Page 83 of Long Story Short

I sigh. I guess if I want to keep her in the dark about our dad, I need to give her details about Josie to satisfy her curiosity.

“Things with Josie are still new, but they’re different.”

My words catch her attention. Her expression shifts, less teasing now. “Different how?”

I sigh. For once, I’d rather talk about things to do with the house over this. It took a lot out of me to be honest and vulnerable with Josie last night. I don’t want to get into it too much with Winnie.

“Things with her are just easy,” I offer, thinking about our conversation last night. “I don’t have to think about things with her or feel the need to control it.”

She nods, like my words solidify everything she needs to know. “Then don’t.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m trying not to, but that’s not how I work. You know I hate the unknown. I’m not good at anything outside of work, really.”

“Maybe it’s time you try something different,” she responds. “It seems to be working out for you so far.”

I look away from my sister, my gaze finding the spot where Josie sat and had breakfast this morning. It felt so natural to have her there. I don’t know how long I stay quiet, but it’s long enough for my sister to nudge me with her elbow.

“Try not to overthink it. Just enjoy your time with her and see what happens.”

“Working on it,” I say with a long breath.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about the house,” my sister quips. I allow the change in subject, happy to focus on the changes she’s making instead of my growing feelings for Josie and the pit in my stomach that I was left with after the phone call with my father.

FORTY

JOSIE

The city feels louder than normal, but maybe that’s just me. It feels different here. The familiar hum of traffic, the blur of people moving along the sidewalks. Everyone’s carrying on like everything’s normal, while I can’t stop thinking about who I left behind in the Hamptons.

My grip on Mouse’s cat carrier tightens as I step out of the town car in front of my childhood home.

My shoulders relax the moment I see it.

Home. Finally.

The front door opens before I even reach it.

“Josephine,” Heather, one of my favorite staff members at the house, greets, her voice warm.

“Hi,” I respond, letting her pull me into a hug before I step inside. I slip off my shoes at the door without thinking.

“Your grandfather has hopefully finally made his way out of the kitchen and is in the dining room,” she tells me, taking my overnight bag and Mouse’s cat carrier from me. She immediately lets him out, used to his wandering the house. He takes off immediately, off to explore and get into trouble, I’m sure.

I laugh as a sense of calm runs through me. That sounds just like Pop. He’s always where the food is. Nan used to swat him out of the kitchen with a kitchen towel.

“I’ll go find him,” I tell Heather, making my way to the formal dining room. The sound of the kitchen staff filters out, familiar and comforting.

As I pass the sitting room, I can’t help but stop and take in the grand piano in the corner of the room.

Nan’s piano.

For a moment, it’s like I can almost hear her; I can picture her sitting right there. The soft notes drifting through the house in the evening, the sounds of her mumbled curse words when she messed up and thought none of us heard her use a swear word.

My chest tightens as I force myself to keep walking.

I miss her.

“Pop?” I call, nearing the formal dining room.