The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Six

Callum slung his jacket over one shoulder and looked down at Isla, who was now marching in tiny circles with her new fox tucked under her arm.

"Alright, little explorer," he said. "Want to come on an adventure to the book castle?"

Isla looked up, eyes wide. "Book castle?"

I smiled. "That means library. And yes, we're going too."

She grabbed my hand with one of hers and Callum's with the other, and just like that, the three of us stepped out onto the lane. The afternoon sun was still soft, casting dappled shadows through the branches as we walked past white fences, brick cottages with hanging baskets, and the distant shimmer of the sea at the curve of the road.

Rosebury had this way of holding you gently. Everything was within reach. The grocer, the bakery, the post office, the library — all nestled within the kind of walkable rhythm that made raising Isla feel less like a daily struggle and more like a quietly lived poem. I often thought this town was built for softness, for stillness, for choosing a slower kind of life — and maybe that's exactly why I stayed.

As we rounded the corner, the little stone building of the Rosebury Library came into view, its old ivy-laced windows glowing with warmth. Attached to it on the front was a small café, The Quill & Spoon, with round wooden tables outside and a bell that jingled every time the door opened.

"There it is," I said, lifting Isla slightly as she started skipping. "The Book Castle and its magic café."

Callum chuckled. "You know, I kind of wish that's what they called it officially."

We stepped onto the worn cobblestones in front of the café, the scent of warm bread and ground coffee floating around us. A few locals were already sitting outside — an older couple sharing scones, a teenage girl sketching something in a journal, a boy with headphones and a lemonade.

"I'll grab us something warm," Callum offered. "Cocoa for the little one?"

I nodded. "With one of those tiny marshmallows. She's got standards."

Isla gasped. "Mashmelos!"

As Callum ducked inside to order, I scooped Isla up and sat with her on one of the benches. She held the fox close and looked around in wonder, pointing out birds and flowers, the way the light caught on the windows. I couldn't help but feel the quiet in my chest — the kind that settles in when you realize, even for a moment, that you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

Callum returned with a tray — two mugs and a child-size cup with a paper lid and her marshmallows peeking out.

"You're a hero," I said, taking my tea.

"Obviously," he smirked, and we both settled back to enjoy the stillness.
Once the last marshmallow had been hunted down from the bottom of Isla's cup and the mugs were returned, we stepped inside the library through its creaky old door. The familiar scent of paper, dust, and something faintly citrusy welcomed us in like an old friend.

Callum immediately veered toward the far aisle—"Engineering & Applied Sciences," the little sign above read—while I trailed behind him with Isla waddling beside me, her fox now wearing a ribbon from her hair like a cape.

"You're actually going to read all of these?" I asked, eyeing the thick-spined books he started pulling off the shelf like a man on a mission.

He glanced back with a smirk. "I don't just stack bricks for a living, you know. Civil engineering is a delicate art."

"Oh, forgive me, master of concrete," I teased, lifting one particularly dense volume. "'Soil Retention and Hydrological Planning.' Sounds like a thrilling bedtime read."