Page 74 of The Right Wrong Promise

Soft lights gleam from the windows through the curtains, and I tuck my hair behind my ears as I approach the front door.

Calm. Sophisticated.

They were probably used to dealing with Gramps. He could make business deals in his sleep, and he never lost his head in a professional setting.

I knock gently and hear footsteps a few seconds later. Then the door swings open, revealing Viola Babin.

She looks more casual this time, wearing an oversized grey hoodie with a pair of blueberries on the front. When she sees me, her fraught expression dissolves into a smile.

“Joe, get over here,” she calls over her shoulder. “It’s Margot Blackthorn!”

“Invite her in!” Joseph calls from somewhere in the house. “I’ll put on some blueberry tea.”

Dang, do these two have a life beyond blueberries?

Viola holds the door open wider.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” she says, welcoming me inside.

The air feels warm, slightly dough-scented like they’ve been baking. The interior is just as quaint as the exterior, very much old farmhouse style before it became a modern suburban thing.

I step around the long vine-like leaves of a potted plant and into the kitchen. Joseph stands by the stove, beaming at me.

“What a surprise.” He wipes his hands on his apron before approaching. “How are you, Miss Margot?”

“I’m good, thanks. I didn’t have much going on this evening, so I thought I’d stop by to talk about the lake house.”

“Of course,” Viola says warmly. “Make yourself at home, please. We’d have tidied up if we’d known you were coming.”

She laughs. Kind of a worn cackle, like it’s been smoothed down by years of disappointment, not quite a comfortable sound.

“Don’t put yourself out for my sake,” I say honestly.

The kitchen has faded yellow walls and looks dated. Like it was put in twenty years ago and not updated since. And sure, there are dishes piled on the sides from dinner, but in general, it looks pretty neat.

Homey. Warm.

The kind of kitchen I always pictured my parents having if we were normal and didn’t have hired help cleaning dishes spotless the instant we finished eating.

“That’s mighty nice of you to say,” Joseph says over his shoulder. “Blueberry tea? We’ve got fresh honey too.”

“Sure.” I’m surprised these people haven’t turned into Smurfs with their blueberry rich diet.

But I can’t complain.

It’s admirable to devote your life to something with this much passion.

“How are you settling in, dear?” Viola asks. “I heard you all went to the craft market?”

“News travels fast in these parts, huh?”

“Like the wind,” Joseph says, setting a mug down in front of me and taking the seat across from me. “If we’re dry on gossip, well, that’s worse than running out of beer in Sully Bay.”

He winks at me.

“I bet. You’re lucky to live in a town where a few tourists passing through can make news instead of real problems.”

“Just the famous ones, mostly, Miss Blackthorn.” Joseph smiles.