By the timeI make it up to the main house, Dad and Leo are in the living room, both nursing half-drunk coffees. Maggie’s curled in the armchair, legs tucked under her, a folder in her lap. Papers are spread across the table and counter like the aftermath of a storm.
“Morning,” I say. Maggie glances up and gives me a soft smile. “Morning, sleepyhead. We were waiting for you.”
“For me? What did I do?” I ask, honestly confused. I see a mess of paperwork. “Nothing,” Dad says, voice low, steady. “We’re just gathering the documents for your mother’s will.” He says it like it’s obvious, like I should’veknown already. Maybe they told me, and I forgot. Or maybe I just blocked it out. Maggie doesn’t look up again, flipping through papers with one hand, holding her coffee with the other.
“The reading’s today. We need to be there around two-ish.” I nod, throat tight, and head to the kitchen. Coffee first. Then I’ll deal with the rest. “Wanna go grab breakfast? I’m starving. And Maggie said she’s not cooking for us, only made breakfast for Dad,” Leo says, knowing damn well it’ll piss her off.
“I didn’t say that,” Maggie shoots back immediately, straightening the stack of papers like she might throw one at him. “I said I already made breakfast at seven a.m. It’s almost ten. I’m not going back in the kitchen for you guys.” I chuckle into my coffee. Same fight, different day. Those two could bicker through the apocalypse. “Yeah, let’s go grab something,” I say, setting the mug down. “You coming, Maggs?” She sighs as if she’s being dragged, but stands anyway. “Of course. But you’re paying.” I shake my head. “Figures.”
Downtown,the diner looks the same as it always has—neon sign buzzing, front windows fogged from too much bacon grease, and let’s be honest, insufficient ventilation. It’s one of those places that’s been here forever,where you don’t even need a menu to know what you’ll order.
We push through the door, the smell of coffee and syrup hitting instantly. The hostess looks up, ready with a polite smile, but I get distracted when I see Olivia with Julia waiting for a booth. Maggie spots them, too, and her whole face softens. She steps forward first, smiling widely. “Oh my God. Olivia, Julia.”
Julia stands, polite but reserved. Olivia hesitates a half-beat before rising. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get more time with you yesterday,” Maggie says, pulling Olivia into a hug. “Everything was… chaos.” Olivia nods, hugs her back. They hold on a second longer than usual, and I remember why those two used to be inseparable. Best friends before everything else got in the way. “We’ll make up for it,” Maggie says firmly, pulling back with glassy eyes.
“Actually,” I say, glancing at her and walking towards the hostess, “Can we get a table for five?” Olivia hears me but doesn’t look my way. And that’s fine by me. I know she is trying to be polite and distant. And hell, I don’t blame her. I broke her heart; we haven’t seen each other or talked in over sixteen years.
Leo claps his hands together. “Alright, let’s eat before I die.” Thank God he did, because I was starting down my rabbit hole of guilt. The hostess clears her throat. “Come this way.”
“Thanks,” I say again, though my voice comes out lower, rougher. My pulse is ridiculous.
And as we follow her toward the table, I can feelOlivia’s presence, and it comes back to me. This was the diner where she used to work, and it feels like a lifetime ago, but so recent at the same time. I can’t help but laugh at the memory of all the days I spent here.
I shake the thought away when I look at her. She is wearing a tight long skirt, a sweater, and black boots. Her honey blonde hair is up in a messy bun, and she looks put together—nothing like the reckless girl I used to know.
We talk about everything and nothing at all. Julia is talking about her master’s, Maggie mentions something about work, and Leo is giving her shit for it. But my attention keeps drifting. Olivia leans in to show Maggie a picture on her phone, her family. Husband. Kids. She smiles when she talks about them, but it hits me like a sucker punch. I bite my tongue before I say something stupid.
And then she catches me. Her eyes cut across the table, steady, sharp, right through me. Damn it. She can still read me like no one else. She sets her coffee mug down. “Well, it’s almost two, we should get going, we have a—” Maggie cuts in, oblivious. “Oh, you’re going with Mooney to Mom’s will reading, right?”
Silence drops over the table. My chest tightens. Is she going? Olivia nods. “Yeah, my mom asked us to come with her. I’ll call her so she can pick us up.” She says it casually, but her eyes flick to me, like she’s daring me to hear it another way. Like she’s making an excuse. I want to believe it. I need to. So, I nod.
“Oh, nonsense,” Maggie waves it off. “Come with us. We’ll be a little tight, but we’ll fit.” I want to strangle her.
In the parking lot, Julia calls shotgun before we even reach the car, sprinting to the front seat. “Hey, not fair,” Leo protests, but she’s already buckled in, smirking. “Want to drive, Ethan?” Maggie asks. I shake my head. “Nah. I’ll sit in the back.” And I swear I can feel Olivia rolling her eyes. I pull open the door and gesture. “After you, Liv.” She doesn’t even look at me, slides into the middle seat. Now we’re packed shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Too damn close. I rest my hand on my knee, and my pinky brushes hers. Barely a touch, but she stiffens instantly, spine straight, breath sharp.
The drive is only five minutes. It feels like hours. I can hear her breathing harder, like she’s counting the seconds until she can get out. And the second Leo pushes the door open, she bolts. I don’t think, I reach out, catch her hand. “Liv?—”
She turns, eyes blazing. “What?” Her voice is tight, sharp, but she’s looking at me like she’s waiting. Like she’d listen if I actually said it. I freeze. Mouth dry. And what comes out is pathetic. “Your bag. Don’t forget it.” Her lips press together. “Yeah. Thanks.” She pulls away, gone before I can even blink.
And I sit there, hating myself. What the fuck is wrong with me?
The will readingstarts the way I figured it would. Quiet, predictable. Mom left Mooney the greenhouse. No shock there. That place was theirs, fifteen years of sweat and love poured into every plant. Made it magical.
Dad gets the house. Knew that too. “Well, kiddos,” Dad says, “your mom and I talked about this. When I’m gone, the house goes to Maggie.” He says it like it’s news. It isn’t. We’ve all known. Maggie’s the favorite. She’s the oldest, the only one who lives nearby —it makes sense. “I’ll rent you guys your rooms,” Maggie jokes. “Ethan, you can take the guest house.”
We laugh for about two seconds. The attorney clears his throat. “There’s something else. Larna had property here in Tacoon.” What? Dad leans forward. “What do you mean by property?”
“They were passed down from her late father. Technically, not in her name, but written into his will that her children would inherit. She adjusted some things.”
My stomach knots. “What kind of adjustments did she make?”
“Maggie, 20%. Leo, 20%. Ethan, 40%.” And just like that, the air shifts. Maggie’s head snaps up. “Who has the other 20%?” The attorney hesitates. “Josh and Audrey. Ten percent each.” Oh fuck!
“Our stepbrothers?” Maggie’s voice cuts like glass. “Bastards,” she spits, straight at Dad. “Hey,” Leo says quickly, trying to calm her. “Don’t do that, Dad didn’t know.”
“I didn’t,” Dad says, stunned. “Maggie, I had no clue.” The attorney keeps talking. “They don’t know yet. Larna wanted you to hear first.”
“Of course she did,” Maggie mutters.
