Back when he was a kid, River and his mother had traveled so much it had been his norm. Esmerelda would answer the call to some far-flung place or other and drag him along as if he were a suitcase. She made jewelry—beautiful pieces with hand-woven metal and stones acquired on their travels—and sold enough for them to live cheaply and on the fly. Sometimes they stayed in communities with other kids, and he’d get to play with children his age, but he’d never been put in a traditional school. She’d homeschooled him, or so she said, but really she’d just given him the books and let him guide his own education, something that had put him embarrassingly behind once he started public school. It had been lonely much of the time, but every so often Esmerelda (she’d never let him call her Mom) would bring him to Asheville, to Aunt Dottie, and it would feel like he finally had a place to plant his feet. Like he had somewhere he could belong. Like he had someone to belong with.
It was the way he felt with Georgie in his arms, and given the way she’d melted into him, he’d thought she felt it too. Only she’d retreated from him. Again. It was starting to seem like she was as good at pulling away as she was at running a business.
He’d thought he was going to head home. Hops surely needed to be let out soon, and if he waited too long, he’d come home to more shredded toilet paper or maybe a mauled book. But whatever desperation had driven him to seek out Beau earlier was driving him to Aunt Dottie now. (Surely she’d have something to say about that.)
Her house had always reminded him of the candy cottage in Hansel and Gretel. It was a small three-bedroom bungalow, painted a bright pastel purple with yellow trim. The yard was separated into planting beds and featured a random assemblage of sculpted animals—bears sitting with frogs. He pulled into the driveway behind her car, his heart in his throat, and made his way to the door, his feet planting on her welcome mat.
He heard voices inside, even though her car was the only one in the drive. He started to pull away, not feeling fit for company, but Aunt Dottie opened the door before he got a single step closer.
“How’d you know…?” he started.
She just gave him her I know things, dear look, but he caught sight of the open front shades and realized she’d probably seen the car’s headlights. Although still a bit too early for darkness to fall, it was a hazy, murky day, veering toward dusk, and the lights had turned on automatically.
“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it,” she said. “The others showed up an hour ago.”
“The others?” he asked in confusion.
She tsked. “You didn’t get my text?”
Truthfully, no. But he’d been checking his phone only once or twice a day to avoid the Jezebel spam. Not that he wanted to admit to dodging those messages. His aunt studied them as carefully as a detective interpreting clues to a grisly crime.
“I must have missed it,” he said. “What’s the situation?”
“Come in, come in,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside.
He did, only to find Lurch, Josie, and a couple of current Buchanan employees sitting around the dining room table.
Each sat in front of a large pad of drawing paper, and a mass of colored pencils lay in the middle.
Was this some sort of art happy hour? It wouldn’t be the first time.
There were two empty places—one had obviously been Aunt Dottie’s seat given the intricate drawings on the page, and the other had apparently been left open for him.
“Oh, good, you’re here, River,” Lurch said. “My idea is to mix five different kinds of beer together—some of them limited release—and have a competition to see who can name all five. If they win, they get to drink it. What do you think?” He grinned as if expecting approval.
“Um, do you think anyone would want to win?” he asked.
Lurch twisted his mouth to the side and then shrugged. “To each their own.”
“There’s food in the kitchen,” Aunt Dottie said brightly. “Grab a plate! We’ve got a lot left to do.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He nodded to Josie, and the employees who were still, well, employees, and led the way.
The kitchen table was crowded with platters of food, arranged in front of a little chalkboard sign reading Inspiration Eats!
He sighed, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a plate and helping himself. He hadn’t eaten since that muffin with Maisie, which he’d counted as a late lunch, and Aunt Dottie was a great cook when she wasn’t trying to make all the food black or brown. “Are you planning the employee party behind Georgie’s back?”
He settled into the far chair, next to an empty patch of table, and set down his plate. Aunt Dottie took the chair opposite him.
“I would never do that,” she said as if mortally offended. “I’m just helping her so she doesn’t need to worry about all of the nitpicky details. I want Georgie to be able to spend her time on more important things.”
He nearly choked on a bite of mac and cheese.
“I think she very much wants to spend her time approving those details. In case you’ve forgotten, you nearly burned down her house.”
Aunt Dottie waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, I think we’re well beyond that.”
“It happened a week and a half ago.”
“Nearly two weeks, dear. And although I love our Georgie girl, I think she needs to let herself have more fun.” She paused, tilting her head a little as if he were a work of art she were studying. “Something happened to you today.”
“It’s almost like you’re psychic,” he said, the corner of his mouth ticking up.
Another hand wave. “You know what I mean. Something earth-shattering happened to you.”
He set down his fork with a clatter, feeling a quake inside of him. “I guess I came here to talk to you about that. I’m not sure I would have come if I’d known you had company—”
“How about a balloon-popping contest?” someone asked loudly, to which Josie replied, “How about bubbles? I’ve gotten pretty good with those.”
He was going to have to tell Georgie about this, wasn’t he? It was what a friend would do.
A friend. Those words had poured salt into his wounds, especially after that hug. Not that he would have dreamed of turning her away.
Aunt Dottie got up and closed the door, then rummaged through one of the cabinets for something before joining him at the table.
“I can tell it’s time to give this to you,” she said, handing him a black, leatherbound case across the table.
He flipped it open and sucked in a breath. It was Beau’s watch, gleaming brightly back at him.
“I didn’t know you had it,” he said. “I was going to grab it at Beau’s house a couple of weeks ago, but I guess I got distracted.”
“I guess you did,” she said, staring at him in that way of hers, making him feel as transparent as plastic wrap. It could be slightly infuriating, being known by someone. Being seen by them. “I told Georgie I wanted to be the one to give it to you.”
He perked up a little at that. They’d arranged this?
“You know,” she said slowly, “Beau would have given you his house if I weren’t already giving you mine.”