Please Return the Borrowed Sun

How it begins

The sun was due back before breakfast.

June remembered that part.

She also remembered the clerk telling her to keep the receipt somewhere safe.

Unfortunately, safe places were where June put things when she wanted never to see them again.

The small sun hovered above the festival square, warm and golden and increasingly impatient.

"Any luck?" it asked.

"Several promising pockets."

"Those are not the same as luck."

Around them, the village continued enjoying a night that looked like afternoon. Children had gone home, but their parents were still buying cakes. The brass band had played its final tune three times.

An owl sat on the clock tower wearing an expression of professional disappointment.

Alfie Rusk emerged from his bakery carrying an unbaked loaf.

"This won't do."

June looked at the loaf.

"It seems fine."

"It's six hours late."

"So are most of the dancers."

"My yeast is confused. So are the hens. And I can't sleep before my shift because the curtains think it's morning."

June had borrowed the sun to make the longest night cheerful.

She had not intended to inconvenience the curtains.

The sun drifted lower.

"I really do need to go. There's a place for me in the eastern sky."

"Can't you simply fly there?"

"Not without being checked in. They might send a replacement."

Alfie looked upward.

"Two sunrises?"

"Messy," said the sun.

June searched her coat again.

A button. String. Three ticket stubs. A peppermint that had lost an argument with the lining.

No receipt.

The owl flapped down to a nearby roof.

Somewhere in the village, a rooster made a noise like a question.

Alfie set the loaf aside.

"Where did you get it?"

"The lending office on the hill."

"Then we'll go there."

"It's closed."

He fetched his bicycle and placed a folded cloth in the basket.

"I run a bakery," he said. "I know the difference between closed and nobody willing to knock."

The sun settled into the basket.

For the first time all evening, June could see the stars.