Page 24 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

“I’m on it,” I promise her.

“Thank you, dear. You’re a real hero.”

Once again relieved to have something to occupy myself with that doesn’t involve making small talk, I slip away from Lucy’s immediate family members and thank every deity in existence that I managed to steer clear of her that whole time.

If I had a nickel for each time in my life that Lucy and I were forced to cross paths while, as a result, I did my best to avoid her at all costs, I’d only have two nickels… but it’s still weird that it happened twice. What are the chances that a Camp Hannefort reunion would occur twelve years later in a random town on the Cape, and that the reunion would involve, of all people I met that summer, Lucy Montgomery? I’m not a religious guy, but I’m starting to think that the universe has an odd sense of humor.

Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else?

Edging around the perimeter of the crowd, I make my way around the side of Carol and Joe’s charming colonial-style house. As soon as I emerge on the narrow path between the grayish-blue siding and the dense hedges bordering the neighbor’s place, the overwhelming noise of the party instantly dies down. It feels like slipping into cool water during a hot day. I’m almost tempted to disappear and never come back, but Ialso don’t want to leave Gigi hanging. She seemed like a pretty intense woman; not the sort of person you want to disappoint.

Finding the basement door is easy enough, considering it’s already open. Cool shade beckons from within. I nudge aside a small rock with the toe of my shoe to pass over the threshold and descend a rickety wooden staircase by the light of my phone. The door snaps shut with a resoundingclank, effectively cutting me off from the chaos above.

A sense of peacefulness washes over me little by little as I descend into the dark yet clean cement basement of the Montgomery house. It’s large, with plastic storage tubs forming makeshift walls that make it seem like a labyrinth of happy family memories.

I know that both of my parents would rather die than have a space like this in their respective homes, regardless of the fact that it’s not visible to guests. It’s kind of nice, though. Clearly, the Montgomery family is a clan that likes to enjoy themselves. There are mountain bikes and stacks of camping gear, as well as a well-organized heap of beach supplies.

It’s strange, even now as an adult, to know that there really are families out there who genuinely want to spend time together. I always thought it was a myth.

As I hunt down the bag of charcoal, I hear a shuffling sound around the bend of a stack of bins labeledKidsfrom the years1995to2015. From what I can see, they’re stuffed full of all sorts of things, from ancient macaroni art to random vacation souvenirs to middle school yearbooks.

I don’t see the point in sentimentality, my mother often said.Focus on the present because it will lead you to a bright future. The past is irrelevant.

I shake my head at the memory and follow the shuffling sound. I doubt the basement has a rat problem, but investigating the issue can at least delay my return to the party.

Except, the closer I get, the more I realize that the noise is from light footsteps and it’s coupled with soft humming.

I’m not alone down here.

I round the corner before I can shout at my body to pause and retreat. The humming stops short.

“What are you doing down here?” snaps a haughty, feminine voice that I know all too well.

I frown at Lucy, illuminated only by the light of our phones.

“I’m getting charcoal. For your father.”

She scoffs, letting the lid of a massive freezer slam shut. One hand is clenched around a large bag of ice, which I’m sure she’d love to lob at my head right now.

“And what were you doing talking to my dad?”

“Heintroduced himself tome,” I shoot back. “After your aunt asked me to fix her phone and then dragged me over to them.”

“Goodness, Carol,” Lucy mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. Then her eyes flash with impressively bright ire in the dim light. “Wait—you didn’t shut the door on your way down, did you?”

“I mean, it kind of shut on its own.”

Lucy lets out a growl of frustration and stalks past me back toward the stairs. “Didn’t you see that it was propped open with a rock? That door’s been broken since I was in high school. It only opens from the outside!”

“Oh.”

She halts and whirls around, my monosyllabic answer angering her further.

“Yes,oh. Great job, Theo. How fantasticallydetail-orientedof you. Thanks to you, we’re trapped down here.”

Chapter Nine: Lucy

Icould throttle him.

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