Chase rebooted. “Well, I didn’t know Scout had a sister.”
The woman seemed pleased. “Aren’t you just adorable? Magnolia Pearl is out for the moment. Whom shall I say has called?”
The name hit him like a dropped book. Magnolia Pearl? He coughed, trying to disguise his shock. “You mean Scout?”
A slight frown on that beautiful face. “Magnolia Pearl is my daughter.”
It took every ounce of self-control for Chase to keep from laughing. Magnolia Pearl.Wow.No wonder she went by Scout. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.Scout speaks of you often. I’m Chase Fletcher. Her boyfriend.” That might be pushing it a bit, considering he wasn’t even sure if Scout was talking to him.
Mrs. Johnson paused, puzzled, then her face lit up, her smile genuine and warm. “Well, don’t just stand there, Chase. Come in and let’s get to know each other over sweet tea.” She pushed open the door for him and turned, leaving him to follow.
Chase took one step into the cottage and stopped cold on the threshold. For a second, he thought he’d wandered into the wrong place, until he caught sight of Scout’s ranger coat hanging on a wall peg. Still, the transformation was astonishing. The small, unadorned space he remembered now looked like it belonged in the pages ofSouthern Living. A cheerful vase of hydrangeas sat on a coffee table—wait, did Scout even have a coffee table? Throw pillows in shades of blue and white lined the lumpy couch, and an afghan with an intricate pattern was folded neatly over the arm. A woven rug, simple but elegant, warmed the beat-up hardwood floor. The bookshelves were no longer bare but filled with a few carefully arranged hardbacks and framed photos, and candles flickered on nearly every surface, filling the room with the soft scent of something he couldn’t name. Vanilla? Rose? He didn’t know.
Even the kitchen counter had been transformed, with a bowl of fresh fruit and a dish towel that matched the blue color scheme. It was cozy, it was polished, and it was entirely unlike Scout. He squinted. “Mrs. Johnson, are you responsible for all this?”
“Call me Lucille,” Scout’s mother said, already moving to the kitchen. “I just brought a little home with me.”
He turned in a circle. “You brought all this?”
“I did. And more is on the way. That is, if the truck will deliver all the way out here in Timbuktu.” She set two glasses of tea on the small kitchen table and motioned for him to sit.“So, Chase Fletcher,” she said, folding her hands under her chin, “what exactly do you do for a living?”
He smiled faintly. “Well,” he said after a beat, “I run my family’s newspaper here in Maine.”
Her interest sharpened immediately. “Afamilybusiness?” She passed him a little pitcher of simple syrup. “Tell me more.”
And just like that, Chase found himself talking about his favorite topic. Lucille listened like she genuinely cared, her gaze fixed on him with polite fascination. He told her all about theBar Harbor Gazette, how it had been in his family for over a century, how his great-great-great-grandmother had started it with a single press and a stubborn streak.
“You don’t say. A woman started a newspaper?”
Chase nodded. “Back in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, it wasn’t all that unusual for women to launch newspapers. They used the newspapers to address social issues or reform or be a voice for suffrage. Some are still in publication.”
Lucille hung on every word, occasionally nodding or murmuring an “Isn’t that somethin’” in her melodic drawl. Chase was surprised by how much he found himself telling her—not just about the paper, but about his love for the Maine coast, his summers spent at camps, his college years at the university, his family’s deep roots in the state.
She leaned back, setting her glass on the table. “That’s quite a history, Chase. Magnolia Pearl must be smitten.”
He chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Lucille tilted her head. “So, what can you tell me about that high-rise of a man?”
High-rise? Chase almost choked on his sweet tea. “You must mean Naki. He’s a policymaker for the Penobscot Nation. He’s only here because he’s been helping with the gold hunt.”
Her expression didn’t waver, though he caught a flicker of calculation in her eyes. “So that’s theonlyreason he’s here?”
The easy camaraderie between them vanished. Just like that, Chase was back on uneasy footing. Someone knew something he didn’t.
Text conversation between Maisie and Frankie:
Frankie
Is your grandfather mad at me?
Maisie
Probably.Why? What’d you do now?
Didn’t you seethe newspaper?
No.
