>Ellis<

The second we pull up to the ranch, Cameron throws the door open like she’s been held hostage, grabs her little purse and slams the truck door hard enough to rattle the windows.

I on the other hand, take my sweet time killing the engine and stepping out, stretching like I’ve just been on a long, satisfying drive—-because pissing her off is the most entertainment I’ve had all week and I'm starting to think it's a hobby I will enjoy.

She places her hands on her waist, her back is to me so I can't really see the expression on her face but I'm guessing it's not a pleasant one. It's probably one where she's just realized what a terrible mistake she's made coming all the way here.

"It’s not haunted, if that’s what you’re wondering."

Cameron turns to glare at me. "I wasn’t wondering that."

I can't help the grin on my face. "You were staring pretty hard."

"I was just—" She stops herself, looking back at the house, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It’s smaller than I remember."

I glance up at the place. The house is old but solid, the kind built to last—stone chimney, big wraparound porch, white paint that’s seen better days. The front steps sag a little, and the roof’s probably in need of some love, but it’s still standing, which is more than I can say for a lot of things.

"Memory’s weird like that."

Cameron exhales, turning back to the truck to grab her suitcase. This time, she doesn't ask me to lift it for her.

I hear a grunt and a loud exhale before she rolls her suitcase toward the porch. The thing’s got wheels, but they’re useless on gravel, so she’s dragging it more than rolling it.

I watch, arms crossed, waiting for her to give up and ask for help.

She doesn’t.

She clunks the bag up the steps and disappears inside without another word. I shake my head and follow.

The house smells the same—wood, dust, and something warm and familiar. I haven't been here since Lita's passing. It's grandma who has been taking care of plants and wiping dust off shelves.

I didn't get it at first, like why do all this for someone who is dead? But then slowly, it started sinking in. Grandma and Lita may not be together anymore but her coming here and doing all the things Lita used to do is a way to cope.

The kitchen light is still busted, she asked me repeatedly to change it but I was too busy, the old clock above the fireplace is stuck at 3:12, and the couch still has that godawful quilt Lita refused to throw out.

Cameron stands in the middle of it all, eyes darting around like she doesn’t belong here.

"You gonna stand there all day or what?"

She narrows her eyes. "I don’t need commentary. I’m just taking it in."

"You can grab any room of your liking upstairs except for the one at the far end, it was Lita's," I tell her as I haul her ridiculously heavy suitcase through the front door. "Bathroom's across the hall."

She follows me up the stairs, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Has anything changed since I was last here?" she asks, trailing her fingers along the banister as we climb the stairs.

I shrug. "Lita wasn't big on redecorating."

The house is exactly as Lita left it—photos lining the walls, her collection of decorative plates still displayed in the hutch, even her reading glasses sitting on the side table next to her favorite chair. Like she might walk in any minute, demanding to know who let the draft in.

The thought sends a pang through my chest.

I push open the door to the guest room and set her bag down with a thud.

The room is simple but clean. Fresh sheets on the bed, dust swept away, windows opened to air out the musty smell that settles in unused spaces.

"It's...quaint," Cameron says, the word falling from her lips like she's trying not to offend me.

"It's a room," I correct her. "With a bed. What were you expecting, the Ritz?"

She bristles, her shoulders squaring under her wrinkled blouse.

"I wasn't expecting anything. I haven't been here in fifteen years, remember?"

I wince internally. Maybe that was a low blow earlier. But something about this woman just gets under my skin—-the way she thinks everything like it's beneath her.

"Dinner's at six," I say instead of apologizing. "Grandma's cooking."

She blinks, surprised. "Your grandmother is coming?"

"No, you're going to hers," I explain, leaning against the doorframe. "Try to freshen up and get some rest before that."

I turn on my heel to leave when she clears her throat.

"Um...thanks."

I smirk. "Don't go soft on me."

I don't even let her finish before I head out, closing the door quietly behind me.

°°°°

At exactly six, I'm begrudgingly standing in front of Lita's door, because Grandma doesn't trust Cam to make it to the house all by herself like the princess she is.

I knock, a second later, she's down. Without meaning to, my eyes rake over her slacks and a white top that looks too small but she's rocking it anyway.

"What?" She asks when she sees me.

"Dinner. Grandma made me come fetch you."

She smiles. "Well, I was just heading out now." She goes back inside and comes out a second later.

The walk to Gran's house is silent.

When we finally step into the dinning room, Cam is a nervous mess besides me.

But Gran is already stretching her arms for a hug. To her credit, Cameron doesn't flinch though her surprise is evident.

"Let me look at you," Grandma says, holding Cameron at arm's length. "My, how you've grown. The spitting image of your father."

Something flickers across Cameron's face but it's gone a second later.

"It's good to see you..." Cameron trails off, her voice softer than I've heard it yet.

"Martha, dear. Always Martha to you," Gran corrects, patting her cheek. "Now, sit, dinner's getting cold."

The smell of rich beef stew and fresh-baked cornbread fills the air. My stomach growls in appreciation—I skipped lunch to pick up Cameron, and it's all left me hungry.

"Your grandmother scares me a little," Cam whispers, sitting next to me.

I chuckle. "Smart woman. She should."

Grandma ladles stew into bowls, passes the cornbread, and tops off water glasses.

"Now," she says once we're all served, "let's talk about the ranch."

Cameron freezes. "What about it?"

"About what happens next, now that you're finally here," Gran says, fixing her with a steady gaze. "Lita was very specific in her will about what she wanted for Willowbend."

I glance between them, sensing the tension.

"I haven't had a chance to review the will yet, and the lawyer just mentioned the property being left to me," Cameron says carefully.

Grandma nods. "That's right. But I thought you should know that this ranch meant everything to Lita. She built it from nothing after your grandfather passed."

"I know it was important to her," Cameron says, voice tight. "But I'm not in a position to—"

"To what?" Grandma interrupts. "To honor her wishes? To consider what she wanted for her legacy?"

"Gran," I warn quietly. She's coming off hot and rude and I understand the wound is fresh but Cam just got here!

But Grandma is on a mission now. "Lita talked about you all the time, you know. Even after years without a word. She kept every school picture your mother sent, every Christmas card, every newspaper clipping when you made honor roll or won a big case."

Cameron's face pales.

"She was so proud of you. Always bragging to anyone who would listen about her brilliant niece, the big-shot lawyer in the city."

Cameron swallows. "I didn't know."

"There's a lot you don't know," Grandma says, not unkindly. "About Lita, about this place, about what it means to the community."

"I'm just trying to do what's right," Cameron says, a defensive edge creeping back into her voice.

"Are you?" Grandma challenges. "Or are you just looking for the quickest way to get back to your life and put all this behind you?"

The words hang in the air between them. Even I wince at their impact.

Cameron pushes her chair back abruptly, "Excuse me."

Before either of us can respond, she's gone. I try to get up but Grandma's hand on my arm stops me.

"Let her be," she says softly.

I settle back in my chair, but my eyes drift to the door.

"Was that really necessary?" I ask.

She sighs, suddenly looking every one of her seventy-six years. "Maybe not. But Lita made me promise to try to make her see what this place could be."

"And what's that?" I ask, sarcastic.

Gran's eyes meet mine. "A home. The home she's never really had."

I want to scoff because this can never be home for someone like Cameron, but I stay silent.

Who knows what the next few days hold?