Page 98 of Hometown Girl

“That’s right,” Beth said. “I’m Beth, and this is my sister, Molly.”

The woman turned her gaze on Drew. “And you are?”

“Drew Barlow.” He shook her outstretched hand, jangling the bracelets halfway up her arm, but his mind was elsewhere.

“He’s not from here,” Beth said. She glanced at him, and he got the impression she thought she was protecting him from something.

The curiosity of nosy townspeople, maybe? Beth had deduced how much he didn’t enjoy small talk—he appreciated the gesture, though it did little to calm his wary nerves.

“You can call me Cricket,” the woman said.

“Cricket?” Molly smiled brightly. “I love that.”

“It’s a nickname,” Cricket said.

“Because your last name is Chirper.” Beth must’ve heard of her.

“That’s right,” Cricket said. “Everyone knows the crazy Chirper family. We’re the ones with the pink house out on the edge of town.”

“I love that house.” Molly could win an award as the most easily excited person Drew had ever met. He knew it annoyed Beth, but he found the younger Whitaker amusing.

“I love this barn sale idea,” Cricket said. “I’d love to bring my jewelry out there, especially if it supports Fairwind Farm. You girls have been so kind to allow my mother to continue to use her art space. I know she’s thankful.”

Beth’s jaw went slack as she turned to Molly, seemingly expecting her sister to connect the dots, but Molly shrugged—she clearly had no idea what Cricket was talking about.

But Drew did.

His heart sank.

“Oh, no,” Cricket said, assessing their faces. “You didn’t know she was there.”

Beth looked at Drew. “Did you?”

His eyes widened. “What now?”

He couldn’t lie—not to Beth—not when he’d withheld so much from her already.

Cricket closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. “I’m so sorry. After the auction, I told her to contact you girls and find out if she could continue to rent the barn loft. I saw her last week, and she told me she’d had it all cleared with you.”

Beth’s smile looked forced. “She’s using one of our buildings?”

“I would go drag her out myself right this second, but I’m manning a booth in ten minutes.”

Molly simply shrugged again. “Well, if she’s not hurting anything—”

“Why don’t I go talk to her?” Beth cut in.

Cricket grabbed Beth’s hand. “Go easy on her. Birdie is a good, old soul. She’s just always been off in her own world.”

Possible that ran in their family.

“She loves that space so much,” Cricket said. “She and Harold had an arrangement.”

“Do you know the terms?”

“Not really. Just that Harold allowed Birdie to paint in the loft of one of his old barns. They’d been friends for years, all of them. Birdie was nice to Harold when no one else was.” A soft smile warmed Cricket’s face. “And I think Harold was nice to Birdie when no one else was too.”

“Don’t worry,” Beth said. “I’ll talk to her.”

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