Chapter 5 Introduction And Town Gossip.

The sky above Lavender Hill was bathed in soft watercolors-mauve, rose, and the promise of gold. Morning slipped in unobtrusively, as though the town itself unwound slowly from slumber. Ethan stood at the step outside the cottage, a woven basket held in his hand, as Clara came down the front steps in a cloud of curls and white sandals.

You walk slow for a tall person," she teased, swinging her empty basket.

"I pace myself," Ethan said with a grin, falling into step beside her.

They walked down the dirt path bordered by lavender hedges and bluebells, following the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting nuts that wafted in from the village square. Birds fluttered overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a wind chime swayed on a porch.

As they walked into the cobblestone center of the village, Ethan was charmed by its old-fashionedness. It reminded him of something out of an ancient storybook-brick houses with walls overgrown with ivy, pastel-hued shutters, and bakeries with chalkboard signs. The marketplace buzzed softly, like a happy beehive, full of neighbors bartering wares and gossip with equal enthusiasm.

"There," said Clara. "That's Mama's stand."

The table was tucked under a cream awning, where bunches of dried lavender, beeswax candles, and packets of herb sachets were neatly stacked. Elara stood behind it, dark auburn hair snagged into a loose braid, cheeks flushed pink from sun. Wearing a wilted sage-colored linen dress, she sorted bottles of lavender oil as if performing an internal ritual.

She looked up.

Her eyes locked with his-and for a moment, time froze.

"Elara," he spoke softly as he approached her.

She blinked. "Ethan. You came."

"You didn't warn me you had such a fine sales assistant," he nodded at Clara, already greeting neighbors and showing the sachets like a seasoned pro.

Elara smiled weakly. "She wouldn't let me."

Ethan strolled beside her. "May I linger a while? I'm reputed to stroll slowly but carry well."

She raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. "Fine. But don't get reeled in by Mrs. Applemore on the gossip."

"Too late," a bright voice across the table replied.

Ethan turned to see a sprightly older woman with white curls barely contained beneath a straw hat. Her eyes twinkled as she appraised him, as if she'd already decided everything about him.

"So you're the city grandson," she said. "We've heard all about you. Back from the land of concrete and broken hearts."

Ethan nearly choked. "Pardon?"

Mrs. Applemore waved a hand. "Oh, don't be shy. This town runs on rumors and rosemary. You'll get used to it."

Elara muttered under her breath, "I tried to warn you."

Before Ethan could recover, another figure approached. A tall, wiry man with salt-and-pepper hair and a gardener's tan. "Morning, Elara. Is this the fellow who stole your moonlight years ago?"

"Good morning, Thomas," Elara said with pointed calm. "Ethan, meet the town's unofficial historian and professional meddler."

"Pleased to meet you," Ethan said, extending a hand.

Thomas shook it firmly. "You've got your grandmother's eyes. And her stubborn chin."

Ethan laughed. "That explains a lot."

The morning was filled with a haze of introductions. There was Miss Lucinda, owner of the flower stall, who handed Ethan a peony and a stern warning to steer clear of her tabby cat. There was Martin, hammer-handed apprentice blacksmith, who laughed so hard it shook the stalls. And charming old Alfred, who ran the honey booth and said he had once spotted a ghost by the east woods.

Each of them carried with them a story, a cunning glance in Elara's direction, and a smile that made Ethan feel warmer than sun ever had.

He helped bag bundles, answered inquisitive questions, and even sold a handful of candles. Throughout, he observed how Elara mellowed among her people-how she laughed with her whole face, how she tended to Clara with such quiet awe. How she avoided his eyes too long, as though she were afraid of what she'd find there.

During a break, Clara stooped. "They all like you. That doesn't happen to everyone."

"Should I consider it a compliment or a warning?"

"Both," she said, licking honey off her fingers.

Ethan spotted Elara, her hands moving over a customer, her voice a low murmur. He remembered that voice once whispering verse against his ear, once telling him he was the sky to her earth.

He'd left her once before. And now, fate or perhaps something more benevolent, had brought him directly back to her.

When the crowd had begun to disperse and the sun climbed higher in the sky, Elara finally sat on the wooden stool at the rear of the stall. She looked up at Ethan, tired but glowing.

"You did a good job," she said to him.

He sat down next to her. "They're a lively bunch. I reckon Mrs. Applemore's already written our wedding announcement."

Elara rolled her eyes. "Don't give her ideas."

"I won't," he replied, then spoke more gravely, "You created something lovely here."

She glanced aside. "It wasn't simple. But Lavender Hill heals people. Even when they don't realize it."

He regarded the line of her jaw, the manner in which sunlight kissed the bridge of her nose, the way her lips clenched together as if holding some deep secret.

"Elara..."

She looked at him, unreadable eyes.

"I never forgot about you."

Her breath froze.

She hadn't replied before Clara returned, arms full of rosemary sprigs.

"Come on," she said with a smile. "Miss Lucinda says we can trade for strawberry tarts!"

Elara took a step back, adjusting her skirt. She looked down at Ethan. "Come on, slow walker. Let's see what this town is still capable of surprising you with."

And with that, she went ahead, Clara by her side.

Ethan lagged behind, a bit more smitten than he had been that morning.

Lavender Hill breathed over him-soft, insistent, and full of secrets still to be told.