The sun sank low over the ocean, streaking the sky with shades of gold and pink while Clare and I walked along the shore. The waves rolled in with a steady rhythm, washing over the sand and retreating just as quickly. I was still irritated from our earlier argument, but the fresh air helped clear my head.
“Look, I just don’t think she’s good for him,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “And I don’t see why you’re defending her.”
Clare sighed. “I’m not defending her—I’m just saying you can’t control what your grandpa does.”
“I’m not trying to control him,” I shot back. “I’m trying to protect him.”
She gave me a pointed look. “And who made you the authority on who he can and can’t spend time with?”
Before I could answer, Clare stumbled over a piece of driftwood. Instinct kicked in, and I caught her just before she hit the sand. She landed against my chest, her hands gripping my arms to steady herself. For a second, neither of us moved.
I could feel her breath against my neck, the warmth of her skin where my hands held her waist. My pulse quickened. She looked up, her green eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The moment stretched, charged and fragile. I leaned in—just a fraction—then stopped myself.
Clare pulled away first, flustered. “Oh! Look!” she said suddenly, pointing to the horizon. “A green flash!”
I turned in time to see the last sliver of the sun dip below the water, a fleeting emerald light blinking in its wake. My heart was still racing, but I nodded. “Yeah. I see it.”
Then, from the corner of my eye, I caught movement up at Grandpa’s house. Two shadowy figures inside.
Thinking it was Celeste, I clenched my jaw. “Stay here,” I told Clare. “I need to deal with this.”
I took off up the path, ready to get rid of the hippie once and for all—only to find Grandpa and Mrs. Henderson at the kitchen table, sharing a slice of peach pie.
Mrs. Henderson raised her fork. “Would you like some, dear?”
*CLARE
I folded another sweater and placed it into the open suitcase on my bed. The rhythmic motion of packing was oddly soothing, even though Mom stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching my every move with an expression that hovered somewhere between disbelief and disapproval. “You’re really doing this.”
“I showed you the picture.” I kept my tone light. “Even you agreed this is an amazing opportunity.”
She let out a sharp breath. “B-but moving into some stranger’s basement? You don’t have tolivethere.”
I sighed and turned to face her. “Mrs. Henderson isn’t a stranger.”
“She is to me,” Mom countered.
“Then let me introduce you.”
Mom snorted. “And she’s offering this out of the kindness of her heart? No one does anything without an agenda.”
I forced a smile. “Maybe she likes my work.”
Mom’s gaze flicked to my suitcase, then back to me, her expression softening for just a moment before she shook her head. “You could live anywhere. Why tie yourself to someone else’s project? AnAirbnb?” She said the word like it was some kind of disease. “You have better things to do with your time.”
“It’s temporary,” I said, carefully folding a pair of jeans. “And it’s a good deal. I get a place to stay, and she gets help setting up the rental. It makes sense.”
Mom scoffed. “It makes sense forher. Not for you.”
I turned away, pretending to rearrange the items in my suitcase. “Maybe I want to do something that doesn’t revolve around ‘making sense.’ Maybe I just want to live somewhere that feels likeminefor once.”
“But it’s not yours. It belongs to this Mrs. Henderson person.”
Silence stretched between us. I could feel her eyes on me, drilling in her disappointment. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “I just don’t want you making a mistake.”
I met her gaze, my own softening despite my frustration. “I won’t know it’s a mistake unless I try.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “Fine. Do what you want. You always do.” She turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me standing there with my half-packed suitcase and a strange, hollow feeling in my chest.
