Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Lavender

After almost seven days and a four-hour drive, I finally roll up the gravel driveway of the old lake house, my car kicking up clouds of dust that settle slowly behind me. I lean back in my seat, taking a deep breath as I try to calm the nerves fluttering in my stomach.

It's been a whole week since I decided to escape to Kentbury for a few weeks—or forever. Though, in order to do so, I had to leave a few things in order—including LuxLumens. It felt like setting up dominos; one thing inevitably knocked into the next. I run a hand through my hair, the weight of my decisions settling heavily on my shoulders.

The house looms ahead, its once-bright blue paint faded to a weathered gray, shutters hanging at angles that suggest there was a tornado, or my parents forgot they own a house in Kentbury. I haven't been here for ten years, and as I step out of the car, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, overcome with peace.

Summers in the Northeast are a magical time, filled with lazy days spent swimming in the lake, catching fireflies at dusk, and roasting marshmallows over a crackling campfire. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over me, a bittersweet ache settling in my chest.

The front door creaks ominously as I push it open. It's dusty and dirty. Everything is covered in a fine layer of grime, the furniture draped in ghostly white sheets like a scene straight out of a gothic novel—or a Scooby-Doo episode. I chuckle softly, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.

A bittersweet ache blooms in my chest. How many summers did I spend here as a child, bare feet pattering across these old wooden floors? How many times did I leap from the dock into the cool lake waters? How often I danced around while s'mores roasted over the crackling campfire?

Those long summer days were magical. The freedom of endless afternoons stretching out before me, no worries or responsibilities. Just the shimmering water, dappled sunlight through the pines, and the laughter of childhood.

I close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. The scuff of little feet running down the hall. Screen doors slamming as we dashed outside. Cannonballs off the dock and breathless games of Marco Polo. The inky night sky lit up by a thousand fireflies.

Those carefree days are gone now. I'm not that child anymore. But being here again, breathing this familiar air—maybe some of that magic still remains. Maybe this place can be my refuge, my escape from the churning world outside.

I open my eyes, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift just a little. If I listen close enough, I can almost hear the echoes of those childhood summers calling me home.

I drop my bags by the door, my heart sinking a little as I take in the state of the house.

"Looks like no one's been here in ages," I mutter, my voice echoing slightly in the empty foyer.

I make my way through the one-story home, peeking into each of the three bedrooms. Ruby's and my old room is empty, the twin beds we once shared now gone, leaving behind only faded outlines on the worn hardwood floor. I feel a pang of sadness, wondering when our parents emptied the room, erasing the last traces of our childhood summers.

I step into the kitchen, running my finger along the dusty counter and leaving a streak in its wake. This was the heart of our home, filled with memories of my mother's famous blueberry pancakes and my father's off-key singing as he washed the dishes after family dinners around that old wooden table. I can almost hear the echoes of our laughter.

I walk over to the window overlooking the lake, just as the setting sun begins streaking the sky with brilliant oranges and pinks, reflecting off the still water. It's beautiful, serene. I pull out my phone and snap a picture, thinking it captures some of the calm I'm seeking.

I open up social media, hesitating before typing, "New beginnings, new adventures. #KentburyBound." Or maybe #ParadiseBound . . . or . . . My finger hovers over the post button. Can a hashtag really communicate what I'm feeling? The nervous excitement, the pang of nostalgia, the hope that I'm finally headed in the right direction.

I bite my lip, staring at the screen. No, my fresh start can't be summed up in a cliché or cute hashtag. This is my life, and it can't be reduced to a pithy social media update. With a sigh, I hit delete and slip my phone back into my pocket.

The reality of my situation settles in as I realize that even paradise has its drawbacks. I'll probably have to sleep outside to avoid an asthma attack—I've always been highly allergic to dust. With a quick check, I confirm that my inhaler is with me. Maybe if I sleep on the couch, it won't trigger a full-blown reaction. But the thought of spending the night outdoors in unfamiliar territory makes me bite my lip again .

I know I need help—maybe even more than I'm willing to admit. Pulling up the contacts on my phone, I hesitate. Who could I even call? The prospect of reaching out to people I haven't spoken to in years feels just as daunting as the repairs this house needs. A knot forms in my stomach, weighing down on me with the weight of my impulsive decision to come here.

