“Can I make it into something once you meet?”
Shaking my head, I want to laugh, but I can’t relent, or she’ll play matchmaker all summer long. “No.” Total menace, but she still makes me grin like an idiot because I wouldn’t have her any other way.
“You act like we get a new selection of men around these parts all the time. A missed opportunity can turn into regret.”
“I’m not going to regret not jumping the man.” I walk out knowing this conversation is heading toward the gutter if I let it. “See you later.”
“You’re twenty-six, sweet girl. Go have the kind of fun that leaves the town gossiping.” Her voice follows me into the front of the house, but I don’t reply. I haven’t been a girl in some time, but the name still fills me with the warmth she’s always given my sisters and me. She wholeheartedly loves us as her own, through the ache she carries inside over the loss of her own daughter and son-in-law.
I return to the kitchen and kiss her on the cheek. “Love you, Dolly.”
“Stop getting sappy on me and take care of your business.”
“On it.” I make my way toward the front room when I hear the creak of that third step that’s never been fixed. My gaze pulls up the staircase.
My sister’s sunset-hued hair bounces around her shoulders as she comes trotting down the stairs. “Do I smell blueberry muffins?”
“Good to know your sense of smell isn’t broken like your sense of time. It’s almost ten, Fall.” She couldn’t have been named more appropriately for a season with her gingery hair color and vibrant green eyes. I may have inherited my dad’s more defined features and oval-shaped face, but she gets her coloring after our dad, the only one of us to have that particular connection to him. And in stark contrast to my blond hair and blue eyes.
“It’s Saturday.” The skirt of her sundress swishes around her legs as her bare feet pad against the wood. “Saturdays are for sleeping in and daydreaming.”
Quirking an eyebrow, I shake my head. “You sound like Dolly.”
Stopping on the landing, she remains two steps up from where I’m standing with a solid grip on the baluster. “There are worse ways to be than marching to your own beat, dearest sister. You should try it.” The wobble of the wood causes her to straighten her spine and release it. “One of us could get hurt. What if this broke on Dolly?”
I start for the front room. “Add it to the never-ending list of things we need to fix in this old Victorian. We need to start tackling one issue at a time. Surely, five women can figure it out.” I prop the bag of mini cookies up in the back of the basket behind the scones, and ask, “Are you going to be around later?” A glance back is shared. “We need to plan for a sister meeting soon. It’s been too long.” Meetingmeans hang out and catch up. With all of us running in different directions lately, I miss them.
“Want me to schedule a Google meetup?”
“No. We’re not scheduling sister time through an app.”
She laughs. “Time to embrace technology, big sis. It’s the easiest way these days.”
Grabbing hold of the basket, I turn around. “I prefer the shouting down the hall method. It’s been effective thus far.” I laugh. “You’re busier than I am these days. Add me to your calendar when you can fit me in.”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she says, “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks. I’m heading to the cottage next door to welcome the new summer guests.”
“If he’s cute, call me.” Her smile is too familiar to all of us. This small town feels even smaller when you know everyone in it, and there’s not a man over eighteen or under sixty in a twenty-mile vicinity who’s the least bit interesting. “And I’ll be right over.”
“If he’s cute, I’m not calling anyone. I may be blond, but I’m no fool.” I walk to the door, unable to stop the girlish giggle from erupting. A girl can only dream he’s as cute as they hope. With the basket balanced on my lifted leg, I scrounge my fingers through the bowl on the entry table for my keys. Taking hold of the hard shell of the enamel bee keychain, I nod toward the door. “Make sure the honey stand is replenished.”
“I always do.” The second-oldest sister opens the door and then leans against it after I walk outside. Turning back, I say, “If I’m not back by four, send help.”
She laughs. “The only help you’re going to need is resisting your own guest.”
“Wait, why would I have trouble resisting—”The door closes before I can interrogate her for more details. Maybe I should have done some online research on him.Has she?What am I walking into? Paying in full for the entire summer six months ago didn’t have me questioning anything. It made me celebrate the profit I’d just made for Mrs. Dover and the bonus I had just earned, so how he looks is the least of my concerns.
Since the basket is too heavy to carry the half mile down the road, I slip it into the trunk of my car and start the short drive to the rental property.
A quick wave to Mr. Taylor mowing his lawn across the street is a Saturday ritual. I catch sight of Mrs. Browley, who lives next to him, weeding her side beds at her house. Slowing the car, I roll down the window. “Your hydrangeas are competition-ready,” I holler through the opening.
She looks up, narrowing her eyes as she swipes the back of her glove across her forehead before she realizes it’s me and smiles. “I’m thinking about entering this year. Blooms this beautiful in June deserve a blue ribbon.”
“They sure do. Have a great day.”
“You too, Summer.”
