“So, I’m McAllister now, not Owen.”
I blew a raspberry in his direction and crossed my arms, wishing I could crawl under the seat and stay there.
“Yes, Piper.I like you.”His voice went soft, earnest.“I’ve always liked you.Since the day you pushed me down on the playground in kindergarten.”
Heat rushed up my chest and into my cheeks.He remembered that?
And all this time I thought Hickory Hollow was in the past.Turns out, pieces of me were still living here.
I’d been six.Halle dared me to kiss Owen McAllister.He’d run; I’d chased him, grabbed his shirt sleeve, shoved him down, and landed on top of him to plant a quick kiss on his cheek.He’d shoved me off and stuck out his tongue like I’d given him cooties.
The teacher had caught us and hauled us both to the principal’s office.
Maybe my crush had started way earlier than late high school.
“I don’t remember that,” I lied.
“Now who’s the liar?”he said, but there was no heat in it.
I scowled out the window.“Can we go see your dad?”
He smirked, victorious, as he pulled into a space in front of Charmed & Vintage.The bell over the door jingled when we stepped inside.The familiar smell hit me first—dust, old wood, polish, and something sharper underneath.The place was crammed with furniture and objects that looked like they carried stories whether you wanted them or not.
Dougal McAllister looked exactly like a man who belonged in a shop full of secrets.Tall—easily six-three—with the same straight nose and square jaw as his son, he wore a white golf shirt, black pants, and polished shoes.Less rumpled professor, more retired navy captain.
“Owen,” Dougal said, brows lifting.“What brings you here this time of day?”
“Hey, Dad.You remember Piper Wakefield?”
“Of course.”He stepped forward and held out his hand.When I took it, he closed his other hand over mine, his grip warm and solid.“I was sorry to hear about Alice.”
“Thanks,” I managed.
“She was a special lady.”His gaze softened, studying my face in a way that made something twist low in my chest.“You have large shoes to fill.”
“So you’ve heard?”I asked.“About the will?”
He scratched his chin.“Hard not to, with Iris running around town spewing her nonsense.”
I winced.Of course Iris was airing dirty laundry all over Hickory Hollow.The thought made my shoulders creep up toward my ears.Maybe Iris was owed something.Maybe Iwasthe spoiled brat who got everything.
“Dad, we need to talk to you,” Owen said.He glanced around the cluttered shop.“In private.”
Dougal’s expression sharpened.“What’s this about, son?”
“Please, Mr.McAllister,” I said.“It’s important.And it’s about my aunt.I was hoping you could answer a few questions.”
Realization flickered through his eyes.He nodded once.“Of course.Follow me.”
He led us through a maze of chairs, sideboards, and mysterious trunks to a door marked PRIVATE.Inside was a small, dusty office crammed with a desk, a computer, a filing cabinet, and enough floor space for two chairs.
He waved us into the seats and propped himself against the edge of the desk.
“You’ve come about the ritual, I suppose,” he said.“I wondered when I might see you.”
“I told her some of it,” Owen said.“But I don’t have all the details.”
Dougal nodded.“I’ll tell you what I can, but Alice kept most of it close.”His gaze settled on me.“She didn’t want it getting out.”