But financial concerns quickly overshadow any feelings of anxiety or uncertainty. Can I even afford to fix anything—or buy a bed? As I run a shaky hand through my hair, the financial implications of my impromptu escape dawn on me.

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text from Ruby: Did you make it? Is it as beautiful as we remember?

How do I respond? Beautiful? Yes, the lake is still crystal clear and the surrounding nature is breathtakingly serene—the perfect snapshot for Instagram. But this place is falling apart, just like me.

However, instead of admitting that truth, I take a picture of the vibrant sunset over the lake with a simple, Got here safe. It's just as beautiful as we remember.

Is that good enough? I hit send before I can second-guess myself, but the nagging feeling in my gut tells me I'm not being entirely honest.

My phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. It's Ruby.I take a deep breath and put on my best ‘everything is fine' voice before answering. "Hey, Sis."

"What's wrong?" Ruby's concern is almost tangible, even through the phone.

"Nothing," I respond with false nonchalance, trying to hide the worry in my voice .

"Lav, don't try to hide it. I can hear it in your voice."

I let out a defeated sigh, knowing there's no use in trying to fool her. "It's just . . . the house. It's a complete mess, Ruby. Dust everywhere, furniture covered in sheets. It's like a scene from a horror movie."

"Oh, Lav," Ruby's voice softens with sympathy. "I'm so sorry . . . I thought Mom and Dad had a cleaning service come in to clean the place."

I wrack my brain, trying to remember who they hired and when they stopped using their services. In all honesty, I can't recall the last time they even mentioned the lake house or our hometown of Kentbury. Ever since they moved to South Carolina and retired, their lives have been one big vacation.

I'm mid-rant to Ruby about how neglected and dusty our childhood home has become when a sudden commotion outside startles me back to reality. The sound of a heavy truck pulling into the driveway sets my heart racing. I'm not expecting any visitors, especially not in this secluded corner of Kentbury.

"Ruby, I have to go. Someone's here," I whisper urgently, peering out the window with wide eyes.

"What? Who?" Ruby sounds just as worried as I feel.

As I watch from the window, I see a trio stepping out of the large pickup truck that looks more like a building than a vehicle. Two men and a woman emerge, looking like they just stepped out of a rugged outdoor adventure magazine. They certainly don't look like any locals I remember from growing up in this small town.

One of the men is wrestling with an inflatable mattress that was on the bed of the truck, clearly losing the battle, while the other is gathering enough cleaning supplies to disinfect an army base. The woman, though, is pointing at my car and suddenly grabs a broom, marching toward the house as if the broom is a weapon, her face set in a determined scowl.

"Hold on, Ruby, I've got to deal with . . . I don't even know what yet," I say, hastily ending the call.

The door of the house flings open just as the man finally manages to wrangle the mattress into submission.

"Excuse me," I shout, my voice sharp, my hands planted firmly on my hips. "Can I help you?"

The man with the mattress straightens up, his rugged features twist into a scowl as he glares at me with narrowed blue eyes. "Who are you and what are you doing on our property?" he demands.

" Our property?" I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest, my eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "This is my parent's house. Leave immediately or I'll call the sheriff."

"Are you lost, sweetheart?" Mattress guy looks at me like I've lost my last marble.

"Trespassing is illegal, and we'll press charges," the other man chimes in, his designer clothes looking out of place in the rustic setting.

My blood boils in anger and embarrassment. How dare they come here and claim this place as their own? My chin lifts defiantly as I take a step forward. "I am not lost, and I am certainly not your sweetheart. This is my family's property, and I have every right to be here. Now, I suggest you leave before I call the authorities."

The designer clothes guy pauses, scanning the surrounding area before slowly licking his lips in a sensual manner. "That's a good idea," he says with a sly smirk, "you call them so they can take you in for trespassing."

I feel my anger rising, but I try to remain calm as I explain myself. "Listen, I've had a pretty shitty couple of months and thought it'd be nice to spend some time at my family's lake house," I pause, my voice cracking slightly. "That was until I realized this place is falling apart, and three intruders are pretending to own the place."

The mattress guy finally drops the cumbersome object in the middle of the living room, causing the sheets to lift and flutter in the air.

