3. Elodie #2
Together we walked out onto the back deck. I smiled and hugged old acquaintances. Selene left to wrangle the kids just as my little sister Kit walked up.
I wrapped her in a hug. “Skittle.” I squeezed, using her childhood nickname. She was shorter than me by more than a few inches, but her personality was larger than life. The sunlight caught the fiery red strands in her chestnut hair, matching my little sister’s firecracker personality perfectly.
“Surprised you decided to grace us with your presence,” she teased with a hip bump.
Guilt for not taking the time to visit more often flickered over me, but I swept it away. “Hey, at least I’m better than Clara.”
A short, disgusted noise rattled in the back of Kit’s throat. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Our sister Clara had gone to college but if you asked me what she studied, I couldn’t tell you.
While I was designing and running events, she found her happiness attending them.
Her fiancé’s thriving tech company did more than enough to keep her social calendar completely booked.
On social media she seemed more than thrilled with the direction her life had taken her.
Not that we saw her often enough to know for sure.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” I asked, looking around and taking a sip of my juice box.
I could see Kit fighting a smile. “Uh ... Magic Mike was having a wardrobe malfunction.”
The juice shot out of my mouth, landing in a splatter at her feet.
Kit’s chestnut waves bounced as she chuckled. “Relax. Different Mike. This one is actually a magician. Mom was convinced she could fix his cape in time for his performance, so ... we made do.” Her chin jutted toward the back.
I looked across the yard to see my brother’s best friend running across the lawn with a squealing child in a fireman’s carry as the rest of the kids chased him. “Is that why Brody is fighting for his life over there?”
Her hands spread wide with a shrug, but her eyes moved over him and paused.
We watched with humor as he lost his battle with the tiny terrors and they tackled him to the ground. Brody worked for the local police department, so it was nice to see him having a little fun.
“Where is Hayes?” I asked, looking around for my moody oldest sibling.
Kit sighed and leaned against the deck railing. “You know how it goes with Hayes. He texted, saying he got a flat tire on the way over. He’ll be here soon.”
I shook my head. Poor Hayes. He literally had the worst luck of anyone I had ever met. We didn’t actually believe he’d been cursed by the Lady, but sometimes it was hard to ignore that his luck was absolute shit.
“I’m going to go rescue Brody before the feral children stage a coup.” Kit grinned and bounded down the stairs.
Sitting alone at a table on the side of the yard was old man Stafford. My heart rolled for him and the dilapidated farm that once held so many of my childhood memories. With a smile, I walked toward him.
The metal of the chair was cold against my palm. “This seat taken?”
He looked up, his blue eyes smiling. “Not for a pretty girl like you.”
I curtsied and plunked down into the chair, my legs stretched in front of me and crossed at the ankles. “So what do you know, old man?”
He chuckled, a deep and friendly sound. “I know it’s been too long since I’ve seen you around here, Miss Elodie Darling.”
I scrunched my nose. “I know. Work had me so busy.”
He shook his head. “No work is more important than family and friends.” He tapped the side of his nose. “That I do know.”
His words landed somewhere deep in the part of me I didn’t like to poke at too much. Because once upon a time, I had known that, but then I got too busy proving I was important, too busy proving I could keep up.
And now? Now I was back home, unemployed, drinking a juice box at a Vegas-themed birthday party for a kindergartner.
Deep down I knew Stan was right, and I wasn’t sure when work had eclipsed how much I loved being home, but it had happened all the same.
In that moment everything felt aimless, like I didn’t know what I was going to do.
It was much easier to shift my attention to the kind old man who was sipping pink lemonade out of a plastic martini glass.
“I drove past the farm today.” I leaned forward, planting my chin on my hands with an exaggerated pout.
Mr. Stafford’s eyes grew wistful, the spark dimming as he took another sip. “It’s a sad thing when time passes and life changes on you.”
I sat back in my chair. “I remember coming to the farm as a kid. It was the heart of Star Harbor—the pumpkin patch, the haunted forest walk. Mrs. Stafford’s cider doughnuts were legendary.”
