Right now, he’s waiting outside the restaurant with Wanda. I sort of feel like we should invite them in, but Grandma wanted to have ajust familymeal.
“How did you know it was Ripley pretending to be me?” Haven whispers.
Grandma grabs her phone from her purse and swipes up. She clicks on something, then swivels the screen around, tapping on that pic. “Ripley always has this little extra sass in her eyes and her expression.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” I say dryly. “And Haven’s sweeter?”
Haven flashes her good-girl-next-door grin. “I’m sugar. You’re salt.”
I roll my eyes, but still I say, with a you-got-me-there shrug, “No lies detected.”
But before Grandma puts her phone away, something catches my attention on screen. “That’s notPage Six. I thought that’s where the picture ran. But it’s onVIP Vibestoo?”
“Seems so.” She pauses. “But why do you ask?”
I’m not sure why it matters. “The angle’s just different than the other pic.” I study the photo info, but it just saysNews Site Ink. Banks told me that’s the company that buys pics from photographers and sells them to celeb sites. He said the stocky guy—Ludwig—sellstoNews Site Inka lot, which supplies toVIP Vibes. And Silas sells toPage Six. That makes sense, after all. I relax again. “It’s nothing. There were two photogs last night, so of course there’d be a couple angles.”
“And neither one fooled me,” Grandma says, “because you’re mine and I’ve never not been able to tell you two apart. But I do think it’s hilarious that you’re still doing that. You tricked your parents, but…”
Haven and I look at each other, grinning as we recite Grandma’s rallying cry in unison. “We never tricked you.”
“You never did,” she says, then thumps her reading glasses case against the table. “Let’s order.”
We order the ladybug pancakes, and when we close our menus, I turn to my sister. “Also, that was close,” I say, letting out a belated sigh of relief over last night’s fake-out.
“I still can’t believe you pulled it off,” she says, grinning. “Vega texted me this morning to tell me she loved my ideas and can’t wait for the wedding scene.”
“That’s this afternoon?”
“Yes. It’s the first scene in the film but one of the last ones we’re shooting. We should go out and celebrate some night before I leave,” she says, her voice pitching up. “With Chloe and Bridget.”
“Let’s do it,” I say.
The shoot ends after this weekend. That’s a reminder that I should talk to Banks about us. But when Grandma clears her throat and says, “Now, girls. I have something I want to tell you,” I drop all thoughts of my own romance.
Is she sick? Is something wrong? I’m not even sure why I go there, except when you open the door to a police officer telling you your parents are dead, sometimes you assume the worst.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice threaded with worry.
She reaches across the table for my hand. “I know you’re saving for me to go to cooking school in Paris, but I decided I’m doing it myself. I have money saved,” she says.
“No,” I say instantly. “I told you I want to. As a gift to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“But I want to,” I repeat, then rattle off all the reasons. The farm is growing in popularity. Sales are up. Tourism is increasing.
I take a breath, building up a new head of steam, but Haven cuts me off. “Actually, I paid for your school.”
Grandma snaps her gaze to Haven. “What?”
“You can go anytime. I did it last night, and I’ll email you the info. You’ve both worked so hard to help me, but it’s my turn now. I want to give this to you, Grandma. And I didn’t want Ripley to know. So I went ahead and took care of it all on my own.”
“Haven,” I say quietly, my throat tightening with emotion.
My sister squares her shoulders. “It’s my turn to give back.”
My little sister. Younger by only five minutes, but she’s always seemed like the baby of the family. Now, she’s taking care of both of us, and it’s beautiful to see because of how far she’s come.
