Chapter three
Emma
The office smells like old books and dust, the air thick and stale, as if no one’s cracked open a window in years. A single fan hums in the corner, rattling every few seconds, struggling against the heat.
I smooth my blouse, tugging at a stubborn wrinkle near the hem, though it doesn’t make much of a difference. My mind is elsewhere, grocery math, numbers clicking away in the back of my head and how to make my little savings last.
I swallow, pushing down the gnawing unease. It’s fine. I’ll make it work.
Mr. Henshaw’s office is cluttered, stacks of folders teetering on his desk, loose papers scattered across every available surface. Sunlight filters through the dusty blinds, casting faint stripes across the floorboards. It smells faintly of ink and stale coffee.
I shift in my seat, my fingers tracing the smooth edge of the wooden armrest, the question circling in my head like a vulture.
Who’s the second beneficiary?
I half-expect a name I don’t recognize. Some distant cousin that I’ve never met. Maybe a forgotten relative from my father’s side. Whoever it is, I just want to get this over with.
Henshaw clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Emma, good to see you…”
The door opens. The sound cuts through the room like a whipcrack, the air shifting, charged. And then the last person I expect to be here walks in.
Bryan.
My pulse skips, then stumbles, my body betraying me before my mind can catch up. He moves with the same quiet confidence, the same controlled intensity that used to set him apart from every other boy in Ocean Bay.
But he’s not a boy anymore. He’s broader, sharper, his presence encompassing the entire room.
His blonde hair is a little longer than I remember, tousled just right, like he ran a hand through it in frustration. His jaw is tighter, his shoulders wider, his dress shirt crisp against the muscles beneath.
And that scent. Cedar and salt air, familiar, maddening. It floods my senses, wrapping around me like a memory I never gave permission to return.
I hate that I notice. I hate that I feel it.
His eyes find mine, and for a split second, something tightens in my chest. But it dies fast. Because Bryan Lawson looks at me like I’m nothing.
Cold. Distant. Flat.
Not a flicker of recognition. Not even a hint of the warmth that used to pull me in like the tide.
I force my arms across my chest, gripping my elbows like a shield. This is fine. This is good. He’s moved on. He doesn’t care.
I wanted this, for him to have moved on. He smiles at Henshaw as they shake hands and exchange pleasantries.
“Did I mix up the time?” I ask, my voice thinner than I’d like.
Henshaw shakes his head, sliding his glasses up his nose. “No mix-up.” His tone shifts. Careful. Neutral. I glance at Bryan, his brows arc but he says nothing. Why is he here? Isn't a will reading supposed to be private?
"Please have a seat, Bryan,"
I tense as Bryan takes the sit next to me. His body easily dwarfs the chair, and I can feel a warmth that brings back such memories. Stop it Emma, get back to now.
He’s completely unfazed, still not glancing in my direction. It stings.
I shouldn’t care, but I do. Because I remember when his eyes would search for me across a crowded room. I remember being his center of gravity. And now? Now I’m air.
A memory flickers. Bryan at seventeen, spinning me around on the beach, his laughter warm, golden, as sand stuck to our feet. "You’re my best thing, Em."
I shove it down. That’s gone. He’s moved on. I made sure of it.
Then Henshaw drops the bomb. “Bryan’s the other beneficiary.”
The words hit like a gut punch. I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
Bryan doesn’t react. Doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge me.
He nods at Henshaw, his voice cool, detached. “Paul?”
Henshaw clears his throat. “Emma, your grandmother left the beach house to the both of you. Half each.”
The chair creaks as I sit up straighter. “Wait, what?”
“To retain ownership, you both have to live there together for three months.”
The room tilts. Three months? With him?
I turn to Bryan, expecting him to be as horrified as I am. But he is unreadable. His brow furrows, but that’s the only sign that he’s even remotely rattled.
My fingers clench around the armrest. “This is ridiculous, he doesn’t even need it!”
That does something. His head tilts, slow and calculated, like a predator sizing up prey.
And then, his voice, low, amused, smug. He has a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Don’t be so sure.”
Something about his tone needles under my skin, lighting up every nerve ending. I straighten, heat creeping up my neck. “You’re actually considering this?”
He shrugs. “I’m interested. Very interested.”
My stomach knots. The way he says it, like he knows this bothers me, makes my blood pressure spike. I can’t tell if he wants the house or if he just wants to watch me squirm.
"Mr. Henshsaw, you know my Grandma was sick, possibly she wasn't in her right state of mind."
"Oh, but she was. Everything is documented,"
I pause, my heart thundering against my chest. All I wanted was to come back to town, start my life afresh quietly. I will not let that be ruined by having a man who clearly hates me in my space.
