Page 19 of Manors & Mischief

She turns toward her son, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. “You will, and you’ll like it.” Their gazes meet, and she takes on a softer tone. “Would you rather someone else do it? If you’re there, you can make sure it’s done right. You can keep an eye on things and make sure the history is preserved. If someone else does it, you will have no say.” She says the last bit slowly. Punctuating each word.

I’m trying to figure out the meaning behind her words because clearly, she and Devon are talking about something I’m not privy to. They have a whole conversation with their eyes, and I take the time to peer over at Mr. Shue. “I’m sorry about this.”

“No, she’s not,” Devon interjects. “Sorry, Shue. Ember O’Malley won’t be needing you after all.”

“E-excuse me?” I sputter out.

The mayor claps her hands, neither one of them giving me an opportunity to get a word in edgewise. Soon, Mr. Shue is packed up and out the door, and instead, a grumpy looking Devon Lachey is glaring at me.

“That was rude,” I tell them.

“Oh no, Ember. It’s not that at all,” Mayor Lachey coos. “The two of us were just looking out for you. Heritage workers are lazy, expensive, and nearly intolerable. Trust me, it’s better this way. Devon will get you fixed up the Harvest Falls way, and you’ll be open for the Fall Spectacular in no time.”

I peer toward Devon, who still looks unhappy, but he’s chilled a little. A very little.

“I, for one, am all for this new development,” Bea offers.

I give her a look that tells her she’s not being helpful. Who knew people from small towns stuck together like this? “Okay, but I’m the boss,” I say, peering between everyone.

“Of course. Devon takes great direction.”

“I sure as fuck don’t,” he says under his breath.

Whether his mother hears him or not isn’t entirely discernible. If she does, her face never changes as she peers at me hopefully.

I sigh, my stomach clenching in the process. “I’d love to see an estimate. I guess.”

Mayor Lachey grips my shoulder. “He’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

I peer up to find Bea gesturing suggestively with her hips. As soon as Mayor Lachey turns to order, she’s all smiles and no gyrating. “Good to see you, Mayor.”

I move my gaze to Devon, and for a few seconds, we just stare at one another. This might be a complete disaster. One thing is for sure, I can’t let him ruin my enthusiasm, so mayor’s choice or not, if it doesn’t work out, I’m calling Mr. Shue back.

8

DEVON

Sleepy Hollow Manor greets me in the morning with a twinkle from the sun glinting off her windows. Dew sparkles across the overgrown lawn, and inside, I hear the low tone of a radio.

I peer in through the front windows first, watching as Ember wipes down the foyer woodwork with a dust rag. Like before, her hair is up in a handkerchief. Green this time. A sun-kissed tan coats her skin, glowing off toned calves and thighs until it disappears under black shorts. A tan like that is a novelty here. It speaks of sand beaches and tanning oil, making her stand out more than she already does for a single woman who has moved into town.

Closing my eyes for a few moments, I take a deep breath and attempt to rearrange my thoughts from how beautiful I find this woman into a reality check. I tossed and turned most of the night. What my mother said at the café made sense, but the fact that Ember had the audacity to call Shue struck me even more. My mother cares that he’s from Heritage. I don’t. I care that he’s not me. Working on my property. And the most nagging thought of all: Working alongside Ember.

I shift my weight, and the porch groans in response. Ember turns to find me peering through the window, and I lift my hand in an awkward wave. She beckons me in, and I’m greeted with the smell of lemon and the lingering aroma of bacon.

I’ll be damned.

Much like in the past, the manor greets me with a warm hug, but in addition to that, freshly laundered white velvet curtains hang on elaborate spindles, a large area rug covers the foyer, boasting a settee and end tables, both with vases of orange, yellow, and red flowers, all the colors of a beautiful fall. The house feels more like a home and less like the unwanted structure it was before she moved in. “It looks nice,” I tell her, peering around. The dust is gone, all but eradicated. The musty smell now replaced with that crisp, clean scent.

“Was that a compliment?”

“Barely,” I admit. I’m still too shocked to praise her fully, and the lingering unfairness of it all still eats away at the fibers of my being.

“I agree,” she says, turning with a blue feather duster in her hand. “I think you can do better because the place looks amazing. I’ve cleaned walls, I’ve dusted sideboards. I’ve even buffed and waxed the floors.”

I swallow, taking in the tiny strands of hair poking out around the handkerchief to frame her face. I don’t know what I thought. That I’d come into the house with barely anything done? Maybe her sitting on her hands like a damsel in distress? Pretty much. Ember seems spoiled to me. She bought this huge house. She afforded it when I couldn’t, even while being significantly younger than me. “It looks like a home,” I concede.

“You seem surprised.”