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It’s about what he cares about.
“Oh. So saving Little Key means a lot to you,” I murmur. A softness wells up inside me, and I think I like it. “It’s not just another fixer job. You actually want to save the company because it’s your aunt Clara, not just for business.”
He doesn’t answer, just swallows roughly like a sulking boy who’s been caught caring too much.
“You understand. I’m glad.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s sweet, August.” I smile. “For the record, I’d do the same thing for Grandma Jackie. I moved back here to look after her.”
“Is she ill?” August glances at me, and there’s a flicker of what might be genuine interest in his eyes.
I shake my head.
“Nope. She just busted her knee hiking around Olympia. She never could sit still, and now it’s driving her insane that she has no choice but to take a little downtime. So someone’s got to stay with her to make sure she doesn’t kill herself, since she’s being stubborn about surgery, and since my parents are retired and soaking up the sun in the Keys, it has to be me.”
“You uprooted your entire life for this? Where were you before?”
“New York. I lived there through college and a little after.” I shrug. “There wasn’t much to uproot, honestly. I was just doing the freelancer grind. And at least if I’m going to live somewhere with a stupidly high cost of living, it’ll be at home, where I don’t have to pay rent.”
“Hm.” He looks puzzled. “Why does your grandmother refuse surgery?”
“My grandfather died during a routine medical procedure.” I smile sadly. “He ended up with an air embolism. Ever since, she’s afraid of going under anesthesia because she might not wake up. She misses Gramps, but she always says she’s not ready to join him yet. Her flowers might miss her too much.”
“I see.” There it is again—that barely there softening. I don’t think he realizes it’s happening, but I want to see more of it. “She reminds me of Aunt Clara. Strong willed and lovably eccentric.”
I smile. “That’s the best description of Gran I’ve ever heard.”
It’s sweet that underneath his gruffness he actually seems to like and respect my grandmother after such a short meeting.
But I shouldn’t be thinking he’s sweet at all, should I?
Although if we’re going to fake it for a few months, we can at least try to like each other and get along.
Before we can say anything else, though, the car stops on the curb.
We’re close enough to the Seattle–Bainbridge ferry that I can see the glinting water through the window, just past the cluster of high-end boutique shops surrounding us on all sides of the street.
Although I know the neighborhood, shopping here has never been in my budget, except for that one time Mom and Dad sent home a big cash envelope for my sixteenth birthday and told me to buy the nicest dress I wanted for homecoming.
I wound up going to homecoming alone. Lena did too.
We went to a bonfire with a bunch of our friends and got stupid drunk and cried over finals and bad breakups. We had the best night of our lives before waking up hungover the next day.
Bad decision?
Yes.
But I still remember that night with a fond smile.
Back then the shops here were swank. Now they’re couture and European—very high fashion.
I already feel like I don’t belong in my cute cuffed jeans and clumpy Doc Martens, my pretty lavender shirred sweater, and my mangled military-style grey canvas jacket with artsy patches all over it.
Then again, some trendy designer would probably take one look at what I’m wearing and call it boho, then sell it for ten times what I originally paid.
“So, what’s our budget?” I stare up at the sign on the shop closest to the curb.
“Budget?” August asks dryly. “Miss Lark, I could buy the entire store. Don’t bother looking at the prices; just focus on finding what makes you look—acceptable.”
