Page 38 of Manors & Mischief

“I’ll check it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

That shuts her up. She blows out a breath and takes a bite of her sandwich. Her gaze fills with tears. “Have I mentioned I’m so sick of eating peanut butter and jelly?”

It dawns on me then. She’s not overly attached to PB&J, she’s eating it because she’s worried about money. She’s worried about affording everything for the house and still being able to live off of whatever lottery money she has left over.

I take her plate and throw mine and hers over the railing.

She narrows her gaze. “That’s the second time you’ve thrown something of mine away!”

I chuckle because yeah, I guess it is. “Have you ever been to the pizza shop in town?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you like pizza?”

She nods.

I pull out my wallet. “Here’s twenty bucks. Go get yourself some pizza and a drink and relax.”

“I’m not taking your money, Devon. I can afford pizza.”

“You’re not taking it, I’m giving it to you. Now go get some pizza, or I’ll call Bea to come get you so you can both go for pizza, and if you still won’t do it, I’ll call Rose.”

The absolute exhaustion on her face when she stands and takes the twenty-dollar bill from my fist is a clue to how terrible she must be feeling. She sulks down the porch steps and keeps walking past the overgrown grass, out the squeaky gate and down the sidewalk without another word.

I expected some pushback, but I’m glad she didn’t give it. The fact that she didn’t even wash up a little before leaving the house tells me she really needed this break. She’s been working on the yard for a couple of days now, and though she’s always excited when she talks to me about the Children’s Haunted House, I can tell yardwork isn’t her thing because she comes in most evenings without even saying a word and heads upstairs like a zombie. I even have to lock up for her before I leave. Some days, I’ve thought about spending the night on the couch, and I would if I thought she wouldn’t freak out in the morning to find me there.

Once she’s out of sight, I head to my truck to find the sharpening kit. I give the hedge clippers a quick touch-up then go to the shed where I find a wheelbarrow and the mower she talked about. I back it out of the shed, hit the primer button a few times, and when I yank on the cord, it starts right up.

One problem down. She probably didn’t know to hit the primer button.

Since the Tour is only concerned with the front of the house, that’s where I concentrate my efforts. I use the newly sharpened hedge clippers to cut down the bushes, throw the errant leftovers I rake up in the wheelbarrow, and then start the mower. I have one side of the house completely done and am starting on the other side when I hear a shriek.

I let the mower go, turn, and find Ember at the front gate, a pizza box in one hand, the other over her mouth. “Devon!”

For a moment, I think I’m in trouble until she smiles. “Are you serious? You did all this?”

The gate squeaks as she pushes it open. One side of the yard isn’t touching her calves anymore. She steps in the newly mowed grass and beams, twisting around, her now dry shirt billowing out around her while the pizza box sits precariously on her palm.

“I just had the right tools,” I tell her.

“And the mower works?”

I crook my finger to beckon her toward me, and then I show her the primer button. “You have to push this a couple of times, then it’ll start right up.”

She throws her arms around me, and I still. The corner of the pizza box presses into my shoulder, but I don’t stop her. I wouldn’t dream of it. For a moment, I’m engulfed in everything Ember. Slowly, I enclose my arms around her torso and hug her back.

We just stand there for a moment, as if she also can’t believe we’re actually hugging, while at the same time, not wanting to let the other go. “Thank you,” she sniffs. “I brought you back pizza since you sacrificed your own PB&J.”

She backs off, handing me the square box.

“Thanks.”

“You can eat it while I finish this half.”