At the mention of his late wife, Mr. Stafford perked up and smiled. “They were tasty.”
“The best ,” I agreed. I closed my eyes and could almost feel the cinnamon-sugary outside on my tongue as I bit down on the pillowy fried doughnut.
Stan sighed. “Over the years, people stopped coming. Flashier tourist destinations popped up in nearby towns and drew people away. Now it seems the only time someone comes around is when they’re trying to get a glimpse of the Lady walking the dunes.”
My brain was spinning. How could anyone just let the coolest place in town fall apart and be forgotten?
Frankly, it kind of pissed me off. Stan looked so sad. There had to be something I could do for him.
And then the perfect idea hit me.
“You know what you need?” I sat up straighter, my brain firing on all cylinders.
“A full-blown, family-friendly experience. Hayrides, haunted barns, spiked cider for the parents. People love taking selfies with scarecrows and buying homemade jams. The key is creating a social media–worthy vibe. If you make it fun, people will come back.”
My attention returned to Mr. Stafford. The sparkle was back in his eyes, but he shook his head. “Hard to maintain a profit when you’re only taking in money for one season.”
I scoffed, undeterred. “One season? Who said that? You’ve got three other seasons to explore—people need Christmas trees. They already love apples. What about flowers and weddings? Oh!” I clasped my hands together. “A wedding! The top of that dune cliff would make for the most amazing photos.”
The lines deepened on his face. “You really think people would come to something like that? Even after all these years?”
I grinned, knowing I had hooked him. The heady rush of closing a deal zipped through me.
“Absolutely. People are obsessed with fall nostalgia these days. Plus, families are looking to get off devices and make real memories. You don’t have to make it perfect—just make it fun.
I would be happy to help you brainstorm. ”
“My Karen would have loved this.” Mr. Stafford slapped the table. “You’ve got the vision, Miss Elodie, I’ll give you that! There was a time I had considered selling the place, but what you’re saying ... well, that sounds like Karen’s dream come true. I think we should do it.”
I grinned but quickly recovered as his words fully registered. “Uh ... we ?” I let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, I was just spitballing, Mr. Stafford. Brainstorming. Thinking theoretically.”
He nodded. “Yes, of course we . I can’t do anything without a visionary like yourself. I’m just an old man.” He gestured toward himself. “I can’t pull this off without some help. If you’ve got ideas, I’ve got the space—and plenty of money to make it happen.”
He winked and I was utterly charmed. “Um ...” I tried to think on my feet. I needed a way out of this, to gently let the sweet old man down, but I came up blank.
“I mean ... I am kind of in between projects at the moment,” I hedged, suddenly feeling like I had stepped onto a conveyor belt moving at full speed. “But I’m only staying with Selene for a few days. Just a quick pit stop before figuring out my next big move.”
Caught between guilt—I had made it sound amazing—and my childhood fondness for the farm, I was stuck.
“Don’t you worry.” He patted my hand.
Oh, I was very much worried. I had come home for a temporary emotional reset, not to accidentally sign up for a full-scale farm restoration. But somehow Mr. Stafford had me by the metaphorical balls.
And worse? A tiny, traitorous part of me was ... intrigued.
I imagined the farm, picturing it the way it used to be—families wandering the pumpkin patch, the smell of fresh cider doughnuts, bonfires crackling in the cool autumn air. The idea shouldn’t have been so tempting.
But, damn it, it was.
“I’ve got the perfect place for you,” he continued smoothly, like a man who had absolutely just hustled me. “And I’ll pay you handsomely. What do you say?” His eyebrows did a little bounce, and he was fully aware he had me backed into a corner.
A spark of excitement zipped through me, fast and electric. The idea shouldn’t have felt this tempting, but there was no denying it—it did.
I wasn’t staying, obviously. This wasn’t my life. But maybe, just maybe, helping out for a little while would be good for me too.
Besides, what harm was a fun little distraction until something more serious came along?
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, bright and unstoppable, as I stuck out my hand. “You, Mr. Stafford, are a dangerous man. But hell—why not? Let’s save a farm.”