Page 91 of One Touch

I swallowed hard. “Beckett and I haven’t really talked about what’s next, now that the house is done.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ve seen the way that man looks at you. His heart hasn’t been his for a while now. Maybe you need to tell him how you feel. Give that boy a nudge.”

Tootie pulled an old faded photograph from the lockbox, and her brows pinched together as she pulled it closer for a better look.

“Do you know them?” I asked, focusing my attention on the photograph.

Tootie turned the photograph over to look at the faded cursive handwriting on the back of the snapshot—James, Helen, and Philo.

“I can’t say for certain that I do,” she said as she again flipped the black-and-white photograph over.

Three happy faces smiled back at us. The two men wore pressed pants and dress shoes. One had on a dark tie, loosened at the neck, while the other wore a light collared knit shirt with the top two buttons undone. The woman, in a dainty floral print dress and heels, had her hands on her hips and was captured mid laugh.

Tootie tipped the picture toward me. “But if I was a betting woman, I think there’s more to the story than we realize. You might want to make a visit to the library and see if Bug can’t help you rustle up some information about who these three might be.”

She pointed to the woman. “Because there’s no mistaking that Sullivan smile.” Her finger slid over to one of the men, who stood proudly next to her. “And no one in town has shoulders like that but a King.”

* * *

Bluebird Book Clubwas buzzing with excitement as pictures of the newly renovated farmhouse circulated. Everyone wanted to know details about the speakeasy we’d uncovered and when Tootie might throw a party so people could see it in person.

“It seems like your followers are excited about the house. How do your brothers feel about the renovations?” MJ’s sweet, genuine curiosity made me smile.

“Very impressed. It’s so much more homey and open, but we also managed to keep some of the charm that reminds me of our childhood. Wyatt was trying to talk Beckett into doing something with that apartment over the barn at Highfield House next.”

“Start by getting rid of that disgusting green recliner,” Annie added, and we shared a laugh, recalling Lee’s treasuredlucky chairhe refused to get rid of.

It was disgusting.

“Duke mostly just grumbled and shrugged,” I continued. “Which is very on brand for him.” I laughed and took a sip of the spiked lemonade in my hand. “Who knows, maybe he needs to get laid.”

As the words came out of my mouth, Sylvie coughed, and her drink nearly pushed out of her nose. She sputtered as MJ laughed and tossed her a napkin and sat up. “Red has had a tough few days. It’s probably just stress from that.” She grabbed her sister’s hand. “Hey, Sylvie. Come with me to the bathroom?” She smiled back at us as she dragged Sylvie with her. “We’ll be right back.”

Annie looked between the King sisters as MJ dragged a coughing Sylvie up and toward the back of the book shop. Annie turned to me with a pinch in her brows and lifted her shoulders. She shook her head, shooting a look that communicated a silentWhat the hell was that about?

Holding up both hands, her eyes went wide. “Whatever.” Annie shifted to face me. “So have you decided? Are you going to makeHome Againa long-term thing?”

Last book club I’d had one too many glasses of Charles Attwater-gifted wine and had blabbed to Annie and Lark my idea of working with Beckett to document historic home renovations in Outtatowner and the surrounding areas. Really it was just a fantasy, but once I’d given voice to it, I couldn’tstopthinking about it.

Mr. Miller had also gotten my wheels turning when he’d asked about monetizingHome Again’s social media pages, and the more I looked into it, the more I realized that we could actually make good money through advertisements, sponsorships, and affiliate links.

Just the thought of working side by side with Beckett on a new renovation lit me up inside.

Only I hadn’t had the guts to even talk to him about it. His business was thriving without me, and he kept no secrets about his mild annoyance for being ogled by strangers as the Brutish Builder.

The only glimmer of hope I clung to was how much Beckett seemed to love the moments when I pointed the camera at him and he explained the minute details of trim and molding, building structure, or historic paint palettes. He had a wealth of specific expertise that our followers ate up.

I looked at Annie. “I don’t know. The idea is silly, really.”

“Are you kidding me? The idea is a freakinggold mine. Outtatowner is only one of the historic towns along Lake Michigan. There arehundredsof houses and properties you could get your hands on. Just think about what else you might find. One day you could have a TV show like on HGTV!”

Annie’s untethered excitement only furthered the fantasy. In my head, it made total sense. Beckett could still have his business, but together we’d market on social media and document the renovation of historic homes, starting in my very own hometown.

In my heart, I worried.

I shook my head. “I haven’t had the guts to talk to him about it yet.”

Annie lifted an eyebrow and sipped her wine. “Did you grow the balls to talk to him about wanting to get married and have all his babies?”

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