Page 12 of Miss Humbug
“Deal.” I refused to overthink this. I needed Ethan’s help, and with him invested for his own reasons, well, that was a dollop of terrific on top of a sundae of perfect.
We shook hands. A burst of heat shot up my arms. My cheeks absorbed the impact. I wasblushing. Fromtouching Ethan.
Okay, so this was new. Really new. And strange. And different.
I cleared my throat. “We should keep the reason for the partnership quiet. You know, from my brothers and cousins. Is that cool?”
He shrugged easily. “Sure.”
I smiled at Ethan, grateful to be back to the deal at hand. The hand I’d shaken which resulted in a blushstorm. Whew—this was going to be quite the vacation. “I think we’ll make a great team.”
Chapter 4
Ethan
I stood on the front porch on Hollybrooke Lane. I couldn’t remember ever using a doorbell here and didn’t see one, so I lifted the fancy brass knocker and hit it against the ancient door. And waited.
The door swung open to nothing. I looked down. A kid emerged on all fours. “Rowl?”
“Uhh…”
The boy, freckled with shaggy brown hair, tilted his head. “Woof woof, rowl?”
An older boy appeared behind him. “He thinks he’s a dog. It’s been happening since Tuesday.”
I crossed the threshold, pumpkin pie in hand, stepping over the child-dog who had since rolled to his back with legs in the air, panting.
Children’s squeals and the sound of a blaring TV tuned to the big game floated toward me as I made my way in. Not much had changed. The loudness, the family portraits in the front hall, the heavy chandelier dripping with crystals dulled by dust and age. The full, upright suit of armor where we stuffed gum wrappers into the helmet’s eye holes.
“Ethan.” Marlowe stood in front of me, smiling.
Dangit, I’d forget my own name looking at her smile.
Truth, I’d had my doubts about this partnership since our talk last night. What would her family think if they knew I wanted a chunk of their heritage? They’d think I was using Marlowe.
Maybe I was.
But seeing her smile, well, I sort of didn’t care about anything else.
We entered the kitchen to a mix of adult Hollys. Everyone talked over each other about oven times, the football game, and whether the Holly Days fest actually began this weekend or next.
“It’s officially this weekend,” I answered.
A hundred eyes turned toward me. Okay, not a hundred. A lot. All of the eyes.
“Why, is that Ethan Sawyer?” Emmaline Holly herself approached me with open arms. She stood taller than most of the women her age in town. Pale skin that wasn’t weathered from sun and wind like my family of farmers.
I accepted her hug. A tight one—the woman was strong. “Hello, Mrs. Holly.”
“Oh, yeah, we met up with Sawyer last night.” Ashe popped a cracker coated in cheese dip into his mouth. “Mar-Mar—did you invite him?”
Emmaline made atsk tsksound. “It doesn’t matter who invited him. Sawyers are always welcome here. Tell me, how are your folks? I haven’t seen them around lately.”
I filled her in with the basics. Which did not include Dad’s back issues, Mom’s health concerns for her own parents, or Rob’s increasing disinterest in the family business.
“They’re great,” I summed up.
She paused, looking at me, like the old days when I swore she could read my thoughts. “Wonderful.” She returned to her pot on the stove. “Your pie can go in the dining hall.”
