Page 2 of Five Summer Wishes

JUNE

I always forgot how quiet it was here.

Not city quiet, where the absence of sirens feels like an anomaly.

Not suburban quiet, where everything is muffled by fences and lawn sprinklers and the hum of central air.

But the kind of quiet that settles inside your body.

Coastal quiet. Clean air, gulls calling, the faint clatter of a fishing boat in the distance.

I stood in the upstairs bedroom that used to be mine, the same gauzy curtains fluttering at the window, and tried to remember who I was the last time I looked out over this town.

Seventeen. Angry. Determined to leave.

And now I was back. Thirty-three. Tired. A little frayed at the edges.

Lily was already curled up in the armchair with a book, her legs tucked beneath her like she’d lived here all her life.

I watched her for a second; the way she turned the pages slowly, her lips moving silently with each line.

Her hair had started to curl a little in the salt air, same as mine used to. The resemblance startled me sometimes.

“Do you like it here?” I asked quietly.

She looked up and nodded. “It’s cozy. And the butterflies are magic.”

I smiled. “They are.”

I crossed to the small dresser, tugged open a drawer, and started to unpack. One pair of jeans. Two clean t-shirts. Lily’s swimsuits, all stuffed together in a grocery bag. I hadn’t packed like we were staying long. Maybe I hadn’t let myself believe we really would.

Downstairs, I could hear Harper’s footsteps pacing.

Sharp and deliberate, like everything she did.

Willa’s voice came through the window, bright and unfiltered.

She was already in full performance mode.

That was the thing about Willa. She could walk into any room and instantly own it, like the world was a party she’d just decided to crash.

I used to think I resented her for that. But really, I think I just wanted to know what it felt like.

“I think Grandma Iris is still here,” Lily said suddenly.

I turned. “What do you mean?”

“She left the butterfly pin for me. She wanted us to come. She wanted us to do the wishes.”

She said it so simply, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“Maybe she did,” I said. “Maybe she just wanted us to try.”

Lily stood and stretched, the book slipping to the floor. “Can we go see the backyard? I want to find more treasure.”

“In a little bit, okay? I need to talk to your aunts first.”

She nodded and padded down the hall, already humming to herself. That girl carried light wherever she went, even when I felt like I’d lost every match inside me.

I stayed in the room a moment longer, resting my hands on the old dresser.

The wood was smooth and cool beneath my palms, the varnish worn down in the places where Iris must’ve kept her jewelry, her perfume bottles, the small glass dish full of spare buttons and rosary beads.

She was always equal parts elegance and grit.

I missed her more than I expected.

When she died, I hadn’t cried. I’d told myself I couldn’t—not with Lily watching, not with work deadlines stacking up and the funeral to plan and the guilt pressing down on my chest like wet wool.

But now, standing in her old house with the ocean wind threading through the window, I felt the grief I’d buried too neatly.

I closed my eyes and let it sting.

Downstairs, I heard the back door creak open, followed by Willa’s unmistakable voice: “Ohhh my God, hello again, handsome stranger!”

I blinked.

Handsome stranger?

I stepped to the window and peeked out through the curtain.

A man stood at the edge of the yard, holding a toolbox and wearing a faded baseball cap. He looked up at Willa, who was leaning against the porch railing like a pinup from the 1940s. I couldn’t hear what she was saying now, but I could tell she was enjoying herself.

The man didn’t retreat, which surprised me.

He was tall. Broad shoulders, worn jeans, and that relaxed posture men have when they’re comfortable with silence. Something about him was familiar, though I couldn’t place it yet. Not from this far away.

Harper stepped out a second later and said something to him that made him nod. Then she gestured toward the broken porch swing. He moved toward it, set his toolbox down, and knelt to inspect the chains.

Ah. So this was the fixer.

I turned away from the window. My heart was still beating a little faster than it should’ve been.

Maybe it was just the quiet.

I found them on the porch. The two of them, standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the half-collapsed swing like it had personally offended them.

Harper was holding a notepad. Willa had a glass of lemonade and was offering unsolicited opinions.

“I’m telling you, just take the whole thing down and hang a hammock,” Willa said, sipping like she lived here full time. “Swings are moody. Hammocks are confident.”

“The wish isn’t install a hammock, ” Harper said. “It’s fix the swing. ”

The man didn’t say anything. He crouched beside the swing, gently jiggling the chains, like he was listening for something unspoken. There was a calmness to him that made the whole porch feel steadier.

