“What’s a haint?” Pippin had asked.
“It’s a spirit, child. But no need to worry. Now it just keeps away the wasps and other bugs.”
“‘Cause they think it’s the sky?”
“Exactly,” Grandmother Faye had said before going back inside to her cool air-conditioned house. Pippin had stayed on the porch, swaying in the rocking chair, and staring up at the blue ceiling. If it wasn’t blue, would her mother come visit? From the moment her mother died, remembering her became harder and harder. The color of her eyes had been a vibrant Kelly green, but Pippin couldn’t picture them anymore. They’d faded in her mind to a muted version, like a shamrock browned by a fiery sun. Although freckles had dusted the bridge of Cassie’s nose, Pippin couldn’t picture them. It was only because she could look in the mirror and see her own copper hair that she remembered her mother’s. The shade had been the same.
What Pippin could bring to mind were the little things. The feel of her hand in her mother’s as they walked along the pier. The taste of the strawberry shortcakes she made every summer. The sound of her voice as she hummed quietly to herself when she thought no one was near.
The sound of Grey exhaling chased away the memories. “You’re right, Peevie. We can’t sell it.”
A wave of relief flowed through her at Grey’s nickname for her. They had their own way of communicating—including special words they’d formed—ever since they learned how to talk. He called her Peevie and she called him Greevie. They were nonsensical words that belonged to Pippin and Grey alone. She felt her eyes glass over. They hadn’t even been inside yet, but this was home. This was where she belonged.
She caught a movement from across the street, but when she looked, all she saw was a curtain falling back into place in the window of the purple and teal house. A shiver wound through her. Someone had been watching them.
“Let’s look inside,” Grey said.
Pippin took a closer look at the door handle before they stepped inside. “No lock?”
“There was one.” Grey pointed to the empty space that used to house a deadbolt. “Wonder how many times this place has been broken into over the years?”
From the broken windows and the evidence right here at the door, she’d guess too many to count.
They spent the next hour exploring the three stories of house. On the widow’s walk, she cupped her hand over her eyes, peering out to the sea beyond the harbor and Roanoke Sound. “What about turning it into a little seaside inn?” she said, turning to Grey.
“What, like a bed and breakfast?”
The second she’d laid eyes on the place, she’d started thinking of names. Devil’s Cove Inn felt uninspired.
The Inn by the Sea didn’t feel right because the village was in a harbor in the Sound.
Harbor Inn lacked umph.
She’d land on just the right name for it, eventually. To Grey, she said, “Exactly. We have Grandmother Faye’s house. We can sell that to help fund the renovations, plus we have the money she left us.” Excitement bloomed in her chest. She could bring the garden back to its glory days and, together, she and Grey could make the house what it once was. And they could make a living by opening it up to visitors and tourists. “Grey, we can do this. We’re supposed to be in this house.”
Grey chewed his lower lip. “It’s a big job.”
“You can do it,” she said. “We can do it.”
The consternation on Grey’s face lifted. He held up one hand, pinkie extended. Pippin intertwined hers with his and smiled.
He nodded. “We can do it.”
They stayed in the house, making plans, leaving only when the sun had set and a chill settled into the darkness.
Chapter 2
“Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places.”
~Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Their plans came together quickly. Pippin had appointed herself the gardener and interior designer of the project, while Grey was in charge of demo and construction. The house in Greenville went on the market, then into contract. A short time later, Grey rounded up a small crew of three to help him renovate the house. He ordered a dumpster to sit out front and he, Travis Walsh, Kyron Washington, and Jimmy Gallagher set to work. They started with the porch. Piece by piece, the old planks came off and were replaced with brand new pressure treated wood. Once they could safely walk up the steps without danger of a foot crashing through the rot, they started the interior renovations.
Having the men around became the norm. Travis hummed while he worked, talking himself through tasks by narrating his actions. His hair parted in the middle and was long enough to pull back into a ponytail or man bun, depending on the day. He looked to be in his mid-thirties—though acted younger. She’d overheard him talking about surfing and chilling on the beach. Like Peter Pan, he didn’t want to grow up.
Jimmy had an ever-present smile and twinkling green eyes. He was beanpole thin and stood six feet tall. Pippin couldn’t help but notice the enormity of his feet. They could double for water skis. He was the oldest of the group, somewhere in his late thirties, or maybe early forties.
Kyron kept his black hair shorn close to the scalp. He was compact and lean, reminding Pippin of a slightly taller Kevin Hart, complete with the winning smile and love of basketball. His standard work uniform was a short sleeve shirt that showed off his biceps and athletic shorts that revealed toned calves.
They each had tattoos. It made her shiver. The thought of a needle methodically plunging into her skin was enough to turn her blood cold. She’d never be able to get one, which is why she was obsessed with noticing other people’s. If someone in her line of sight had one, her eyes sought it out. Which happened a lot. More people than not had them. The edge of a T peeked out from the edges of Kyron’s sleeve. Jimmy had Batman’s batwings on the back of one calf, and a collection of several other tattoos on both arms. A circle on his clavicle, only part of it visible from under his shirt. A flower, though she couldn’t say what variety. Barbed wire. Pippin cringed at the busty woman Travis sported on his arm. He tended toward tanks, so the woman was on display all the time. He had others, but she never looked long enough to see what else he’d inked onto his skin.
Kyron was the baby of the group, closer to Pippin and Grey’s age than the other two men. She’d heard him tell Grey that he had one more course to finish his bachelor’s degree in business. The men were vastly different from one another, but as a team, they were a finely oiled machine. “Did you all know each other before this project?” Pippin asked them one day as they ripped out the kitchen cabinetry.
Kyron looked up from his crouched position in front of a lower cabinet. “Small town.”
She took that as a yes.
Grey had said the guys came recommended by someone at the lumber store. In just over two weeks, they’d already finished the porch, the downstairs bathroom, and had just about wrapped up the demo in the kitchen. Kyron was working on removing the last cabinets while Travis and Jimmy chipped away at what was left of the tile flooring.