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Ian regarded Izzy, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, so you want me to turn down the volume on my miter saw, right?”

“Yes, exactly!” Izzy said. “Thank you.”

“Nope!” he answered cheerily. “No can do. It’s a miter saw, not a television. There’s no volume button.”

“Then you can do your miter-saw-thinging later,” Izzy said. There was no anger or irritation in her voice. It was like she was ordering lunch from a waiter. She just issued her edicts and expected people to do what she said.

“Wait, are you—” Ian began.

Izzy cut him off. “Yes,” she said. “I am Izzy Jones. But don’t, like, make a big deal about it. And don’t put anything about me on your Instagram.”

“Well, for starters, I’m not on Instagram,” Ian said calmly. “And I figured out who you are, but I was actually going to ask if you were my new boss, because I work for Cam here. So if she wants me to do my ‘sawing thing’ later, I will. But my understanding is Cam wants this project done as quickly as possible, which means I’ve got a whole lot of sawing to get to.”

Izzy looked stunned. Clearly the word no wasn’t something she heard a lot of.

Ian reached into a sawdust-covered canvas duffel and grabbed a dinged-up pair of construction headphones.

“Here ya go,” he said, tossing them for her to catch. “Afternoon, ladies.”

With that, he turned around and flipped on the power tool again. Cam wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination, but it seemed like he had somehow managed to make it run even louder than before.

“Rude,” Izzy said to Cam as they went back to the house, holding the earphones like they were covered in plague germs. “But definitely hot.”

Cam didn’t have the energy to protest. Ian definitely wasn’t rude.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As they headed back into the kitchen, Cam passed Ada’s cookbook on the sideboard and felt a pang of guilt. She had so much going on that she hadn’t been able to give her full focus to Ada.

“Sorry, Ada,” she said, patting the book. The pages ruffled themselves and Cam could have sworn they made a sound like an impatient sigh.

Izzy, of course, noticed. The woman was either hyper-observant or completely oblivious, and it was just her luck that she had chosen that particular moment to actually pay attention. “What the hell was that?” Izzy demanded, pausing mid-reach into the refrigerator for one of her fancy waters.

Cam wasn’t sure what to say. She might have to tell their guest about the ghost, eventually. Depending, that was, on how long she actually planned to camp out at Birdie’s.

“It’s probably just a draft,” she said reassuringly. “Old houses, you know.”

Cam heard the distinctive rattle of Birdie’s Volvo pull up outside, and a moment later, her grandmother entered the kitchen carrying a grocery bag.

“Hi, girls,” she greeted them. “Izzy, would you be a dear and go carry in the last bags from my car?” Birdie asked. “I need Cam to help me with something.”

Izzy gaped. She was obviously not used to fetching things—not for herself, let alone anyone else. But no one—not even entitled Hollywood A-listers apparently—could refuse Birdie, who had issued the request with such good cheer and the same confidence that Izzy herself had oozed when trying to boss Ian around just now.

“What do you need from me?” Cam asked as Izzy flounced outside to the car. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,” Birdie said with a conspiratorial smile as she watched Izzy from behind the curtains. “I’m fine. I could have carried in all the bags myself. I just think it’s good for her to get the hang of doing something for other people. I think deep down she knows how, but she might have forgotten.”

Cam was feeling both relieved and apprehensive as she made dinner later that night. Something simple, just a pasta tossed with a garlicky kale pesto with the vegetables Birdie had brought home. Avery, Birdie, and Izzy were setting the table. Again, Birdie had made it a point to assign Izzy a task, this time, folding napkins, as Cam tossed the pasta with the fragrant sauce, scattering a generous handful of parmesan cheese over the dish.

On the plus side, Cam had managed to face Ian, as painful as that had been. And she had a helper in Paige for the week. Not to mention that it had been a minor miracle that Izzy had gotten through the day without wreaking any havoc. But all the pots on Cam’s proverbial stove were simmering away, and at any moment, she knew, any one of them could boil over.

As Cam reached for the tongs to transfer the pasta to the waiting dinner plates, she felt a rush of warmth and again heard the pages of Ada’s cookbook flip over.

Oh Ada, she thought. Not now. I promise, I’ll get to you. Soon.

Cam could sense agitation practically emanating from the book. She cast a look of helplessness to Birdie and Avery, who had gathered behind her to watch.

“She seems mad,” Cam said. “Probably annoyed that I’m not paying her enough attention.”