Page 9 of Miss Humbug
“Grans is fine,” Marlowe stated. “We might as well tell them,” she said to her brothers. “You already talked around it.”
Ashe leaned in. “This doesn’t leave the table, Sawyer.” He and Shawn always called both me and Rob by our last name. “You two are about as close to family we’ve got. Grans is giving up the house.”
“To one of us,” Shawn added.
“Through acontest.” That last bit came from Marlowe. “She watched some sappy holiday movie while recovering from hip surgery. Now she has this wild idea to have her grandchildren compete to inherit the house.”
I was pretty sure my jaw hung open. Rob’s nose scrunched, clearly as confused as me. “What kind of competition?”
“Get this,” Marlowe said. “She’s using the Holly Days festival. Like, the bake sale and the snowman games or whatever. All that holiday crap.”
“Some of uslikethat crap.” Ashe gave her a superior look.
“As if you’re out there building snow people and making gingerbread houses.” Marlowe scoffed. “Your kids do those things. Not you.”
“And how would you know?” Ashe challenged.
“I’ve seen pictures.”
A server came by to take drink orders. I barely heard her. The Holly house was changing hands. The house with land backing up to our Sawyer family tree farm. The farm we desperately needed to expand to stay competitive.
The Hollys consistently refused offers on their land. Emmaline Holly loved Crystal Cove, but she loved her family estate more. My parents weren’t shrewd business types and would never dream of driving a hard bargain with someone they respected so much. So the tree farm stayed small. Manageable.
In recent years, Dad’s back surgeries never seemed to relieve his constant pain. Mom said she’d let the whole farm go if Dad would only agree, but he was stubborn. He was hanging on, but with no new ideas on how to revitalize the business. And he sure didn’t seem interested in my ideas.
Rob took side gigs playing covers at bars and local festivals. He played guitar, had design skills, and basically was good anything else other than farming. I couldn’t see him sticking around much longer. Which left me to figure out how to keep the farm running.
“And for you?” The server waited on my order.
“I’ll have the local winter ale on tap.” My head buzzed with ideas. There was something here. Something big.
“Winter ale, eh?” Marlowe spoke at my general direction as Rob and her brothers were wrapped up in another conversation. “You always were afestiveguy.”
“I love Christmas—what can I say?” I shrugged. “Hey, so, what’s the deal with this house competition? It’s you three against your cousins? What about your aunt and uncle?”
She took in a breath. “My aunt and uncle passed on taking the house and said it’s up to the grandkids. And it’s not the three of us versus them. It’s everyone for themselves.”
“Except you, right? So, your brothers against the cousins?”
She gave me a sharp look. “I want the house.”
“You…want Hollybrooke House? You realize it’s in Crystal Cove, right?”
Her look turned steel-edged. “I do understand geography, yes.”
“Right, but like. It’s here. And you live in California.”
She sat straighter. “Maybe I don’t anymore. Or won’t. I don’t know. Life changes.”
My thoughts ran sideways. “So, you’re in competition with each other? What would you even do with the house?” And all that land?
It wasn’t like she had a growing brood of kids like Ashe or real estate experience like Shawn. Wait—what did I actually know about the current day Marlowe Holly? Maybe she owned a business. Maybe she had kids and a spouse on the West Coast. Did Marlowe get married? Did she marry some billionaire?
“I…actually don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m not letting anyone take the house without a fight.” She looked me over. Assessing. “Actually, I have an idea. I think you might be exactly what I need.”
Chapter 3
Marlowe
