to not have a teacher for two whole months.”

Warmth rushed to my chest. Here was this little boy, who wanted me.

“My high was meeting Mila,” Liz said. She glanced at me and smiled. I felt myself blush. “Terry?”

“Hmmmm . . .” He brushed his hands on the front of his apron. “Well, I met Mila yesterday so I have to break this lovely pattern. But my high was watching Mila teach school. She’s a natural. With teaching, you have it or you don’t. You can still get by by learning the nuts and bolts of it, but that teacher instinct—it can’t be taught.”

It was almost too much to take, all this praise.

“Are you going to keep going?” Billy asked. “I thought we were playing high-low but this sounds like a lecture.”

Terry threw up his hands. “Go ahead.”

Billy set a bowl of fresh butter next to the bread. “Well, obviously my high was meeting Mila. Welcome to the farm. We’re super happy to have you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “My high is right now.”

“It’s almost time to call the rest in,” Terry said. “Lightning-bolt lows! Mine’s the supply closet in the schoolhouse. Utter chaos.”