I had expected her resistance. I hadn’t expected how much it would sting.
*ETHAN
I knocked on Mrs. Henderson’s door, shifting the box of Clare’s kitchen supplies in my arms. It was heavier than I’d expected, filled with cast iron and optimism. The whole thing still felt surreal—Clare moving in here, Celeste still lurking around Grandpa like some kind of mystical creature.
Mrs. Henderson swung the door open and gave me a once-over. “You look grumpy.”
I sighed. “Celeste is still at the house.”
Mrs. Henderson nodded, entirely unsurprised. “You don’t say.”
“She’s convinced she can commune with fish and Grandpa’s the Prophet Jonah sent to save Nineveh.” I stepped inside, setting the box down on the small kitchen table. “I swear, she’s always there. It’s like she’s attached herself to him—like a barnacle.”
“Goodness, you’re full of sea-euphemisms today.” Mrs. Henderson hummed thoughtfully and turned toward the counter, where a freshly baked peach pie sat cooling. “Well,” she said, reaching for a knife, “you could keep griping about it.”
I frowned, watching her slice through the golden crust. “That’s one plan.”
“Or,” she continued, placing a plate in front of me, “you could sit down, shut up, and have some pie.”
I blinked. “That’s your idea?”
She pushed the plate closer, lifting a brow. “You’d be surprised how many problems a good slice of pie can solve.”
The warm scent of peaches and cinnamon curled through the air, and despite my better judgment, I sank into a chair. Mrs. Henderson smirked in victory and slid a fork toward me.
“Eat first,” she said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do about your grandpa’s fish-whisperer.”
I exhaled, shaking my head, but I picked up the fork anyway. It wasn’t a solution, but it was tasty.
“I have an idea,” Mrs. Henderson said. “Can you do exactly what I say?”
I looked up from my pie. “Is there ice cream?”
She nodded.
“Then, yes.” Even I was surprised how easily I could be bought.
*CLARE
The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows. Ethan and I crouched behind Grandpa’s worn-out sofa. A rhythmic throb echoed through me, like distant waves crashing in a storm. The silence between us was thick with anticipation.
“Do you remember your lines?” Ethan asked.
I nodded. “I hope so. I’ve never been much of an actress.” My gaze strayed out the window. “Where do you think Mrs. Henderson took your grandpa?”
“She said something about a nursery in Fallbrook.”
A car crunched over the gravel driveway. Then, the slow creak of the front door opening.
I leaned toward Ethan and whispered, “Is it on?”
He lifted a finger to his lips. His gaze locked on the entryway. Then, he nodded, barely audible.Go.
I swallowed hard and pushed myself up, stepping out from our hiding place. “I can’t believe you brought me here just to waste my time, Ethan,” I snapped, making sure my voice carried. “If you don’t want to sell, fine, but at least give me the chance to make my case.”
Ethan followed my lead seamlessly, striding into the room with barely contained irritation. “I told you, Clare. This isn’t just some house—it’s my grandfather’s home. I’m not about to let someone shove money in my face, and walk away with it.”
From the doorway, Celeste stilled, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What exactly is going on here?”
