“I’m still not sure about inviting Grant,” Harper said cautiously. “We don’tknowhim.”
“He’s harmless,” I said, before I could think about it.
Harper gave me a look. “You sure about that?”
I wasn’t. But I didn’t feel like defending my instincts, so I just said, “Lily likes him.”
Harper didn’t argue. Just typed something into her laptop and shut the screen.
“We’ll need to make the swing usable by then,” she said. “He said he’d be back tomorrow to finish repairs.”
“Perfect,” Willa said. “Now let’s talk wine.”
I let them keep chatting as I gathered my things and headed upstairs.
Back in my room, I curled up in bed beside Lily, who had fallen asleep reading. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek, and the butterfly pin rested on the windowsill beside her, catching the moonlight like it had its own glow.
I looked out at the night. The house groaned softly in the wind, like it was settling. The swing creaked below.
And for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel completely wrong here.
Maybe we wouldn’t finish the wishes. Maybe we’d fight. Maybe the summer would fall apart.
But tonight, there was a plan.
There was pasta. There was cake.
There was a man named Grant who fixed things without needing to be thanked.
And there was the quiet possibility of something beginning again.
3
WILLA
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the smell.
Salt air and lemon. A little old wood. A whiff of whatever ghost was definitely still haunting the attic.
I stretched out on the too-small mattress in the guest room, let my bare feet dangle over the edge, and stared up at the ceiling like it might reveal my purpose for the day.
It didn’t. But I had an idea anyway.
Dinner.
The first official “Summer Wish.” And bonus, we were going to cook something that didn’t involve a microwave, a plastic fork, or a questionable gas station burrito. Progress.
I rolled out of bed, found a half-clean sundress from the pile I hadn’t unpacked, and pulled my curls into a messy bun with the same pen I’d used to doodle on a napkin yesterday. Style is a state of mind.
Downstairs, the house was already humming.
Harper was in the kitchen, clanging pots. June sat at the table with her planner and a mug that read “I Run on Caffeine and Consequences.” Very on-brand. And Lily was twirling in the hallway in a tutu and rain boots, narrating her own fairy tale.
“Morning, witches,” I said brightly, stealing a strawberry from the bowl on the counter.
“You’re late,” Harper said.
“I’m never late. I just arrive at the time the moment requires.”