"Is there an alternative? I mean maybe a condition where we don't have to live together."
Henshaw clears his throat. “I'm afraid there is not. It’s this or lose it. She stated that if either of you refuse to fulfill the condition, the house will go to charity.”
"Wait what? What if he refuses?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to leave that house to you. Gracie gave me half of it and I intend to get it." His deadly calm voice fills the room sending shivers up my spine.
We lock eyes, mine blazing, his defiant. Neither of us backs down.
The silence stretches, thick, heavy, charged. Then it occurs to me that if he decides to back off, the house will go to charity. Why on earth did Grandma do a thing like this? My eyes burn with tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
Let him hate me. I cannot afford to lose the house, so if it means we share for three months, so be it.
Henshaw exhales, relieved, and slides a set of keys across the desk. “What do you both decide?”
"I'll take the condition," Bryan agrees.
"Perfect, and you?" Henshaw turns his eyes to my direction.
"I'll take it,"
"Perfect," Henshaw says with a smile.
"I believe you have your keys, so I'll just hand the spare to Bryan."
I watch as Henshaw digs into his drawer and brings out another set of keys and hands them to Bryan. Bryan grabs his set and walks out without another word, his back stiff, his movements precise.
I stare at my own keys, my pulse pounding. My fingers tighten around the metal. A whisper leaves my lips, barely audible, meant for someone who is no longer here.
"Grandma… why?"
***
I haven’t stopped pacing. The keys in my hand jangle with every turn, the sound sharp in the too-quiet house. My other hand is clenched, nails digging into my palm as I run the last hour through my head again and again.
Bryan. Half of the house. Three months. I stop, pressing my fingers against my temple, willing away the dull ache forming behind my eyes. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I don’t have to check it to know who it is.
The creditors. Again. The same relentless number calling for the money I don’t have. Forty thousand left to pay. Honestly, I don't know how I survived these years handling so much of my father’s debt.
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the frustration burning in my throat. It's been six years since my dad died, and I thought the nightmare was finally over. And yet, his debt still follows me, like a shadow I can’t outrun. I jab my thumb against the screen, sending the call to voicemail.
“Why, Grandma?” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the dim light of the living room.
A sharp knock at the front door makes me freeze mid-step. My fingers tighten around the keys still in my hand, the cool metal pressing into my skin. I press my face into a frown wondering who it can be since I'm expecting no one.
For a second, a stupid, ridiculous second, I almost expect it to be Bryan. Surely, he isn't moving in so soon. At least he should give me a couple of hours to process this. But I don't expect him to be considerate of me. Not after what I did to him.
I swallow the lump in my throat and push that thought away. The knock comes again, firmer this time. I exhale, shake off the momentary chill crawling up my spine, and head toward the door. My stomach knots as I pull it open, but the second I see who it is, the weight vanishes.
“Emma!”
“Stella?”
We scream at the same time, and then she’s throwing herself at me, arms locking around my shoulders.
The hug is tight, crushing, overwhelming, but I don’t care. I hug her back just as hard.
For a moment, we forget everything else. That just yesterday was Grandma’s funeral. That I didn’t get a real chance to talk to her before I left. That it’s been years. Because right now, none of that matters.
When we finally pull back, Stella grips my arms, her blue eyes scanning my face like she’s checking if I’m real.
She exhales, grinning. “Oh, my goodness, you look good.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Liar.”
She gasps, offended. “Me? A liar? Never.”
I roll my eyes, stepping aside. “Come in before you wake up the entire neighborhood.”
She smirks. “Emma, babe, it’s the middle of the day.”
Still, she strides inside, kicking off her flats like she owns the place because honestly, she practically does.
It’s been so long, but nothing about her has changed. She looks just the same as when we were in high school, best friends and always together.
Her hair is still the same wavy blonde, pulled up in a messy bun, probably done in a rush before she got here. She still talks with her hands, her entire body involved in every conversation. And she still fills a room like she’s the sun, bright and warm and pulling you into her orbit whether you like it or not.
I shut the door and lean against it, arms crossed. “So, are you gonna tell me how you are, or do I have to guess?”
She grins, plopping onto the couch, stretching her legs out. “I’m fabulous, obviously.”
I raise a brow. “Still working at the café?”
“Of course.” She flips her hair dramatically. “Ocean Bay would crumble without my superior coffee-making skills.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Sure, that’s what’s holding the town together.”
She wiggles her brows. “You missed me.”
I sigh, smiling despite myself. “Yeah, I did.”
Her expression softens, just a bit. “Good. Because I missed you too.”
A beat passes, warm and unspoken. She sits up, tilting her head as she studies me. “And you? How are you really?”
