I even went so far as to rub my eyes and blink rapidly to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. With a lingering hangover—and subsequent headache—from the Labor Day festivities of the day before, I wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.
I set my mug down on a ceramic coaster and clicked the message open.
Saturday, August 30, 2025 (3:57 p.m.)
From: Owen Lawless ([email protected])
To: Delia Delatou ([email protected])
Business Proposition
Dear Ms. Delatou,
I’m reaching out today at the request of your sister, Amara. I have a business proposition she informed me you may be interested in, and I’d like to set up a meeting. I’m available any day this upcoming week between the hours of noon and three p.m.
Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Owen Lawless
I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion. There was a lot to unpack there, and I hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with it. Instead of attempting a response, I rose from my desk chair and shuffled downstairs, exiting the garage and padding inside to refill my mug. Then I passed through the front door and onto my screened-in porch. This far north in the state, fall was already peeking its head out from the blanket of summer, and I could not be happier. This was truly my favorite time of the year, when the leaves on the maple, oak, and birch trees fencing my yard began to yellow, when the air became crisper, when the breeze smelled of softly decaying things.
I dropped myself onto the padded swing, mug cupped in my hands, and allowed my gaze to roam around my neighborhood. I took my coffee out here whenever the weather permitted, loving the combination of the warm liquid and fresh air to wake me up. Across the street, the Millers were hustling outside—she usheredthe kids into her SUV to take them to daycare while he hopped in his truck to head into Traverse City for work. Next to them, Mr. Tuggle shuffled out to his mailbox in his slippers and robe to grab the morning paper. The curtains on their front room twitched as Mrs. Tuggle peaked out, surveying the new day.
Across the street on the other side, the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Rinaldi climbed into their van and headed downtown, in the direction of the grocery store his family had owned and operated for the last forty or so years.
And next door to me, Tanya Geralt sat on her own porch, a mug of something—most likely chai tea if I knew her—steaming in her hands. When I caught her eye, she waved and shouted, “Good morning!”
“Morning, Tanya!” I hollered back.
Tanya was the owner of Granny Smith’s, the local bar and restaurant my grandmother had built back in the seventies. Her family’s roots in this town ran nearly as deep as mine, and despite having been so young, I knew my family was pleased—if a bit skeptical—when she stepped forward to buy it in the nineties. She was barely twenty-four back then, but she’d made a success of the place. Between Granny’s, Sydney’s Diner, and Brie’s Bakery, the townsfolk of Apple Blossom Bay were spoiled with good cooking.
And I was spoiled to live in such a tight knit community. My first winter in this house, Mr. Rinaldi taught me how to use a snow blower so I could clear my own driveway. Mr. Tuggle, who owned the local hardware store, taught me everything I needed to know about home improvement, giving me the skills to update this place myself. Anytime I was sick, Tanya wouldbring me a vat of her homemade chicken noodle soup to make me feel better.
I had my family nearby, yes, but there was something so heartwarming about being welcomed wholly by people who weren’t genetically predisposed to love you. That was part of the reason why I’d bought a house in town instead of building on my land farther north on the peninsula. I loved Mom, Dad, and each of my four sisters dearly, but I wanted something that wasmine. When I first looked at this house, even before stepping inside, I knew it was home.
It was an old farmhouse that formerly sat on the outskirts of town, the once vacant land around it now filled in with housing as the town expanded. Thanks to the diligent record keeping of our town officials, I even had a few framed photos of the house when it was new and surrounded by fields decorating my walls. Today, though, I was only a few streets off the main thoroughfare. I had a corner lot with a sizable yard and trees providing enough privacy in the back. Plus, there was room to grow if I had a family one day, and I loved having neighbors.
I’d known right away it would need a lot of work to modernize it, but I enjoyed the challenge. In fact, I relished it. The hard work was a good place to channel my anxiousness and energy that I would otherwise exploit elsewhere. I’d done all the updates—save the roof, siding, and some interior framing—myself, including tearing down and replacing every rotted board of the wrap-around porch I sat on now, gutting the kitchen to put in new cabinets and countertops, installing new laminate flooring throughout both levels, painting, and a plethora of other things. In the five years since I’d graduated college and purchased thisplace, I’d slowly but surely turned it from neglected to lived in.
As I’d documented the entire thing on my Instagram and TikTok accounts, I’d been surprised by the enthusiasm and rapid growth of my audience. I had dual degrees in marketing and business from Northwestern, but the updating of my home was my first true chance to put either of them to work, and I discovered how much I loved the social media aspect of marketing and branding.
Truthfully, I’d only gotten the business degree because Dad had begged me to, saying it was good to have something to fall back on if marketing failed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in me; he was simply a practical man trying to raise practical daughters. I heeded his advice if only because I wanted to make him happy. What I’d really wanted was to major in photography, but I had settled for a few courses in school and more online, mostly self-teaching. I’ve always loved photography, and had earned fun money in college by shooting special occasions for my contemporaries. I quickly learned social media photography was a whole different ball game, but one I enjoyed immensely. I really cut my teeth on it, and years of trial and error had gotten me to the place I was now.
All in all, things had worked out exactly as they were supposed to.
Happily, I inhaled deeply, drawing in a breath of fresh morning air and basking in the sounds of my neighborhood waking up and starting the day. I didn’t know how Amara lived out on the peninsula by herself. The silence would drive me crazy.
Speaking of my big sister, I headed into the house and upstairs, scooping my phone off my nightstand where I’d left it and dialedher number.
“Morning, sunshine,” Amara said, voice still sleepy.
“Morning, sissy. Did I wake you?”
“No, you’re fine,” Amara said. “I’m just always tired. This baby is sucking the life out of me.”
I grinned at the thought of my future niece or nephew. I couldn’t believe both of my older sisters were pregnant at the same time. I wasn’t anywhere near ready for children, but I couldn’t quite tamp down on the jealousy that panged in my chest. I was happy they were experiencing something so wonderful together, but I hated feeling left out.
