He crosses his arms over his chest, daring me to contradict him.
Beside us, Betty is already packing up leftovers, muttering about how skinny I am. Through the window, I can see Moose talking to Agnes on the sidewalk while holding her damn pig by a leash.
Six months ago, this would’ve felt like chaos. Like a security nightmare. Like everything I’ve always avoided.
Now it feels like home.
“I want the package, Pops.” I stare him dead in the eye. “All of it.”
He studies me for a long moment, then grins. It’s a slightly concerning expression that makes me understand why Greyson calls him a menace.
“Good answer, boy. Now finish your food. We’ve got plans to discuss.”
“Plans?” I ask, happy to lift my fork again.
The kitchen door bangs open before he can answer, and Agnes shuffles in, trailing behind her disgruntled potbelly pig who’s dragging her along by a rhinestone leash.
“In here,” she announces to no one in particular. “I told you the cards were right. The Tower reversed—transformation through crisis. And look!” She gestures at me with a gnarled hand. “Transformed.”
I have no idea how to respond to this, so I shovel in a bite of mac and cheese.
“Agnes,” Betty sighs. “We talked about bringing Pothole into food prep areas.”
“He’s emotional support,” Agnes says dismissively. “Madi helped me get the paperwork and everything. Besides, he wanted to greet the boy. Didn’t you, Pothole?”
The pig makes a sound that could either be agreement or gas. It’s hard to say.
Agnes settles into the chair next to mine, close enough that I can smell lavender and something vaguely medicinal and definitely minty. She squints at me with eyes that don’t quite track together—her glass eye less terrifying than the first time I saw it—and hums thoughtfully.
“Your aura’s better,” she says. “Last time I saw you, it was all muddy. Brown and gray, like a storm cloud with diarrhea. “Now it’s…” She tilts her head. “Still stormy. But there’s some gold in there. That’s love. Gold is always love.”
“Thank you?” I never know how to respond to this woman.
“Don’t thank me yet.” She pats my hand with surprising gentleness. “You’ve still got work to do. But you’re here. That’s step number one.”
“Agnes is our resident psychic,” Pops reminds me, as if I could ever forget.
“I prefer intuitive,” Agnes corrects. “Psychic sounds so dramatic.”
She’s wearing a caftan embroidered with moons and stars, shuffling around with a pig she walks on a rhinestone leash. But sure. Psychic is the dramatic part.
The swinging kitchen door crashes open again.
“Good, you’re here,” Chief says as if we had an appointment. But he won’t quite meet my eye. “Ben, show him the plans.”
“Plans? What plans?” I ask, still trying to catch his eye. Chief is pissed off and hurt, and I hate that I’ve done this to him.
Ben—who I’m now realizing is the realtor responsible for Clover landing on R&R Road, unrolls blueprints onto the island, right on top of my half-empty plate.
“So,” he says, pointing at the drawings, “the duplex is currently two separate units with a shared wall, but it started as a single-family home. Converting it back is pretty straightforward. We’ll knock out this wall here, open up the kitchen, and suddenly, you’ve got a four-bedroom, three-bath home with plenty of space for?—”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “What are you talking about?”
Chief glares at me as though I’m being deliberately obtuse. “The duplex. Clover’s place. You’ll need to expand it when you move in. The current layout doesn’t make sense for a couple, and once you start having kids?—”
“Kids?” My voice squeals like Pothole’s. “I don’t even know if she’s going to take me back yet.”
Betty drops a spatula right before Agnes sideswipes my head with the back of her hand.
