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“And he ignored me every single summer we spent here. He’s not suddenly going to change the way he views me. I’m always going to be your kid sister.”
Rose crossed her arms and stared out the window. She should have known her brother was going to corner her on the drive. This was what he always did.
“You’re underestimating him. Mike will manipulate anything and everything if it means he gets what he wants. I saw it over and over and you heard about it, too, that year we came up here and he was gone.”
Rose shook her head but refused to comment. She had her own issues with Mike, but hearing his own best friend put him down rubbed her the wrong way. It was like Ethan was doing everything in his power to poison her against Mike—which only made her want to root for him that much more.
“I’ll be right back.” Ethan sighed. “I have an order to pick up at the hardware store and then I can take you to the Anderson farm.”
Her eyes followed him as he headed inside. Mike was a lot of things, but one thing she was slowly beginning to realize was that he very well could be misunderstood. The small part of her that wanted to see the best in him had been growing ever since that little story about his grandfather.
Something told her this was only the tip of the iceberg. There was good in him, she just had to find it.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes stretched out longer than she expected. Rose grew restless as the time on the clock continued to change. It got to a point where she thought she might actually need to go hunt her brother down, but then he exited the building with a box of supplies.
Ethan placed the box in the bed of his truck and climbed inside. He paused a moment before putting the truck into reverse, appearing deep in thought.
“Everything okay?”
“It was weird. They said they’d have my stuff ready to pick up. It’s just a bunch of tools and supplies I needed to repair a wall in the barn. But when they went to grab it, they said it must have been misplaced.”
Rose glanced out the back window. “That’s a pretty big box. How could they misplace it?”
“That’s the thing. I guess they thought they’d put it together, but it didn’t happen. They had to check my list and gather everything for me again.”
“That isn’t so weird, is it?” Rose turned toward him again. “Even at the restaurant, someone drops the ball every once in a while. It happens.”
“Yeah,” he mused, “I suppose you’re right.”
Rose hurried up the front porch of the house and paused at the door. Her thoughts shifted to the argument she’d had with her brother and how she’d defended Mike without a second thought. Her heart fluttered briefly, but it was more than enough to make one thing crystal clear. She was fed up with everyone treating Mike like he was a second-class citizen and that included himself.
People needed to mind their own business and let others find their way. Maybe Mike needed to remember that.
She grabbed ahold of the doorknob and pushed it open. The moment she stepped over the threshold, she saw him standing in front of the fireplace, his eyes upturned to a painting on the mantle.
From what she’d seen, the house was a complete disaster—except the mantle. There was only one thing resting on the slab of wood, and it was a painting of the house where they currently stood.
Mike glanced over his shoulder at her and turned back to the picture. “My grandmother painted it.”
“I figured,” Rose said quietly as she moved closer. “Didn’t she paint a lot when you were younger?”
Mike nodded. “I thought I’d find more of her stuff around, but so far I’ve been disappointed.” He gestured, flinging his arm around him. “This whole place is filled to the brim with junk, and he couldn’t be bothered to keep the stuff that was the most important.”
“Maybe he did, and we just haven’t gotten to it yet.”
He kicked at a box. “I don’t even know where to start in here. I thought the kitchen was bad. But this?” He grabbed the box and shook it, dislodging flyers and newspaper clippings. “What in the name of Sam Hill am I supposed to do with this? What if there’s something important in there? I can’t just toss the whole thing.”
Rose took the box from his arms and placed it on a nearby stack of newspapers. “Let’s start with sorting. We can use the kitchen as a command center and put things in piles of trash, sell, and keep. One bit at a time.”
He nodded, though he seemed more frustrated than he had been since they started. There wasn’t anything she could say at this point. She’d already expressed her sympathy. He just needed to work through it.
She grabbed a box and jerked her chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll get started.”
On her way there, she nearly tripped over a box full of tools, caulk, and repair tape. Good, Mike was preparing to fix a few things—hopefully as soon as the room was clear.
A few moments later, Mike joined her on the floor of the kitchen. She’d already formed the start of their sorting piles, and soon they had found a good momentum. Once or twice she caught him staring at her, but then he’d look away.
“I don’t remember you being the take-charge type.”
