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She laughs over her shoulder and slips into the crowd before I can protest again, leaving me with a flimsy wristband wrapped around my fingers and plenty of time to question why I agreed to come.

Maybe staying home would’ve been easier.

A chorus of laughter breaks across the lawn before the thought can settle. People jump aside.

Someone throws both hands into the air. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

A golden retriever barrels past with an entire hamburger bun clamped between his teeth, three adults chasing after him at a pace that suggests they’ve accepted defeat long before today.

The dog never even looks back. His tail swings so hard his whole back end wiggles.

The man beside me watches the retriever dive beneath a picnic table, pop out the other side, then weave neatly between two toddlers who clap like they’ve just witnessed an Olympic event.

“Does nobody catch him?” I ask the nearest person to me.

“They’ve spent years trying.”

My eyes widen. “So this happens a lot?”

“Every company picnic.”

Across the grass, a woman stacks paper plates with the expression of someone who’s already exhausted. “We quit bringing uncovered food.”

The dog pauses beside a little boy long enough to accept an enthusiastic pat on the head, then trots off with his stolen prize, leaving the adults behind him exchanging the kind of resigned looks that say this isn’t worth the effort anymore.

Lena returns balancing two cups of lemonade. “I see you’ve met Sprout. The boss’s dog. He runs this place.”

Before I can ask anything else, two little girls race across the grass in our direction.

I glance over my shoulder, expecting whoever they’re chasing to come running past me, but the path behind me is empty and the two little girls keep charging straight at me until one digs the toes of her trainers into the grass and skids to a stop inches away.

“I need help.”

I blink at her. “Hi?”

I look at Lena for help. She lifts her lemonade, takes a sip and grins over the rim of the cup. “You’re on your own. Babs bites.”

“I don’t think they’re looking for me.”

The little girl studies me for a long moment before pointing at my sweater. “I like your shirt.”

I smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s yellow.”

“It is.”

She nods, apparently satisfied, then sticks out her hand. “I’m Babs.”

The other girl beams at me. “I’m Biddy.”

“Babs and Biddy?” I repeat, looking between them. “Those are unusual names.”

Babs nods. “Mommy picked them.”

“They’re old family names,” Biddy adds.

“Well, I like them. It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Emma.”