Dakota stands in the feed store parking lot with a bag of dog food she doesn't need, watching Brody through the window. He's leaning against the counter, talking to the woman who works there. The woman says something and Brody throws his head back and laughs. Dakota has never heard him laugh before. She's memorized the way he walks, the set of his shoulders, how he tips his hat to people in passing. But this is new. The woman touches his arm. Dakota's hand tightens on the bag until the plastic crinkles. She needs to move faster. Dakota drives to the park at the edge of town where the summer market sets up every weekend. She parks where she can see Brody's truck already there, backed up near the pavilion where vendors unload. The pavilion has a canvas canopy stretched over metal posts, and underneath, tables are covered with produce and baked goods. The woman from the feed store is there too, standing by a stone fountain someone set up with a shade cloth draped over wooden poles. She's handing out samples from a tray. People cluster around her. Brody takes something from the tray and the woman says something that makes him smile. Dakota's fingers find the locket at her throat. Her grandmother's. The silver chain is worn smooth and the photograph inside has faded to almost nothing. She doesn't open it. She just holds it until the metal warms in her palm. Then she gets out of the truck. The bag of ingredients she bought for next weekend is still in the back seat. Next weekend is too late. She walks straight to the pavilion. Brody glances up as she passes but his eyes don't catch. Dakota keeps walking until she's standing at the fountain, close enough to the woman that she could reach out and move her aside. Instead she watches the water trickle over the stones and counts to ten. Then she turns and walks back to her truck. She'll be at his place tomorrow morning with breakfast. The plan just changed from someday to now.