"We can show you the deed to the house," Mattress guy says confidently, gesturing toward the two who stand behind him.

"How about I call my parents and tell them you three are trying to take possession of their house?" I bluff, reaching for my phone which is shaking slightly in my hands from a mixture of anger and confusion.

They're probably sleeping or just off the grid, enjoying some paella and forgetting that their children might need their help because some guys are trying to steal their property .

"Joanna and Tim Wilde?" Mattress guy asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

I frown, my heart skipping a beat. "You know them?"

He nods sympathetically, "Well, technically, I met them during a video conference while purchasing this place and the few acres they owned."

"They sold the house?" My voice barely above a whisper as I sink onto the mattress, my legs suddenly feeling like jelly. "When? How?"

"I'm Paul McFolley. These are my siblings, Sinclair and Louanne," he introduces himself, gesturing to them. "And we bought this place last May as part of our summer camp project."

"They sold the house," I repeat, staring off into space as my mind tries to process this new information.

Lou, still gripping her broom like a medieval weapon, steps forward with a mix of confusion and defiance.

A lump forms in my throat, constricting my breath as unshed tears prick at the corners of my eyes. How could my parents sell the house without telling me? This place holds a lifetime of memories, a piece of my childhood that I can never get back. Wrapping my arms around myself, I feel suddenly lost and alone.

My world spins off its axis. Sold? The lake house, sold? A hysterical laugh bubbles up from within me. "No, that can't be right. My parents would have told us if they were selling our family home." I shake my head, trying to make sense of the impossible information.

Sinclair exchanges a knowing look with Paul.

"Here," Paul says, handing me his phone with a document pulled up. "This is the deed transfer. See? Sold to McFolley Ventures."

I frantically scan the screen, hoping it's some kind of mistake. But my heart sinks as I realize it's true. Those are my parents signatures. But why?

The next thing I do is pull out my phone and call them. Mom sends me to voicemail and texts me reminding me that calls in Spain are expensive. That I can only contact her if I have an emergency.

Umm, this is an emergency. I ask if they sold the house in Kentbury. Her answer astonishes me. She says yes and that we'll talk later.

"They sold our house." Those are the only words that I seem to be able to say out loud.

"They did," Sinclair confirms.

"Why? Why would they sell this place? It's not just a summer place, it's our home." My voice breaks, the weight of this newfound knowledge crushing me.

"No one has used this house in years," Paul explains, his tone almost defensive. "It seemed like a good idea to buy it and start the summer camp. When I reached out to them, they were more than happy to let us have it—after asking plenty of questions about our motives."

Lou adds in, her tone apologetic, "It's in good hands. I promise."

The stuffy guy who definitely doesn't belong in this house—or even this town—snaps at me, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Listen, this place isn't yours anymore and we need to clean it up so I can stop living with my brother."

"Don't bring your Boston attitude to this town, Sin," Lou warns her brother, then turns to me with a sympathetic look. "Please excuse him. He's still adjusting to life outside the city."

I stand there, my mind reeling with shock and confusion as I try to come to terms with the fact that my childhood home is no longer mine.

The man's arrogant tone and dismissive words make me want to push him into the cool waters of the nearby lake. I clench my fists, struggling to bite back a sharp retort as I feel my temper rising.

Lou, standing nearby with her broom, raises an eyebrow in amusement at the exchange between us.

Feeling defeated, I drop my phone onto the mattress and slump my shoulders in frustration. "What am I supposed to do now? I had planned on staying for a few weeks, maybe even the entire summer."

Lou offers a sheepish smile and explains that they are currently hiring personnel for their upcoming camp. "We'll provide room and board," she adds.

Sinclair immediately interjects with disapproval. "You can't just hire a stranger like that. She could be a serial killer or worse."

I can feel my glare intensify toward Sinclair as I cross my arms over my chest. "I assure you, I am not a serial killer. You, however, are quite skilled at being an asshole."

Lou chuckles at my remark while I shoot a smirk in Sinclair's direction. "Not that I'm accepting the job offer, but I do have some skills. I design and sell light fixtures for a living."

Lou suggests we conduct an interview tomorrow and to show me their plans for the camp once I've rested. She winks mischievously as she mentions I use the mattress they brought in.

