Harleigh nods eagerly. “Yes! And she lets her hair down and has a good time with her sisters.”
“And she sleeps,” I add. “Actually sleeps.”
Charli sighs. “Okay. So, what are we thinking? Light meddling or full-blown intervention?”
Harleigh’s grin is immediate and dangerous. “Intervention.”
“Of course,” Charli mutters.
I laugh quietly. “We don’t even know what the problem is.”
“Which is why we need to flush it out,” Harleigh says. “Before I leave on Monday.”
“So, that gives us, what, forty-eight hours?” Charli states.
“Plenty of time,” Harleigh says brightly.
I rub my temples. “We need to be careful. Matty hates being cornered.”
“So we don’t corner her,” Harleigh says. “We gently ambush.”
Charli’s mouth quirks. “That’s an oxymoron.”
Harleigh ignores her. “We start casual. Sister time. Maybe tomorrow? What do your schedules look like?”
“They’re light, but that’s because the Wildhaven Fall Festival is tomorrow,” I remind them.
“Oh, right. Sunday? Brunch?” she suggests.
“I can do brunch,” Charli says. “You, Shell?”
“Yeah, I can make that work. We can ask Grandma to make Matty’s favorite. French toast.”
Harleigh shakes her head. “No. Not at the house. She’ll just get mad and go to her room or office. Somewhere neutral, but where she won’t feel trapped.”
“Ryse & Shine,” Charli says. “Has to be Ryse & Shine.”
“Perfect,” Harleigh says. “We’ll set her down and get to the root. We’ll lead with love.”
“And French toast,” I add. “She’ll be more agreeable if we lead with that.”
Charli points at me. “Smart.”
Harleigh’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, so phase one: Matty.”
“And phase two?” I ask.
Her smile turns tight. “Caison. Who wants to deal with him if it turns out he’s the problem?”
“My money’s on Matty being the problem.” Charli shrugs. “But if someone has to, I’ll do it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not kicking Caison in the balls.”
“I will if it’s warranted,” she snaps. “I love him, but if he’s done something to hurt her, I’ll kick him so hard that he’ll be choking on his balls.”
Harleigh flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Damn straight.”
“This feels messy,” I say.