He glanced up just as I stepped outside.

His eyes landed on me, and for a second, the rest of the conversation fell away.

Then he smiled. It wasn’t big or practiced, just quiet and real. Like he was glad to see me, even if he wasn’t sure why.

“You must be June,” he said.

I hesitated. “Have we met?”

“A long time ago,” he said. “But I wouldn’t expect you to remember. You were probably twelve. I was fifteen and awkward.”

Willa snorted. “You? Awkward? That I would pay to see.”

He grinned. “It was a phase. I outgrew it. Mostly.”

“Grant,” Harper added, gesturing between us, “owns the workshop across the marina. He fixes things.”

Grant shrugged. “Sometimes I break them first. Part of the process.”

His voice had that easy Maine cadence—slower than city speech, but deliberate. Warm. It fit him. And it did something strange to my chest.

“You’re here about the porch swing?” I asked.

“And the window upstairs,” Harper added. “And probably the loose banister and half the house, if we’re being honest.”

Grant gave the swing a final tug and stood. “You’ll need new bolts, maybe fresh chains. The frame’s still good, though. It can hold.”

He looked at me again when he said it. I wasn’t sure if it was just coincidence.

“I’ll grab what I need from the truck,” he added, brushing dust from his hands. “Shouldn’t take long.”

He stepped down into the yard and disappeared around the side of the house.

Willa exhaled dramatically. “That man is the human equivalent of sourdough bread. Solid. Wholesome. Slightly addictive.”

Harper groaned. “Please stop.”

But I smiled, despite myself. It had been a long time since we’d all been in the same place. Longer still since it felt almost… easy.

I sat on the edge of the porch and looked out over the yard. The grass was overgrown, dandelions sprouting like wild thoughts. The flowerbeds were a mess, and the hedge along the walkway had grown into an unmanageable tangle.

Still, it felt like something alive. Something that had been waiting for us.

Willa sat beside me and passed the lemonade. “So. How are you really?”

I took a sip. Sweet. Cold. A little too tart.

“I’m okay,” I said.

She didn’t push. Which I appreciated.

“Do you think we can actually do it?” I asked. “The wishes?”

Willa kicked off her sandal and nudged a toe into the soft dirt at the porch’s edge. “Honestly? No idea. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s not about succeeding. Maybe Iris just wanted us to be in the same room long enough to remember how to try.”

I nodded.

Harper sat down on the swing—not quite trusting it, hovering just enough to test its strength. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You mean staying here?”

“No. The cooking part.”

Willa snorted. “We’re all decent at cooking.”

“I set rice on fire last month,” I admitted.

Harper blinked. “How do you even—never mind.”

Willa grinned. “Iris said we have to invite someone new. I vote Grant.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because he’s hot. And also because we don’t know him. That’s literally the definition of someone new. ”

“We kind of know him,” I said quietly. “He grew up here. He dated that one girl—what was her name? Ellie Crouch?”

“Ellie married a dentist in Portland,” Willa said. “Has twins and a Pinterest page.”

I blinked. “How do you even know that?”

“Instagram.”

Harper sighed. “I hate how competent you are at social media for someone who still doesn’t own a microwave.”

Willa leaned back on her hands. “So it’s settled. We fix the swing. We cook something. We invite Grant. That’s Wish One.”

I looked out at the road, where the sun was starting to dip behind the trees.

It sounded simple. But I knew it wouldn’t be.

Because we weren’t the girls we used to be.

And I didn’t know if we still remembered how to be sisters.

Grant returned a few minutes later with a handful of tools and a small brown paper bag folded at the top.

“Brought extra hardware,” he said, crouching beside the swing again. “Didn’t trust what I saw under there.”

None of us moved to stop him. Willa wandered inside to refill her drink. Harper disappeared into the kitchen, probably to make a list of acceptable dinner menu options.

I stayed on the porch.

Grant worked quietly, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms dusted with sawdust and sun. He checked the bolts, tested the chain tension, and unwrapped a new set of washers from the bag. He didn’t hum or whistle or make unnecessary small talk. Just worked. Steady and sure.

It was… soothing.

He glanced up once. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?”

I startled slightly. “What?”

“From when we were kids. You used to come into the hardware store with Iris. Every Saturday, like clockwork.”