Sinclair immediately protests, his face turning red with frustration as he throws his hands up in the air. "The mattress is mine, and she is not staying with me."

"I was thinking more along the lines of you heading back to live with Paul while she stays here," Lou counters with a sly grin.

Paul takes a step closer, his expression apologetic and sincere. "Look, we're really sorry about the mix-up. Why don't we help you get settled back into town? Dinner, on us? We can discuss how we might be able to make this work for all of us."

My initial impulse is to storm out of town and drive four hours back to my small apartment, but the thought of making that journey again is exhausting. And where would I even stay? I leased my place to a student, thinking it was a good idea at the time. Now, I'm regretting that decision as I realize just how vulnerable and dependent on these strangers I am.

I bite my lip, feeling completely at their mercy and unsure of what to do next.

Okay, I'm officially screwed.

"Dinner, huh?" I say with a reluctant smile, tugging at my lips. "You're lucky I'm starving, and you two definitely don't fit the typical trespasser profile." I uncross my arms, trying to ease the tension in my body as I take in their friendly faces.

"Trust me, we're harmless. Mostly." Paul glances at his brother with a teasing grin.

I can't help but let out a genuine laugh, the weight on my shoulders slightly lifting. Maybe this unexpected detour isn't such a disaster after all. Maybe it's exactly what I need to get my life back on track.

"Alright, you've convinced me to have a meal with you," I concede, grabbing my bag from the floor. "Lead the way to this promised dinner. But fair warning, I have a big appetite."

Lou grins and links her arm through mine. "Oh honey, you're in for a treat. The food at the resort is to die for. We'll come back later and clean up."

"Or," Paul chimes in thoughtfully, "we could set you up at the resort or the Bed and Breakfast for a night or two while we work on fixing up the house. We can't have our new employee staying in an unsafe environment."

Before I can tell them I haven't accepted their offer, Sinclair complains, "Hey, you were willing to leave me here with the dust and dirt."

Lou's reply is matter-of-fact as she states, "You deserve it. I'm still upset with you—plus you need a lesson in humbleness." Then, she turns her attention toward me. "So, which one of the Wilde sisters are you, Ruby or Lavender?"

My confusion must have shown on my face because Lou nods knowingly and explains, "Yeah, before we bought the house, Knightly told us about her friend Ruby and little sister Lavi."

A smile spreads across my face as I remember why I loved this town so much. People just become a part of Kentbury, and even when you leave, you still have a friend or two who keep your memory alive.

"Ruby is my sister. I'm Lavender," I correct her, hoping she doesn't use my childhood nickname.

"Well, Lavi, welcome back," Lou says warmly, but I don't correct her this time.

"I'm not staying," I weakly protest, but my heart isn't fully in it. The thought of being back in Kentbury, reconnecting with old friends and making new ones, is more appealing than I care to admit.

These people may be strangers, but they're also part of Kentbury and that already makes them friends in a way. My parents may have forgotten to mention that they sold the house, but they would never sell it to just anyone. Maybe it'll be okay to stick around? I do have enough money to stay at the B&B for a couple of days, and perhaps the Harrises will give me a discount since they're practically family.

I don't really have anywhere else to go. Driving down to Maryland to stay with Ruby, her husband, and their three children doesn't seem like the best option. As much as I love them, they don't need me imposing.

"My siblings have gone mad with this mission to convert everyone they know into Kentbury citizens. They won't listen to reason," Sinclair says, a faint smile playing at the corners of his blue eyes as he looks at me. I feel my breath catch in my throat, taken aback by the sudden warmth emanating from his gaze.

A soft blush rises to my cheeks, and I quickly avert my eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in my stomach. What is happening to me? I can't possibly be attracted to this arrogant city boy, no matter how charming his smile may be.

"Let's go get you settled in at the Bed and Breakfast," Paul interjects, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "We can figure everything else out tomorrow."

I nod gratefully, welcoming the distraction. As we make our way toward the cars, Lou and Paul continue chattering about their plans for the summer camp while Sinclair walks a few paces behind, hands shoved in his pockets and a contemplative expression on his face.

Perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye. Maybe this summer will bring both pleasant surprises and challenges. But one thing is certain: I refuse to let Sinclair McFolley get under my skin, no matter how tempting it may be.