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“And it’s been in your family that whole time?”
Another nod. “My brother owned it the longest.”
“Kyle’s father?”
Mabel hesitates before answering, “In a sense, I suppose.”
Another mystery, one her pursed lips suggest I shouldn’t try to solve.
I finish my cereal and sip my coffee. “Can I help with the muffins?”
She glances at me, appraising. “They’re done. I’m headed outside, if you want to help.”
I’m apprehensive about the lack of further details, but I finish my coffee and wash my dishes. Mabel leads me outside, onto the front porch, and down the stairs. A huge tree shades half the house, its broad branches spanning wide and straight. Just past it, there’s a huge pile of old wood shingles I didn’t notice before. Mabel’s focused on them too.
“Bonfire?” I ask.
Mabel shakes her head, then glances up. I follow her gaze to the bent figure who’s pushing more shingles off the side of the roof. They fall in rapid succession, growing the pile even more. I squint, then quickly look away when I realize I’m looking at a shirtless Kyle.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s a big project.”
She lets out a snort that could be considered a laugh, then continues around the side of the farmhouse to a cleared patch of dirt. This section is intentional, not like the bare spots in the front yard, where it looks like the grass has been worn away. Neat rows of green plants stretch a dozen feet, dotted with spots of red. Turns out, the massive pile of strawberries she made into jam was only a small part of her harvest.
“Wow. I didn’t realize anything could grow so well in this weather.”
Mabel picks up a wicker basket waiting on the ground and hands it to me. “Anything can grow. It just takes some patience.”
She holds my gaze, like she’s trying to convey something more than gardening tips.
In the short time I’ve known Kyle’s aunt, I feel like most of what she says has a hidden meaning. It’s a little exhausting, searching for the subtext. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
“And water, right?”
Her face cracks into a smile. “And water.”
Then, we kneel on the dry ground and start picking strawberries to the soundtrack of falling shingles.
CHAPTERTEN
KYLE
Piper startles when I step into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes. I do a better job of hiding my surprise about how she’s already awake. Not to mention in my kitchen.
I watch her fingers tighten around her fork. Her shoulders square, like she’s bracing for a fight.
None of her body language makes any sense, considering we’ve barely spoken since she arrived. She’s done who knows what the past couple of days, shadowing Mabel or tucked away in the bunkhouse.
It’s almost like she’s avoiding me, which is confusing, considering why she’s here. I probably shouldn’t have walked away yesterday. I should have let her make her pitch andthenwalked away. But I’m too tired to worry how I should or shouldn’t act around Piper right now.
“Morning,” I mumble, heading straight for the coffee machine. I’m surprised—and pleased—to discover it’s already full.
“Good morning.” Piper clears her throat. “You’re up early.”
“Woke up when Mabel and John left. Never really fell back asleep.” I sip some coffee, nearly groaning aloud at the revitalizing richness.
“Mabel and John…left?”
I nod, drinking more of the best coffee I’ve had in years. “You brewed this?”
