“Whatever.” I open the door for her and gesture for her to precede me. “I’m the middle. Anyway, you’re a girl.”
“Gee, thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” she says, her tone bitter.
Yep, something’s up with my twin.
“It makes you special,” I say, backpedaling. Fighting with my brothers is status quo, but I can’t take tension between the two of us. “Whereas I’m just another mouth to feed.”
She turns, and I have to stop quickly to avoid crashing into her. “The poor-me thing doesn’t look good on you, Sam-Dan. Might want to keep that in mind when you try to patch things up with Diane.”
“What? What makes you think—”
But she stomps up the stairs and slams the door to her room before I can finish my sentence.
CHAPTER 10DIANE
I have got to stop hiding in the bathroom. It’s silly. Just because I kissed Sam does not make me weak. Thanks to the dog, I walked away before I could do anything stupid, like have sex up against the side of the barn.
By the time I got back to the house, dinner was over and everyone was in the kitchen cleaning up. Instead of helping, I booked it for the powder room, where I’ve been sitting for the past ten minutes.
I should probably just move on. There are plenty of other farmers and gardeners out there. But I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface here in Fork Lick. For a tiny hamlet—its official designation—it’s packed full of people with good stories. Plus, I’ve gotten attached to this family.
But maybe that’s the thing. I should leave before I get too attached. If they find out about my family, they’ll probably hate me.
Footsteps sound in the hallway, so I run water in the sink so whoever is out there doesn’t think I’m the kind of person who doesn’t wash their hands after fake going to the bathroom. After I fake dry, however, I freeze, my hand halfway to the doorknob.
“Gran, she’s basically a stranger,” Sam says from right outside the door.
I should just step out so they’ll stop talking about me, but I can’t move.
“I think I’m a pretty good judge of character,” Ethel snaps back.
“There are all kinds of predatory hucksters out there who specialize in stealing from the elderly.”
He thinks I’m going to steal from Ethel? WTF!
“Are you saying I’m elderly, Samuel Daniel Bedd?”
“Well—”
“Because I bet I can beat you in Wordle. I do it every morning.”
“I am sure you could. But you are recently widowed, which anyone can find out with a simple Google search.”
If Ethel says anything in response, I can’t hear it.
“Just promise me you won’t give her any important information, okay, Gran? Please? I’m just trying to look out for you.”
“Fine,” she says on a huff. “But like I told you, she only…”
They must have started walking down the hall, because Ethel's voice fades to the point that I can’t hear the end of the sentence. Instead of finally leaving the bathroom, I slump down onto the toilet.
I shouldn’t feel so disappointed. After all, I know who Sam is: a soulless shark in a suit. Every time I start to think I misjudged him, he bares his teeth.
I promised Ethel I’d stick around for a week, and I’ll do that. I can avoid Sam. It’s not like he lives here, and I’m staying elsewhere too. Which reminds me—I still need the check-in info for my rental. But when I open the app and look for my reservation, it’s not there. Searching my email, I find the original confirmation. Scrolling through it, I find a number for the host, but when I call it, the number’s been disconnected.
“What the heck?”
“Are you okay in there, dear?”
“Gah!?” Startled at the sound of Ethel’s voice, I leap to my feet, my phone flying out of my hands and into the sink. “Dang it.”
“Diane?”
“I’m fine,” I call through the door.
Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I wash my hands again, even though I never did actually use the toilet. Unfortunately, when I emerge from the powder room, Ethel’s waiting with a concerned look on her face.
“I’m really fine, I promise.” I wave towards the bathroom behind me. “Just, you know, got distracted on my phone.”
She pats my arm. “Come into the parlor with me, honey.”
“I really should get going,” I begin, but then I remember that I no longer have a place to go to, so I follow her through a door across the hall. She turns on a lamp, which makes the little room even cozier, before settling onto the couch and patting the cushion next to her. Like the cat we had growing up that was never quite comfortable with humans, but still wanted to be close by, I perch on the edge of the cushion the farthest away from her.
Ethel picks up a bag, puts on her readers, and begins to knit. I’m curious about Samuel’s childhood but asking seems like a bad idea. Especially since I’ve decided to avoid him. Noticing the framed photos that cover one wall, I hop up to get a closer look.
“Those go back over a hundred years,” Ethel says. “My husband’s family has lived on this land for a long time.”
