“You’re old enough now to face it, Maxwell.”
I stop beside the front window. Outside, the street stretches between rows of brightly painted homes, their white picket fences nearly disappearing beneath explosions of cosmos and hollyhocks and clusters of daisies and lavender.
It’s so perfectly picturesque it makes staying seem possible.
My fox presses closer to the front of my thoughts.
Pretty.
Movement catches my eye, and I can’t tell if he’s talking about the neighborhood or the brunette at the far end of the street who’s carrying a giant basket
“You aren’t your parents. You know that, right?”
At Gran’s words, I suck in a breath and nearly choke on my own spit.
“You didn’t choose that life,” she continues gently. “You didn’t choose to move every few months. You didn’t choose to leave people behind before you were ready.”
My throat tightens.
“You’re grown now. You get to make your own decisions. So, Maxwell,sweetheart, what do you want? What does your fox want?”
People who know us. A couch that’s mine. Someone waiting for us. Someone who stays. A home.My fox pushes in, answering before I can stop him and longing hits so suddenly it steals my breath.
I swallow hard.
And a cat.
“Anyway.” My voice comes out frayed, and I clear my throat. “You’ll be pleased to know that signed up for a summer volleyball league. I’ve even joined a community event.”
Gran’s face brightens, and I push on before she can start planning more of my future.
“You’re looking at the newest judge of the Frosting Queen summer pageant competition…thing. I’m a little foggy on the details.”
“Well, it sounds wonderful. I’m so proud of you for taking this first step.”
My chest tightens all over again, and I rub the knot that feels lodged behind my sternum.
“Yeah, soooo,” I say, dragging the word out, “I should probably get back to unpacking these boxes.”
Neither of us believes that I have started or am planning to continue unpacking anything.
“You’ll call me next week and tell me more about this Frosting Queen pageant thing?” she asks with a knowing smile.
“Of course.”
“And you’ll give Crescent Cove a chance?”
I rub the back of my neck.
“Sure.”
“Maxwell.”
My full name sounds like a foghorn through the speaker. I try to hold out but end up caving like a sandcastle at high tide.
“Yes, Gran,” I sigh. “I’ll give Crescent Cove a chance.”
The laugh lines around her eyes crease when she smiles. “I love you, sweetheart.”
