That boy?
“If you’re talking about Ethan, he’s a thirty-two-year-old attorney.”
Mom blew out an audible breath. “Given our history, you should know better than most that a man isnota financial plan.”
She was referring to my dad, who had skipped out of our lives without a backward glance when I was four.
“Ethan isn’t Dad, and I’m not banking on him, or even working for him.”
Mom snorted. “His grandfather then—”
“This has nothing to do with them.”Sort of.
That seemed to silence Mom...for a moment—too brief. “How long is this project going to take?”
I decided not to answer that question. “If you really feel like you can’t spare me, I could ask Jordan if he’d like more hours.” I knew he would be thrilled. I exhaled, gripping the measuring tape tighter. “Mom, I have to go. We’ll talk later.” Before she could argue, I ended the call and set my phone down on the counter.
Mrs. Henderson gave me a knowing smile. “Good for you.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “My mom is pretty powerful. I’ve never been great at setting boundaries with her.”
“Oh, I think you’ll be fine,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Especially with my help.”
I considered reminding Mrs. Henderson she was an eighty-something featherweight who barely cleared five-foot-two and posed zero threat to my bulldog of a mother. But then I remembered I liked having a job. Instead, I opted for silence.
*ETHAN
Clare’s text came through just as I was finishing up at work.
She’s back.
I didn’t need to ask who. I grabbed my keys and was out the door before my coworker could finish asking if I was heading home. Technically, it was almost the end of the day anyway.
By the time I pulled into Grandpa’s driveway, the sun was already stretching long golden streaks across the yard.
The hippie stood on the porch like she owned the place—which I’m pretty sure was her end game.
Grandpa, naturally, looked perfectly at ease beside her, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face like he was enjoying the show. He glanced at his watch. “You’re here during the middle of the day? Don’t you have some corporation to fleece?”
“I, huh, wanted to meet your guest.” My gaze flicked over her. She wore a flowing tie-dye skirt, layered beaded necklaces, an embroidered shawl, and jangling bangles. She probably sounded like a one-man band when she walked.
The woman curtsied. “Madame Celeste, at your service.”
“I’m Ethan Bingham, Walter’s grandson.”
“Hmm, he mentioned you.”
“And he told me very little about you.”
“And that’s why you left work early, to meet me?” Celeste’s voice was rich with amusement. “How flattering.”
Grandpa grinned. “Celeste here has something interesting to share about our fish.”
Celeste placed a hand over her heart. “He meansElazar.”
I frowned. “Who?”
“The oarfish,” she said, eyes twinkling. “That’s its name.”
