His thumb traces a circle on my back. "Would that be so terrible?"
Gravel crunches in the driveway before I have to answer. A blue SUV pulls up, and a woman who's clearly a Lockwood jumps out before the engine fully stops—same dark hair, same sharp features, same way of moving like the world needs to keep up with her. She's a whirlwind in fleece-lined pants and an oversized flannel, hair pulled into a messy bun. She's got three inches on me, a megawatt smile, and the kind of energy that probably makes small children and puppies spontaneously combust with joy.
Ryder opens the door before she can knock, and she launches herself at him. "Ryder James Lockwood! You grew a beard and didn't warn me!"
"Good to see you too, Sage." He catches her in a hug that lifts her off her feet.
"You look good. Too good. It's suspicious." She pulls back, studying him with the kind of scrutiny only siblings can manage. "You're sleeping. Actually sleeping. What kind of witchcraft is this?"
"I've been getting more rest."
"Lies. You've been the world's worst insomniac since Dad died." She turns to me, and I barely have time to brace before she's hugging me too. "You must be the miracle worker. Hi! I'm Sage. You're even prettier in person, and your skincare routine is incredible."
"Um, thank you?" I manage, caught in her embrace.
"We're going to be best friends. I've decided." She releases me but keeps her hands on my shoulders. "Fair warning: I'm nosy, I ask inappropriate questions, and I will absolutely tell you embarrassing stories about Ryder."
"I'm actually very interested in those stories," I say.
Ryder groans. "Sage, no."
"Sage, yes." She links her arm through mine like we've known each other for years. "Let's go somewhere with caffeine and pastries. I drove straight through from Anchorage and I'm running on gas station coffee and determination."
"The Ashwood Café?" I suggest.
"Perfect. Ryder, you're not invited. This is girl time."
"I live here," he protests.
"And yet, you're not invited." She's already steering me toward the door. "We'll be back in an hour. Maybe two. Depends on how many stories I have to tell."
Ryder catches my eye over Sage's head. Something that might be amusement flickers across his face, or maybe resignation. I mouthhelp meat him.
He grins and mouths back,good luck.
The Ashwood Café smells like cinnamon and fresh-brewed coffee, the morning rush tapering off to leave scattered locals nursing their cups. Dotty spots us immediately and waves us toward a corner booth.
"Well, well. If it isn't Sage Lockwood!" Dotty appears with coffee before we even sit down. "Last time I saw you, you were stealing pie from the cooling racks."
"That was one time, Miss Dotty. And I was twelve." Sage slides into the booth across from me. "Also, that pie was incredible and worth the lecture I got from Dad."
Dotty's whole face changes. The lines around her eyes soften, and she pats Sage's shoulder with one weathered hand. "Your daddy did love his pie. Especially the berry crumble." She clears her throat. "Good to have you home, honey. What can I get you girls?"
"Two of whatever Piper usually gets," Sage says. "And maybe some of that pie if you have any left."
"Coming right up."
Dotty's already at the next table before Sage leans forward with her elbows on the scarred wood. "Okay. Ground rules. I'm going to ask you personal questions because that's who I am. You can tell me to mind my business anytime. I won't be offended."
"Okay," I say slowly.
"How's my brother treating you? Scale of one to ten, with one being 'total disaster' and ten being 'actually functioning like a human.'"
"Um. Eleven?"
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Eleven? Ryder 'I communicate exclusively through grunts and hockey' Lockwood is at an eleven?"
"He's been... really great, actually." I fiddle with my coffee mug, tracing the chip in the rim. "Thoughtful. Funny. Kind."
