𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐕 : 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Following your two-hour chat with Sunny, where she informed you of every whispered word, stolen glance, and accidental belch, you threw yourself straight into bed, absolutely exhausted from the day's happenings. In the morning, you woke early, prepared a hearty breakfast for your makeshift family, tended to the horses, squeezed in a light dusting and mopping, threw together lunch with what few groceries you had left, and read a book well into the early afternoon.

While others may yawn at the lack of spectacle, you relished the calmness. Yesterday was such a marathon of peaks and valleys that you couldn't handle much more excitement.

Sunny decided to keep to herself all morning, and Martin and Mr. Kirstein had gone off on their own to do Lord-knows-what in the yard.

Not having to worry about anyone other than yourself was a nice change of pace, even if it was only for a few hours. Maybe it made you selfish, but this was the first time in years that your relaxation was your only priority.

That feeling abruptly ended when you heard the front door bash into the frame under your feet. How many times had you told the youngest Springer that the door didn't need to shake the entire house each time he entered and exited?

"Martin, I asked you not to slam the door when coming inside!" you yelled from your sewing room.

A small silence followed until a deeper voice than expected shouted up the stairwell, "You've got the wrong brother, but feel free to try again, squirt!"

Disbelief carried you from your bench and out to the guest room window. Looking out over the street, you spotted an unfamiliar carriage waiting at the edge of the road, and you barely made out Mrs. Springer's frustrated face in the back seat.

That sight could mean only one thing.

Connie was finally home.

Before you even realized you dashed from your vantage point, you were already at the bottom of the stairs. There, the gray-haired traveler stood with two wooden crates shaking in his hands, his lucky knife tucked snuggly in a sheath on his belt, a paper-wrapped square strapped to his back, and a painful grin plastered on his lips. His hair had grown an inch past its usual close shave, but his hazel eyes kept their familiar glow of mischievousness despite his ever-increasing age.

"Well, well, well. Look who's all grown up!" he shouted over the short distance.

"Connie! Goodness, it's so good to see you!" You ran over to him, stole the top box to lighten his load, and peeked into the parlor to find Sunny.

She was reading on the sofa, utterly unbothered by the fact her brother had finally returned after being gone for almost a year. Lucy rested in her lap, her eyes never leaving her pages as she itched the kitten's head.

"Sunny, look! Connie's home!"

She looked up for a brief second, annoyance darkening her gaze. "I saw. Hello, Constance. I hear you think I'm too annoying to come to Philadelphia?"

"She gets more and more like Ma every year," Connie muttered. "Come on, Y/n. I've gotta be quick packing up the little rats to take 'em home, but I've brought some trinkets for you and Niccolo."

Connie strode into the house, tracking his dirt-caked boots onto your freshly cleaned floors. He hauled the box to the kitchen, and you closely followed as he slammed the crate on the counter. The sharp noise made you flinch internally, hoping the countertop did not splinter. Niccolo would be livid if he came home to find the wood needed to be replaced for a third time because of Connie's carelessness.

"Sun!" He called to the other room. "Start packing and find Martin while we unbox!"

"You go find him!" she yelled back. "Mother told you to get us, so it's your responsibility to find him! Not mine!"