Page 19 of Gather the Storm

I tried to squelch the lust that flared to life at the center of my body but it was like trying to put out a raging inferno with a squirt gun.

My phone dinged and I looked down to see a text from Cassie in our group chat with Sarai.

I can’t believe you’re doing this.

I was trying to think of something to say that would end the conversation quickly — we’d already had it more than once — when Sarai chimed in.

Me either but I hope one of those bad boys finally pops your cherry.

I rolled my eyes.

Gross,Cassie texted.The 1950s called. They want their misogynistic language back.

I sighed and turned back to the mirror and a second later the door to my room flew open. I had to force my hand steady as I finished the upturned sweep of my eyeliner.

“Can I borrow that red skirt?” Ruth, my little sister asked, already heading for the closet. “The one with the ruffles?”

“Um, excuse you. Ever hear of knocking?” I asked, turning to lean against the antique dressing table I used to get ready.

It had been my mom’s, one of the few pieces of old furniture I’d kept when I’d last redecorated my room, and I still thought of her when I got ready every morning. Ruth had thought it would clash with the modern upholstered headboard and the classic sofa I’d chosen for the suite’s sitting room, but they looked perfect together.

That was my biggest decorating rule: if I loved it, I used it. Somehow the things we loved always ended up working together even if it didn’t make sense on paper.

“Sorry,” Ruth said breezily.

I watched her through the open door of my walk-in closet as she flipped through the wall of carefully arranged dresses and skirts. They were categorized by length and color, something Ruth knew, but she was like a little tornado in my closet, blowing through everything like she was on a retail therapy binge at Anthropologie.

“A-ha!” She emerged victorious, holding the red skirt like a banner. Her brown hair was already curled for school — only two more weeks until she was off for the summer — and her gray eyes were lit up with all the excitement and innocence of her fifteen years. “Found it!”

I laughed because sometimes it was the only thing that kept me sane in the face of the whirlwind that was my little sister. “I didn’t even say yes!”

She came over to kiss my cheek. “No, but you will!”

She flopped onto my bed.

“You’re laying on my knitting!” I said.

“Geez, sorry grandma.” She rolled to one side so I could pull out the blanket I was working on, then noticed the bags packed by the dresser. “Wait… where are you going?”

I took a deep breath. The moment I’d been dreading had arrived. “I’m moving out.”

She looked stricken. “What do you mean? Where are you moving?”

“To the house,” I said. “Mom’s house.”

Ruth knew I’d inherited the house from our mom — along with her 1966 Mustang — and always thought she’d gotten the better end of the deal with the small trust fund our mom had left her.

“At the top of the falls?” Ruth asked.

I nodded.

She wrinkled her nose. “But it’s so… old. And dirty.”

I smiled. “That’s the point. It’s not going to renovate itself.”

“Can’t you just hire someone to do it?” she asked.

“The renovation budget Mom left me isn’t going to go very far.” I didn’t know if there hadn’t been enough of my mom’s inheritance left to fully fund the house’s renovation or if the calculation had been done decades ago, but it was going to be tight, even if I did most of the work with Jace, Wolf, and Otis. “I need sweat equity.”

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