Page 18 of Half Baked

“Do you think I’ll regret it if I don’t try to go for this? Are there any other options I have to bring in more money?”

“If you have to ask that…”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I felt the answer as soon as the words left my mouth.”

“This is still going to be your story,” Ivy reminds me. “Just pretend that he’s like… your assistant.”

“That’s if he agrees to this. Ugh, I hate the idea of having to be at his mercy. He lives to see me squirm.” I peer over my sunglasses at Wren suppressing a smirk. “What?”

“Squirm—interesting word choice.”

“How so?”

“If they want to see banter in the kitchen, you’re going to have onehotsummer,” she snickers.

“We don’t banter. We fight. This is going to be onelongsummer,” I correct her, shifting my gaze up the coast.

Miles away, past the wharf and the harbor, on the other side of the Manchester Point Light, sits a castle on a hill. It looks like I have to pay a visit to Cliff House.

Chapter 9

Poppy

It’s funny how the wealthiest people think their expansive mansions could actually be called cottages. I guess that’s one thing Nathaniel Thompson got right, he never tried to pretend his home wasn’t five times bigger than those around it.

From what I heard of Hayden’s father, he prided himself on it. He wanted people to know exactly how successful he was. And thus, the Thompson Estate was named Cliff House.

On the northside of Manchester Point, the estate sits high up on a bluff that slopes down to its own private bay. Something I only know through hearsay, because you can’t see it from the road. And I’ve never graced Cliff House’s doorstep. Until today.

It’s impossible to miss the plaque on the stone wall informing me that I’m in the right place. And I get my first bout of good luck when I turn into the drive and find the gate open. Maybe I’ll make it to the foyer before Hayden turns me away.

Behind the stone wall, a perfectly manicured lawn stretches on in a brilliant, lush green. Lining the drive are rows of neatly trimmed hedges, which soon open to a wide square of stone pavers and in the center, a granite, tiered fountain.

I park and attempt to pick my jaw off the floor. I knew this place would be a lot, but was wholly unprepared for howgorgeous it is in person. Turning to my left, my eyes follow the driveway around to what looks like a six-car garage. It appears to be connected to the front corner of the house. If this can even be called a house. The wing connected to the garage is twice the size of my grandmother’s home alone, and it seems to be the smallest section.

From that wing, it bends and comes across the back of the fountain square. Centered behind it sits a double front door, painted in a crisp white that stands out from the classic gray, wood shingle siding. White pillars frame the door, holding up a balcony on the second floor. And above that sits a third floor, complete with a glass lookout tower like a captain’s watch.

My heart races as I wipe my clammy palms on my bare thighs. I feel silly sitting here in a little sundress like I needed to look nice for this. Nothing I own could even be considered good enough when one’s mansion looks like this.

Jumping out onto the drive, I adjust the white and blue floral dress and flip my hair back over my shoulder. I bite my lip and stand there, staring at the front door. It dawns on me that I shouldn’t be here, giving him home field advantage while I ask for a favor.

I reach for the door handle beside me to make my escape, then pause again. But what if he saw me pull in? I can’t flee, letting him know how inferior I feel.

Lifting my chin, I march toward the front steps. Before I lose my nerve, I rap on the door with determination. When no one answers, I knock again.

Can you even hear someone knocking on a door with a house this size? I reach over and ring the doorbell instead.

Still no answer.

I look towards the far corner of the house and notice a little wooden gate and a path. Maybe he’s around back working on that obnoxiously perfect tan of his.

With no lock on the gate, I’m able to flip the latch open and step through. Pillowy white hydrangeas, the size of my head, line the walk that seems to go on forever. “How big is this place?” I mutter to myself.

Eventually, I reach the back lawn, complete with a two-story balcony and a sprawling patio. The hydrangeas frame in the patio, with rows surrounding an outdoor kitchen and dining area, a pool house, and a pool that is lined with glistening turquoise tiles, making it look like it belongs at a European resort.

I’m eager to get a closer look at everything, but it feels like an invasion of privacy to step across the patio. I’m already trespassing as it is. Instead, I step onto the lawn and head out and around toward the stone stairs leading down to the sea.

“Hayden?” I call from the top of the staircase.

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