“Oh.” I paused, then smiled faintly. “I think I remember the store. It smelled like metal and licorice.”

He chuckled. “Still does. My dad used to keep those red-and-black candies at the counter. Swore they kept customers loyal.”

“They kept me out of tantrums.”

“That too.”

He tightened the last bolt and stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “You’ve changed a lot. But not in a bad way.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments usually slid off me like rain on wax paper. I wasn’t used to people noticing.

“Thanks,” I said finally. “You too.”

He looked at me for a second longer than I expected. Not in a flirty way. Just… present.

“You okay out here?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You looked like you needed a minute.”

“I kind of always look like that.”

He smiled. “Fair. Still, if you ever need someone to fix more than the swing, let me know.”

Before I could respond, the screen door banged open.

Lily bounded onto the porch, barefoot and sticky from the popsicle she’d begged for an hour ago.

She stopped short when she saw Grant. “Who are you?”

Grant crouched to her level. “I’m Grant. I used to know your great-grandma.”

Lily tilted her head. “Did you like her?”

“I did.”

“She left us wishes,” Lily said. “We’re doing them one by one. First is cooking. Are you coming to dinner?”

I blinked. “Lily?—”

Grant didn’t flinch. “Only if your mom says it’s okay.”

Lily turned to me expectantly, eyes wide.

I hesitated. This was supposed to be a controlled process. Ease into the wish. Plan the meal. Make it manageable. But Lily was looking at me like I held the key to her magic world, and Grant was waiting patiently, not pressuring, just... waiting.

I exhaled. “Sure.”

Lily clapped. “Yes! We’re gonna make spaghetti, I think. And maybe lemon cake!”

Grant’s eyes twinkled. “Big fan of lemon cake.”

He stood again, nodded once more, and stepped down from the porch. “I’ll be back tomorrow to fix the window upstairs,” he said. “Let me know if you want help with dinner prep.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked off like he didn’t need anything from me at all.

Which made me like him more than I should’ve.

Later that night, Willa dumped an armload of grocery flyers onto the kitchen table like she’d been gathering intel for a mission.

“I say we do a pasta night,” she announced. “No one hates pasta. And if they do, they’re the problem.”

Harper didn’t even look up from her laptop. “You’re going to cook?”

“I’m going to supervise. June is the only one here who actually knows how to make sauce from scratch.”

“I use store-bought,” I said quietly.

Willa waved a hand. “Still counts. You at least know how to salt water. I, however, am in charge of music and ambiance.”

“Oh God,” Harper muttered.

“I’ll set the table. Candles. String lights. We’ll make it cute. You’ll thank me.”

“We’re not throwing a wedding reception. It’s dinner.”

“It’s a memory,” Willa corrected. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

I looked between them; Harper, still wound tight like an unplayed violin, and Willa, all glitter and chaos. And me, somewhere in the middle. Trying not to take up too much space. Trying not to make a mess of anything.

But Iris hadn’t asked for perfection.

She’d asked us to try.

“I’ll handle the grocery list,” I said. “And I’ll get Lily to help bake.”

Willa grinned. “Yes! The child prodigy pastry chef returns.”

“I’m still not sure about inviting Grant,” Harper said cautiously. “We don’t know him.”

“He’s harmless,” I said, before I could think about it.

Harper gave me a look. “You sure about that?”

I wasn’t. But I didn’t feel like defending my instincts, so I just said, “Lily likes him.”

Harper didn’t argue. Just typed something into her laptop and shut the screen.

“We’ll need to make the swing usable by then,” she said. “He said he’d be back tomorrow to finish repairs.”

“Perfect,” Willa said. “Now let’s talk wine.”

I let them keep chatting as I gathered my things and headed upstairs.

Back in my room, I curled up in bed beside Lily, who had fallen asleep reading. Her lashes fluttered against her cheek, and the butterfly pin rested on the windowsill beside her, catching the moonlight like it had its own glow.

I looked out at the night. The house groaned softly in the wind, like it was settling. The swing creaked below.

And for the first time since arriving, I didn’t feel completely wrong here.

Maybe we wouldn’t finish the wishes. Maybe we’d fight. Maybe the summer would fall apart.

But tonight, there was a plan.

There was pasta. There was cake.

There was a man named Grant who fixed things without needing to be thanked.

And there was the quiet possibility of something beginning again.