Page 11 of Miss Humbug
For obvious reasons. The very reason I avoided frequent visits to Crystal Cove. Often, I chose to come back in the summer, where I went camping with Ashe and the family, or tagged along on day trips with Grans. Sometimes I’d visit old friends in nearby areas or in Chicago, limiting my time in town.
A whirlwind of emotions surged. I could hardly make sense of myself right now, let alone explain my shifting outlook to another person. I wasn’t ready to dish all my details to Ethan, but one thing I knew. I could trust him. I could always trust Ethan.
A memory hit and nearly knocked me over. Fourth grade, gym class. Mickayla Abernathy shoved me when the teacher wasn’t looking.
“You can’t be on my team,” she’d said. “Your parents are dead.”
As if this logic made any sense for elementary school team-based fitness bingo, but my still-developing brain had no idea how to counter it.
I’d stared at the gym floor, feeling as miserable as she’d hoped I would. She was right. I had dead parents.
Other kids visibly shrank back. Uttering the wordsdeadandparentstogether had the desired effect.
“Shut up, Mickleberry Abercrombie,” my knight-in-gym shorts hero, Ethan Sawyer, fired back.
(He’d actually just been wearing his regular clothes since we didn’t change for gym in elementary, but my memory could be whatever it wanted.)
The clapback wasn’t even offensive, but it also had the desired effect. Mickayla got mad.
Every comeback she’d thrown down, Ethan returned with a zinger. A small crowd gathered until our P.E. teacher realized we weren’t flexing bingo strategies but entrenched in an outright Who’s the Dummy Now? war.
Ethan was shunted off to the principal’s office. Mickayla got moved to another team. She’dhatedthat. And my guts, it turned out.
All because my parents dared not to exist anymore. Because I’d had the misfortune, in her eyes, of living with my kooky grandparents in the creepy old house on the hill on a nearly deserted country road. Mickayla lived in town in a split-level ranch with an attached garage. I didn’t care much about houses then, but I knew enough to know where I lived, and my life in general, was different. And different was bad.
Ethan never treated me like a curiosity when he came to our house. He played our games, was an ace at capture the flag, and didn’t gang up on me like Shawn and my cousins. Or treat me like the family baby.
Ethan was a good guy. And I planned to use him to get what I wanted.
“Hey, you okay?” Ethan asked, present day.
“Yeah, sorry. The nostalgia hits in waves. It’s brutal.” I laughed as cover. Too real. Too much.
“It’s got to be hard coming back.” He studied the outlines of hardened footprints in the mud. “I’m glad you’re here. For however long, and for whatever reason. It’s good to see you.”
Ethan had grown since I’d last seen him. His shoulders had broadened, his face had angles, and light scruff dotted his chin. The boyishness was gone—except when he smiled. He had an easiness about him, which set him apart from the guys I knew in San Jose. Corporate guys whose casualness took significant money and sculpting time at the gym. I didn’t see Ethan as a gym guy. Maybe at the farm, he log-lifted.
Focus. The house.
I needed to aim everything I’d once spent on my career into this task alone. I’d figure out the rest later. “I was actually thinking, just now, maybe we go for more of a solid partnership. Beyond tips and things. You could be the essential piece I need to win this competition.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it a second time. Stared into space. “I had an idea too. About this arrangement.”
“Of course.”
He rubbed his hands together, seemingly less from the chill and more to get the idea stimulated. “I’m looking to expand the family business. Every year, we barely keep up with the demand despite planting on every square inch we’ve got. My folks, I don’t think they have it in them to take on more. If I help you and if you win, I want to buy a portion of Holly land to expand our farm.”
I blinked. Blinked again. Ethan…was asking to buy Holly land. The Hollys never gave up land. Ugh, there I went again referring to us as the collective Hollys. This was aboutme. If I owned the house, I could do whatever I wanted with the land. Unlike Shawn, I wouldn’t sell it to some skeezy condo developer. No way. But parceling out a chunk to another longtime Crystal Cove family? That didn’t sound bad. Then I’d have income to live on while I did the rest of the figuring out stuff.
“You have money to expand?” The plan was no good if he assumed I’d hand over the property for a nickel and a smile.
“We’ve got a good relationship with the bank. I put together a business plan. It’s sort of a sore spot with my parents—they’re not on board with expanding. Yet. This could change everything.”
Wow, Ethan had his act together more than I’d expected. It made sense he’d want something in return for helping me.
“I’ll have to consult the land deed.” Hopefully, I sounded legit. In my world, deeds were good or bad, notland. I still felt uncomfortable with the idea of owning land, beyond the house at least, let alone selling it.
And here I’d thought we were merely coming out for a drink and a few laughs.
