"Savannah." He sets down his fork. "Your grandmother's house."
My stomach drops. "What about it?"
"You inherit it when you turn twenty-three. That's six months away." He meets my eyes. "Sell it. Use the money to pay off your loans. Start fresh without that debt hanging over you."
The house.My grandmother's beautiful Victorian on Maple Street with the wraparound porch and the kitchen that sparked my love of cooking. The place where I learned to make perfect pie crust and how to fold butter into croissant dough. Where I felt safe and loved.
"I'm not selling Grandma's house."
"It's sitting empty. Property taxes are due. The roof needs work." He ticks off practical concerns on his fingers. "Be smart about this."
"There's a condition in the will." I've read it so many times I have it memorized. "I have to be married to inherit. Grandma and Grandpa wanted to make sure I was settled before giving me something so valuable."
"So get married." He says it like it's simple. "You and Brett have been dating for what, three months? He's a good guy. Stable job at the utility company."
Brett.My mind conjures an image of my boyfriend with his accounting degree and his sensible sedan and his complete lack of understanding when I talk about flavor profiles or the perfect sear. Brett, who thinks Olive Garden is fine dining and that my culinary dreams are a cute hobby.
"Brett and I aren't there yet." We're barely anywhere. Three months of pleasant dates and lukewarm kisses and increasing certainty that pleasant isn't enough.
"Then find someone who is." Dad finishes his omelet, pushing back from the table. "I have to get back to the station. We've got a situation on Main Street."
"What kind of situation?" I follow him to the door, grateful for the subject change.
"That Reeves boy is causing trouble again." He straps on his duty belt, jaw tight. "Thinks he can just set up shop in town like his record doesn't matter."
Colton Reeves. I know the name, know the reputation. The ex-con everyone whispers about. The one with the tattoos and the motorcycle who spent time in juvie for street racing and general delinquency.
"What did he do?"
"Exist." Dad's voice drips with contempt. "Delivered some metalwork commission to the mayor's wife on Main Street. Blocking traffic with that bike of his. Making decent people uncomfortable."
Something in his tone raises my hackles. "Is he breaking any actual laws?"
"He's a blight on this community." Dad checks his sidearm, that righteous authority settling over him like armor. "Some people don't deserve second chances. They just prove why they blew their first chances in the first place."
He leaves without saying goodbye, and I stand in the doorway watching his patrol car pull away. The unfairness of it burns in my chest. Colton Reeves served his time, from what I've heard. Turned his life around. Built a business as a blacksmith and metalworker, teaching at-risk kids welding skills.
But my father sees only the past. Only the mistakes. Only the reasons to maintain distance between the "good people" and the ones who screwed up.
I grab my keys and my jacket, propelled by an impulse I don't fully understand. Maybe it's rebellion against my father'sjudgment. Maybe it's curiosity about the man everyone warns me away from. Maybe it's just the need to witness something real instead of staying trapped in this kitchen that smells like failure and burned garlic.
Main Street is onlya few blocks from our house. I park near the courthouse and spot the scene immediately. A black motorcycle parked at the curb, a tall man in jeans and a black t-shirt standing beside it, and my father's patrol car pulled up with lights flashing like it's a major incident.
I move closer, keeping to the sidewalk, drawn by morbid fascination.
Colton Reeves is taller than I expected. Broader. His dark hair is slightly too long, his arms covered in intricate tattoos that wind from wrist to shoulder. He stands with casual confidence while my father looms over him, using his authority like a weapon.
"Your bike is illegally parked." Dad's voice carries across the street. "I should impound it."
"I'm in a loading zone." Colton's voice is deep and calm, no trace of the troublemaker my father claims he is. "Making a delivery, like I said."
"You're making decent people uncomfortable." Dad steps closer, invading space. "Maybe you should consider taking your business elsewhere. Somewhere more suited to your kind."
Heat floods my face. The blatant prejudice, the abuse of power, the sheer unfairness of watching my father humiliatesomeone for the crime of existing while trying to earn an honest living.
"Sheriff Parker." Colton's jaw tightens, but his voice remains level. "I have every right to conduct business in this town."
"Rights." Dad practically spits the word. "People like you gave up rights when you chose to break the law. You're trash, Reeves. Always have been, always will be. Best thing you could do is leave Whisper Vale to people who actually contribute to society."
