Page 20 of Rescued In The Storm

Sarah's eyebrows rise slightly, but she recovers quickly. "Nice to meet you. I've seen you at the bakery, haven't I? Thursday morning, almond croissant and black coffee?"

Lauren looks surprised. "You remember that?"

"Sarah remembers everyone's orders," I explain, feeling an odd sense of pride.

"It's part of the job," Sarah says with a modest shrug.

"Speaking of jobs," Lauren says, "your mother's quarterly budget reviews are much more detailed than I expected, Connor. I was up late last night sorting through her filing system."

"That sounds like Evie," Sarah comments with a knowing smile.

"She tests everyone she hires," I explain. "If you survive the first month of her 'systems,' you're in for life."

Lauren's expression softens a fraction. "Good to know." She glances between us, something knowing in her gaze. "I should let you two get back to your shopping. Nice to officially meet you, Sarah."

As she walks away, Sarah looks at me with undisguised curiosity. "So that's the famous Lauren Abbott? Kathryn mentioned something about Liam's ex working at the lodge now."

"Mom hired her without warning anyone. Liam nearly had a heart attack her first day."

Sarah considers this, her head tilted slightly. "She seems competent."

"She is. That's part of the problem. She's good at her job, so Liam can't even complain about that."

Sarah smiles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Your mother is either a genius or terribly cruel."

"With Mom, it's usually both," I admit. "But we should probably focus on our market adventure instead of my family drama."

"So you just learned plumbing on the spot?" She shakes her head in amazement.

I shrug. "Dad always said a man should know how to fix what's broken."

"Your father would be proud," she says softly, her teasing tone giving way to something gentler. "The way you all stepped up after he passed, keeping the lodge running, taking care of each other and the town."

The unexpected mention of my father catches me off guard. People don't usually bring him up, especially not with such simple sincerity.

"It's what needed to be done," I say finally, the words feeling inadequate for the years of work, of responsibility, of holding everything together.

We walk in comfortable silence for a moment, weaving between stalls, the market sounds washing over us. Sarah pauses to examine a display of homemade jams, but her thoughts seem elsewhere.

"You're good at that, you know," she says suddenly, her voice thoughtful. "Taking care of things. Of people."

"Just doing what anyone would do," I reply automatically.

She laughs, but it's soft, without mockery. "That's exactly what someone who always takes care of others would say." Her laughter fades, replaced by a look of genuine curiosity. "You do take care of everyone, Connor. But who takes care of you?"

I stop walking, her words hitting me with unexpected force. The farmers market continues to bustle around us, but the sounds seem to fade as I stare at her, caught off guard by the simple question no one has ever thought to ask me before.

"I..." I start, then stop, unsure how to respond.

Sarah stands before me, her eyes clear and direct, filled with a kind of gentle understanding that makes my chest ache. There's no judgment there, no expectation, just genuine concern and something deeper, more vulnerable that I can't quite name.

"I don't need taking care of," I finally manage, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.

"Everyone does," she says simply. "Even the strongest people. Maybe especially them."

* * *

The farmers market has been closed for nearly an hour, the once-bustling town square now quiet except for a few vendors still packing up their unsold goods. Sarah's stall is already dismantled, folding tables collapsed and leftover pastries carefully boxed up for tomorrow's day-old shelf at the bakery.

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