“And the window upstairs,” Harper added. “And probably the loose banister and half the house, if we’re being honest.”
Grant gave the swing a final tug and stood. “You’ll need new bolts, maybe fresh chains. The frame’s still good, though. It can hold.”
He looked at me again when he said it. I wasn’t sure if it was just coincidence.
“I’ll grab what I need from the truck,” he added, brushing dust from his hands. “Shouldn’t take long.”
He stepped down into the yard and disappeared around the side of the house.
Willa exhaled dramatically. “That man is the human equivalent of sourdough bread. Solid. Wholesome. Slightly addictive.”
Harper groaned. “Please stop.”
But I smiled, despite myself. It had been a long time since we’d all been in the same place. Longer still since it felt almost… easy.
I sat on the edge of the porch and looked out over the yard. The grass was overgrown, dandelions sprouting like wild thoughts. The flowerbeds were a mess, and the hedge along the walkway had grown into an unmanageable tangle.
Still, it felt like something alive. Something that had been waiting for us.
Willa sat beside me and passed the lemonade. “So. How are you really?”
I took a sip. Sweet. Cold. A little too tart.
“I’m okay,” I said.
She didn’t push. Which I appreciated.
“Do you think we can actually do it?” I asked. “The wishes?”
Willa kicked off her sandal and nudged a toe into the soft dirt at the porch’s edge. “Honestly? No idea. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s not about succeeding. Maybe Iris just wanted us to be in the same room long enough to remember how to try.”
I nodded.
Harper sat down on the swing—not quite trusting it, hovering just enough to test its strength. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“You mean staying here?”
“No. The cooking part.”
Willa snorted. “We’re all decent at cooking.”
“I set rice on fire last month,” I admitted.
Harper blinked. “How do you even—never mind.”
Willa grinned. “Iris said we have to invite someone new. I vote Grant.”
Harper raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because he’s hot. And also because we don’t know him. That’s literally the definition ofsomeone new.”
“We kind of know him,” I said quietly. “He grew up here. He dated that one girl—what was her name? Ellie Crouch?”
“Ellie married a dentist in Portland,” Willa said. “Has twins and a Pinterest page.”
I blinked. “How do you even know that?”
“Instagram.”
