“What’s that?” With a twisted face, Winnie pointed at my shirt in the mirror, and I looked down to find a mystery stain across the lapel of my cream-colored blouse.
With a huff I left the bathroom, then unceremoniously hauled the shirt over my head. “Please get dressed,” I called over my shoulder as I tossed my top into my bedroom hamper.
As I was digging through my drawer for another suitable option, two knocks sounded at the front door before it pushed open.
“It’s me,” my little sister, Kit, called out.
My eyes lifted to the ceiling.Thank god for tiny miracles.
“Hey,” I called down the stairs. “I’m just getting dressed. There’s coffee in the pot.”
Winnie, now dressed in a black-and-white-striped top and hot-pink tutu, danced down the stairs to greet her aunt.
I hadn’t prepared a second outfit option when I had pulled out my clothes the night before, though with the way my life had been going lately, I probably should have. I selected a simple black knit top with a modest crew neck and short sleeves. At least if something got on that, the dark color could hide it.
I looked at the clock.Four minutes.
With no time for pants, let alone makeup, I bounded down the stairs in my sleep shorts.
Kit was perched atop the counter in cutoff shorts and a navy tank top, sipping her coffee and looking as unbothered as ever.
“Can I steal you for a half hour?” I pleaded. “It’s an emergency. I don’t know where the hell Amanda is and I have a call with the maritime museum starting ...” I glanced down at my watch. “Literally now.”
Kit raised her coffee mug in salute, talking around an enormous bite of blueberry muffin. “You got it, boss.”
Relief and gratitude washed through me.
I picked up my cold cup of coffee before squeezing Kit’s forearm. “Thanks. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Kit nodded, then chuckled. “Is this a no-pants Wednesday?” she asked, noting my mismatched attire.
I shrugged. “Virtual meeting and I’m out of options.” I pointed at each piece of my outfit. “Put together professional on the top.” My hand dropped to my pajama shorts. “Struggling single mom on the bottom.”
Without waiting for Kit’s quippy response, I walked out the back door and hustled across the lawn to the carriage house in the back.
At first, living in a duplex on the edges of downtown Star Harbor had not been ideal, but I came to find it had its benefits. The European-style home came with a sizable carriage house in the backyard. I had known my property manager since I was little, and when I had asked Nancy if I could convert the unusedspace into an office and restoration space, she couldn’t have cared less.
It was a sanctuary in the chaos of my life.
The carriage house sat nestled beneath a canopy of old sycamores, its weathered brick and white trim softened by climbing ivy and late-summer sunlight. Gulls wheeled high above, their cries distant beneath the rustle of dune grass pushing in along the fence line. On humid August mornings like this, the breeze carried a clean sweetness off Lake Michigan—fresh water and sand, edged with the sharp green of late-summer pines. I’d trimmed the hedges into something neat and intentional, but the wild bergamot near the porch steps refused to be tamed.
Inside my office, everything shifted. Cool, filtered light spilled through UV-protected windows. Flat files and worktables lined the walls in precise rows, tools arranged with quiet purpose—bone folders, pH pens, soft brushes placed just so. A blush-pink velvet chaise sat untouched in the corner, except when Winnie claimed it for an impromptu nap. It smelled like cotton gloves and history, and for a few blissful hours a day, it was mine—quiet, ordered, and entirely under control.
But as soon as I unlocked and opened the door, I knew everything was wrong.
The humidity in the air was off. I glanced at the dehumidifier, its light blinking an ominous red. That was a problem, but one that would have to wait until after the call.
A spider danced across the flat files, and I shrieked before swiping a hand and flinging it into the depths of god knows where. A full body shiver rattled my bones. I turned on my computer and tapped my foot as I waited for everything to boot up.
“Come on,” I whispered, tapping the desk. “Come on, come on?—”
I was already two minutes late.
After opening my digital calendar, I clicked the link to the meeting and smoothed a hand over my hair. My fingers snagged in a knot at the back of my head. I winced.
Shit.
I tucked my unruly strands behind my ears and straightened my shoulders. I did my best to paint my face with a polished, indifferent smile. “You’ve got this.”
