Page 28 of Library or Lattes?

Pop was sitting in front of the fire, scraps of wood and tools around him. Our house wasn’t big—more of a cottage, really—but it was ours. And it hadn’t changed, not since I could remember. The quilts Mom made were still hanging over the backs of the sofas, memories woven into their rusts, creams, and forest greens. Pop’s work boots sat beside my sneakers at the door, and the wooden floors creaked in all the familiar places.

I curled up on the couch and watched Pop fight with the pieces of wood. “What are you building this time?”

“I finally replaced those old drawers of yours. You’ll have a place for all your clothes now.” Pop cursed under his breath at a screw and my heart swelled.

I hugged my knees. “Thanks, Pop,” I said. It would be nice to be able to put my sweaters away again.

“Do you want some soup? Jo sent some home for us.” Pop got off the floor slowly and moved toward the kitchen.

Jo again. I was starting to wonder why he saw her so much. And why she kept giving us so much food.

“Sure, thanks, Pop.”

“So tell me about your day,” he said, handing me a bowl of spicy goodness.

“It was pretty busy. Geoff’s broken his leg, so his son James was there to help out instead, and it turns out that Geoff’s accounts are a total mess.”

“James? I haven’t seen that boy in years, how’s he doing?”

The warm feeling I got when James held my hand was back. Rushing right through me, head to toe. “He’s okay. A bit quiet.”

Pop sighed. “I’m not surprised about those accounts. Geoff’s been running that business the same way since before you were born. And his leg? What a disaster.”

He sat down beside me and rubbed his chin. “What can I do to help?”

“Well, James and I are already making plans. We’re going to do an event or something to save the Little Acorn and to save the Kissing Tree.” It was going to be great.

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Pop said.

“I’ll count you in to lend a hand?”

“Of course. Geoff’s lucky to have you both stepping up. In the meantime, I’ll give him a call, see if he needs anything.” Pop was forever doing things for other people. He always said I was like Mom, but this trait? It was all from him.

Then it just came out, like I’d been planning it this way.

“So, Pop, I got this weird email.”

I got out my phone and showed it to him, expecting him to brush it off like I had.

But he didn’t. He shook his head slowly. “That sounds like Lisa May, all right. And a letter? Did you get that?”

“You don’t think it’s a scam? And no, no letter. Unless it’s here?”

“Haven’t seen it. But … it’s like Lisa has seen that little notebook of yours or something, right?”

I thought about the notebook underneath my pillow. The one that sat right next to Mom’s. “I mean, yeah, but …”

“But what?” Pop asked gently. “Don’t look so scared, sweetheart, this is a good thing.”

“I’m just not sure it’s real. I mean, I haven’t seen this letter, and Aunt Lisa barely knew me, so why would she leave me all this money?”

“Because maybe you were the only blood relative she had left?” Pop suggested. “But whatever the reason, it could be really exciting.”

I looked around our house, at the pictures of Mom on the wall, at the pencil lines on the chipped paint where Pop had measured my height. I thought about the Kissing Tree, the Little Acorn, the Harvest Festival. My whole life was right here. I didn’t want money to walk away from it.

“We could really use that money, Pop. If it is real, and I’m totally not convinced it is, I’d rather see it going toward the house. Something useful.”

“Willa …” Pop started.