I open my mouth to say I’m fine but the words stick. Instead, I glance around the living room, searching for something else to focus on.
That’s when she says it. “I’m glad you’re back,” she murmurs, running a hand along the back of the couch. “At least Grandma’s house will have some life in it again.”
I freeze. A second too long. And she notices.
Stella’s eyes narrow, sharp and knowing. She knows me too well. “Okay,” she says, slow. “What’s wrong?”
I force a smile. “Nothing.”
Her brows lift. “Emma?”
I wave a hand. “I swear, it’s…”
“Uh-huh. Try again.”
I sigh, slumping onto the armchair across from her. “It’s just… complicated.”
She leans in. “Complicated how?”
I grip the cushion beneath me, fighting the urge to bolt.
Just tell her.
I exhale, rubbing my forehead. “Bryan owns half the house.”
Silence. I don’t dare look up. Not yet. Then…
“Wait. What?”
I peek up, and yep. There it is. Stella looks like I just told her aliens landed on Main Street.
I groan, dropping my head back against the chair. “Grandma left the house to both of us. Fifty-fifty.”
Stella blinks. “I … what?”
“And we must live here. Together. For three months.”
The words land like a bomb. For a second, she’s completely silent. Then she bursts out laughing.
I glare. “Glad you find my misery entertaining.”
“Oh, babe.” She wipes at her eyes, still giggling. “This town is gonna have a field day with this.”
I groan, shoving a pillow at her. “Not helping.”
She catches it, still grinning. “I mean… come on. Your grandma totally did this on purpose.”
I shake my head. “I sincerely don't want to believe that.”
She throws her hands up. “How else do you explain it?”
“She probably thought it was fair.”
“Emma, she worshipped Bryan.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I don’t care what she was thinking, okay? I just wanted to get back and move on. Do what I always wanted to do.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate, then reach for the sketchpad on the coffee table, flipping it open. “I’m opening my own vet clinic.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes light up. “Oh, my goodness,” she gasps, snatching the pad from my hands. “You’re serious?”
I nod. “I’ve been planning it for a while. After I finished school and my internship, I worked at a clinic part time. I loved taking care of all the diverse animals there, but I knew that I wanted the business to me my own. I just need to get funds and make it happen.”
Stella flips through the sketches. “This is amazing. The town needs this. I mean after the death of Grayson Davies, the old clinic shut down before it was brought down because of the preschool project.”
I think of old Mr. Grayson who passed a little over two years ago. Hearing about his death had been devastating but it had in some ways given me clarity on what I needed to do with myself.
"Yeah, I need it too. The past few years of my life I've sacrificed my happiness for others but now I just want to do something I love. Give animals the best care possible with little to no fee at all. But it doesn't seem feasible. I've written organizations, done campaigns online but nothing is forthcoming especially when they realize it's not profit oriented."
My voice drifts as I thought about how the past years have focused on repaying my father’s debt. How I had left town back then so I wouldn’t drag Bryan down with me. Seeing his current success confirms that my decision had been right in that respect, but my heart still aches.
"Hey, don't be like that. We will figure it out together. We can have a fundraising, you know everyone in town will be happy to help,"
"Yeah, they will but I want them to decide to help because they want to. I want to offer the most cost effective medical services for animals as possible."
"I know, everyone has always known how much you dote on them, and I believe we can work on it. You should do some volunteer work, Emma. That will let everyone get to know you again, and then we can start talking about the fundraising to them. I'm sure there will be people who are ready to support your cause,"
"You sure?"
"Absolutely. Trust me, you have my support every step of the way besides I'm sure we are all tired of going to clinic in the next town to get our pets treated. If people knew you want to open a low cost clinic for their pets, they’ll do what they can do,"
I stare at her, my eyes almost burning with tears. Wrapping my arms around her, I feel her chuckle as she holds me tight.
"Thank you," I mutter as I pull back.
"You're welcome,"
Something in me steadies. Because this is the only thing that makes sense right now.
Then my phone buzzes again. I glance at it, expecting the creditors. It’s not. Henshaw.
My stomach drops. I open the message, reading it twice. "Bryan’s moving in tomorrow. 8 a.m. Three months start then."
My breath catches. I feel Stella’s gaze on me. “What?” she asks.
I swallow hard. “He’s moving in, tomorrow.”
Stella blinks. “Tomorrow?”
I nod, my fingers tightening around my notebook. She lets out a low whistle. “Wow! He’s really going through with it.”
I exhale. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
Her grin returns. “Oh, babe. This is gonna be a mess.”
I shoot her a look. She just smirks. And for the first time since returning, I don’t feel entirely alone.