The Sunday morning air was crisp, the kind that felt fresher than city mornings ever could. Mira woke to the faint toll of the church bell echoing across town, mingled with the distant chatter of neighbors heading to early service. Sunlight spilled through her curtains, soft and warm, tugging her awake despite her wish to linger under the covers.
Downstairs, the smell of fresh bread greeted her. Her mother stood at the counter, hair tied back with a faded scarf, slicing a loaf while the radio hummed an old tune.
"Morning," Mira said, sliding into a chair.
Her mom glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly. "Morning, love. You're not rushing to the site today?"
"It's Sunday," Mira reminded, reaching for a slice. "Even Darian probably sleeps one day a week."
Her mother chuckled. "I wouldn't bet on it. But it's good you're taking a break. This town doesn't just exist on lumber and bridge measurements, you know." She wiped her hands on a towel and leaned on the counter. "You should walk around. Remind yourself of the parts that don't demand so much from you."
Mira nodded faintly, tearing off a piece of bread. "Maybe I'll stop by Zuri's mom's shop. Help out a little."
Her mother tilted her head, a knowing look softening her face. "Just don't spend all your energy in one place, Mira. You came here to breathe too, remember?"
Mira glanced down at her bread, nodding silently.
---
By mid-morning, she was threading through Main Street beside Zuri, both of them clutching paper cups from the lone coffee stall that set up on weekends. The town was awake but unhurried. A group of children darted past, chasing a red kite that struggled against the mild breeze.
Zuri sipped her drink, her sunglasses perched in her hair. "I swear, this coffee gets better every time. Or maybe I just miss it more when I'm gone."
"You were literally gone for two days," Mira teased.
"Details, details," Zuri waved off. She nudged Mira's arm. "Anyway, Mom's drowning in customers today. Spring blooms, everyone suddenly remembers they want to play gardener. You're staying, right?"
Mira gave her a mock sigh but smiled. "I'll stay. Someone has to stop you from giving all the roses away for free because 'they looked sad.'"
Zuri smirked. "No promises."
The bell above the flower shop chimed as they stepped inside. The space was a cozy chaos of color—buckets of tulips, daisies, and wild sprigs of lavender scattered across wooden tables. The air was thick with fragrance, the good kind that made you feel alive.
Zuri's mom, Lila, was behind the counter, her auburn hair tucked into a loose braid. She waved them over between customers. "Mira! Finally out of hiding. Grab an apron if you're staying; I've got people asking for arrangements like it's Valentine's Day."
"On it," Mira said, slipping into the rhythm easily. She and Zuri spent the next hour helping wrap bouquets, tying ribbons, and sneaking pieces of lavender into the vases just because Zuri thought it "made everything prettier."
In between customers, they chatted about nothing in particular—old classmates they'd seen at the café, which streets still flooded after heavy rain, how the new bookstore owner was apparently a "mystery novel hoarder." The kind of talk that didn't require deep thought, but made Mira feel tethered to something again.
At one point, a familiar face wandered in—Mrs. Hensley, who'd taught them art in middle school. Her hair was greyer now, but her smile hadn't changed.
"Mira Ellis," she said warmly, taking Mira's hands. "I heard you were back! Don't tell me you've abandoned your big city towers for good."
Mira gave a polite, noncommittal smile. "Just… taking a break. Helping where I can."
Mrs. Hensley patted her hand. "Well, Valemont could use your touch. Nothing wrong with building things that last close to home, dear."
The words lingered long after she left, heavier than they were probably meant to be.
---
Later, after the last customer trickled out and the shop was swept clean, Zuri flopped onto one of the stools, spinning lazily. "See? A day without blueprints and bridge dust isn't so bad."
Mira leaned against the counter, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's… nice. Calmer. I'd forgotten what it's like to not have every second crammed with deadlines."
"Good," Zuri said, reaching over to steal the last bite of Mira's pastry. "Because next weekend, there's the Spring Market Festival. You're coming. No excuses."
Mira raised a brow. "Festival?"
"Music, food, dancing, lanterns. And," Zuri added with a sly grin, "half the town shows up. Perfect for catching up with people—or avoiding them, if you want."
Mira rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. "I'll think about it."
"You'll come," Zuri said confidently, hopping off the stool.
---
That evening, Mira walked home under a fading pink sky, a small bundle of lavender tucked in her bag. Her mom was waiting on the porch, a warm cup of tea already set on the step beside her.
"Busy day?" her mom asked.
"Good busy," Mira said, settling beside her. She inhaled the steam from the tea before taking a slow sip. The quiet stretched comfortably between them, punctuated only by the soft chirp of crickets.
Her mom glanced at her, eyes gentle. "You seem lighter tonight."
Mira let her gaze drift over the street, where the lamplight was just beginning to glow. "Maybe I am. Just… remembering there's more to this place than the bridge."
Her mom smiled faintly. "There always was. You just needed to see it again."
Mira nodded, silent for a moment, then set her lavender bundle on the porch railing. The faint scent rose in the cool evening air, mingling with the sound of the first stars blinking awake overhead.
For the first time in a while, Valemont felt less like a pause in her life—
and more like part of it.