Chloe in Willowmere

With the heritage submission finally filed and tucked inside its manila folder, there is nothing left to do but wait — and waiting, it turns out, is harder than doing. Chloe keeps a vigil at her corner table, notebook open, eyes drifting back to the folder every few minutes whether she means to or not. Luna, sensing something important in the room, resolves the matter in the way cats always do: she climbs on top of the folder and settles in, amber eyes half-closed, absolutely immovable. Marco's response to uncertainty is characteristically his own. By mid-morning the bakery table is buried under pastries, soup, fresh bread, and something warm with apples. Mr. Chen arrives and sits down without comment. Dev wraps his hands around a mug. The neighborhood gathers, because that is what the neighborhood does. By evening it is just Chloe and Marco again, rain soft against the window, Luna still guarding the folder as if the whole fate of the garden rests on her keeping her spot. Marco sets a fresh cup of tea in front of Chloe without a word. She looks up, grateful. The folder isn't going anywhere. Neither are they.