I blink. “A gate?”
“For the driveway.”
I blink again. “Aunt Susan?—”
“He had to use a jackhammer,” she rushes out, “because the ground’s frozen. But he’s very handy! Very… resourceful. And strong.” She nods to herself. “Anyway. Xavier helped.”
“WAIT. What?” I stare. “Xavier.Xavier Holt.Helped you install a gate?”
“Well, technically I know his housekeeper’s cousin, but this town is basically three square miles, so whatever.”
She waves her hand like logistics are irrelevant.
“He put up some cameras too. Hardwired. And this app thing that links to my phone and yours.”
I grip the counter.
“Do you… know how to use the app?”
“Absolutely not,” she says brightly. “But Xavier said he’d walk me through it again.”
Mason is cackling in the background.
I rub my temples.
“Is this going to be enough?”
Susan exhales. “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s not planting season, so I can’t put in hedges until spring. And anyone with two working legs can hop a fence. But… it’s something.”
I close my eyes.
All my life, home was a place I lived.
But this — this cottage on the water, this quirky woman who’d take on the world for me, this messy, chaotic little haven — it’s the first thing that’s ever felt like something worth protecting.
I straighten.
“Aunt Susan,” I say quietly, “I’m not going to get run out of the only place that’s ever felt like home more than home-home. We’re having Christmas in Granddad’s cottage — Christmas tree and all.”
She looks at me like I just handed her a winning lottery ticket.
Her eyes widen.
Her mouth curves slow and mischievous.
“That’s it,” she whispers.
“Oh no,” Mason mutters. “Here we go.”
Susan claps her hands together like a general planning an ambush.
“We’ll get trees.”
“What?” I deadpan.
“Trees.We’ll getChristmas trees.Real ones. Big ones. Dozens.”
I blink.
