Page 27

“Valuable?” Logan repeats with apprehension.

“There must be antiques shops or thrift shops that would buy some of it. Just sort through it and put aside anything that might be worth something. And you better behave yourselves up there. Although if you don’t, no one will know sinceI can’t climb that ladder.” She raises her eyebrows in a suggestive way and my cheeks flush with heat.

Logan shoves his hands in his pockets after Grandma has made it back safely to the first floor. “Your grandma is something else.”

“You can say that again,” I mumble. “We should get started or this will take all night.”

I let Logan climb up first because I’m wearing one of my long skirts like usual and there’s no way I’m letting him watch me climb that ladder from below. He waits for me with his arms crossed. The stance only helps to show off his chest and arms, which leaves me feeling more distracted. I’d love to get through this afternoon without embarrassing myself, but I’m not sure that’s possible.

The attic is dusty and disorganized. I turn in a slow circle, taking in the chaos. The house has a pitched roof, so we can only stand up straight in the center of the space. Boxes have been pushed to the edges, along with old Halloween and Christmas decorations, lamps, and side tables.

Logan says what I’m thinking. “This is impossible.”

“Could anything up here be valuable at all?”

“No idea.” He gingerly lifts the flap of the closest box. “Looks like that’s filled with dishes.”

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Let’s see if anything is sellable.”

“To be fair, people can sell their own saliva.”

I give him a disgusted look. “I don’t know how you know that, and I don’t want you to tell me. Just look for the coolest stuff. And maybe we should organize too?”

“Sure, no problem.”

We work separately, poking into boxes and moving them to different spaces in the attic to sort them. I’m intensely aware that Logan is a few feet from me, and I track each of his movements out of the corner of my eye. I don’t want to pay attention to him, but I can’t seem to stop myself. As Grandma pointed out, we’re completely alone up here, and the last time we were alone he insinuated he likes me. Or at least, that he used to like me, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

Logan closes the lids of two boxes, stacks them on top of each other, and easily carries them to the corner of the attic. Maybe those were two super-light boxes, but I’m pretty sure I saw the wordcookbookson one of them. I turn away and train my eyes on a box of quilts. I need to keep my eyes to myself.

“Whoa, look at this box,” he says a minute later. “What do you think of these tiles?”

Reluctantly, I lean over his shoulder. This is a box of square tiles with a hand-painted blue and white motif on them. I pick up a few more and each is similar in coloring, but the designs are different. They’re clearly handmade.

I glance around the box to look for a label. “Portuguese tiles,” I read aloud.

“Cool,” Logan says. “Do you think they’re actually from Portugal?”

“Yeah, I bet a lot of these boxes are filled with things from her travels.” I look down at the tile. “These could be a big seller. We should definitely take them down.”

He sighs. “Of course it’s the heaviest box that needs to go down the shaky attic ladder.” He picks it up and takes it over to the steps before opening the next box. “Hmm, this one might be good too. Do people care about lace?”

“Probably, if it’s imported.”

He nudges the box toward me, and I pull out the piece on top. I’m expecting something larger and rectangular—like a tablecloth—but this isn’t anything like that. It’s more like a scrap of lace. I hold it up in front of me. “Huh, what do you think—”

The realization comes to me too late, and my eyes unconsciously lock on Logan. Both his eyes and mouth have popped wide open.

“Oh mygod!” I shriek, and throw the fabric as far away from me as I can. That wasn’t a delicate piece of handwoven lace from a village in Europe.

That was Grandma’s lingerie.

“Ahhh!” I yell again, and shake out my hands like they’ve been dipped in acid.

Logan rubs a hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe you—”

“Don’t you say it.” I point at him. “Ever.We’re both going to our graves before we talk about this.”

He laughs loudly. “I’m pretty sure the whole box is…you know.”