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Stepping into the quaint arrival hall, I'm met with a sight that nearly sends me into a tailspin.
Evan, my younger brother, is leaning against a wall with a sign that reads 'William Willoughby.' He’s wearing a suit that is obviously borrowed from our dad’s closet because it’s faded and two sizes too big.
He’s also slicked his hair to the side with far too much gel.
It's like walking into a bizarre, parallel universe—one where Evan is suddenly a chauffeur in a storyline that's veering off script.
I toss my bag to the left of me, and smile at William. “Oops. I’m such a klutz. Do you mind getting that for me?”
While William heads for the bag, I take the opportunity to confront my brother.
"Evan? What in the world are you doing here?" I hiss.
He grins, the kind of grin that's seen him through every scrape since he was five. "Sasha's idea," he says, waving the sign like it's a flag of victory. "I'm your driver. Don't worry, I've watched enough James Bond to nail this."
“You look like a joke,” I whisper, frowning at him, but my words do nothing to quash Evan’s excitement.
I glance at William, hoping he's going to buy this impromptu act. "You do realize this isn't a movie, right? We're trying to be low-key here, not auditioning for a spy thriller."
Evan winks. "Relax, sis. I’ve been going to improv night for the last five years, and it’s all lead me up to this moment. Plus, I need this gig. It beats explaining to Mom why I'm still job hunting."
His words do little to ease the knot in my stomach, but there's no time to argue.
William arrives and hands me my bag, it feels a million times heavier than before. “Thanks.”
“Hi there, you’re our driver?” William says, holding out his hand to Evan.
My brother flashes a charming smile and gives William an enthusiastic handshake. “I am indeed. Evan Barnes, at your service. Come this way, sir.”
We pile into a Tesla, which I recognize is our dad’s car, and set off for the estate.
As we drive, William's curiosity about Snowdrop Valley becomes apparent.
He peers out the window at the passing scenery with the kind of interest one usually reserves for exotic locations, not sleepy small towns.
"So, Evan, what's the most exciting thing that ever happened here in Snowdrop Valley?" William asks, his tone suggesting he's expecting tales of quaint, country charm.
Evan's eyes light up, and I brace myself for whatever tall tale is about to unfold. "Well, Mr. Willoughby, there's the legendary story of the Snowdrop Phantom," he begins, and I mentally facepalm.
"The Snowdrop Phantom?" William echoes, intrigued.
"Oh yes," Evan continues, barely containing a mischievous grin. "A mysterious figure who roams the woods at night. Legend says it's the ghost of a farmer who lost his favorite cow and still searches for her."
I shoot Evan a glare that I hope conveys a mix of 'stop talking' and 'I can't believe you,' but he's on a roll.
William chuckles. "A ghostly farmer, huh? That's certainly unique."
"And then there's the Great Pudding Incident of '08," Evan adds, not missing a beat.
I groan, "Oh, please—"
But he plows on. "The town's annual bake-off. Mrs. Henderson's pudding exploded, splattering the mayor. They say his suit was never the same."
William's laughter fills the car, and I slump in my seat, torn between embarrassment and begrudging amusement at Evan's antics. It's clear he's enjoying himself far too much.
"You are quite the storyteller," William remarks, still chuckling.
I muster a smile, though it feels more like a grimace. "I prefer 'local embellisher of mundane events’."
