few days to think it over, do some research.”
“Nope.” Killian flips down the sun visor as we turn into Butterfield. “That was your one and only chance, and now it’s gone forever. Sorry, counselor. Sometimes you have to think on your feet.”
Main Street is clogged with traffic once again, and we crawl along, stopping at nearly every crosswalk to let clumps of tourists hurry across the street. As we near the edge of downtown, an SUV backs out from its street parking space, holding us up for another few seconds.
“Hey, pull in there,” I say as the SUV rumbles away.
Killian doesn’t even blink, just spins the steering wheel and glides the Jeep smoothly into the narrow spot. I’m halfway out of the car before he even throws the gearshift into park. “Come on,” I say, one hand on my hip. “Let’s see how good you are at thinking fast.”
Half an hour later Killian is down on his hands and knees, inspecting an old dollhouse that’s missing half the roof and could use a new paint job. “Okay,” he says, wiping his forehead theatrically. “I give up. I have no idea what three-year-old girls want for their birthdays.” He looks pointedly at the dollhouse. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not this.”
“Come on.” I reach out and help him to his feet, peering around at the mounds of clothes, furniture, toys, and books inside Second Chance, Butterfield’s antique store. Penelope, the owner, pops out from behind the counter, her bright red hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head.
“Can I help you now?” she asks, practically sprinting over to us. “You’re looking in all the wrong places. You’ll never find anything over here.”
“That would be great,” I say, tipping my face up toward Killian’s and smiling sweetly. “If someone admits he’s not quite as much of a genius as he sometimes likes to think.”
Killian’s face scrunches up in an exaggerated pout. “I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” he says to Penelope. “She’s picking on me.”
Penelope laughs, and the keys on the giant ring clipped to her belt loop jingle. “Somehow,” she says, looking Killian up and down, “I doubt that. You look like a troublemaker.”
She leads us across the room to a tall wooden chest and throws it open, revealing a collection of beautiful antique dolls and dozens of exquisite miniature outfits. “You’re looking for something for your little sister, right?” Penelope asks.
“Yes.” I pick up one of the dolls, which has silky blond hair just like Kaylee’s. “She would love this.”
“They’re gorgeous,” Penelope says with the air of a satisfied collector. “I keep them hidden away so the tourist kids won’t come in here and mess them all up.”
I turn the doll over and catch a glimpse of the price tag attached to her foot, and my breath catches in my throat. “Actually,” I say, carefully setting her down on the shelf. “These might be a little out of my price range.”
“Oh.” Penelope blinks, as if she never even considered that a couple hundred dollars might be a bit much for an old doll, no matter how gorgeous it is. “Well, no problem.” She lovingly rearranges the skirt on one of the dolls and closes the cabinet.
“Maybe a board game?” she says, tapping her finger against her chin and surveying the crowded room. “I have some lovely vintage Monopoly sets. Or perhaps a jigsaw puzzle?”
“She’s a little young for Monopoly,” I say.
“What about this?” Killian rummages around behind an old ironing board and pulls a tiny rocking chair out from underneath some quilts.
Penelope claps her hands and rushes over to him. “There it is!” she says, lifting the rocking chair up to the light and inspecting it. “I was wondering where this had gone.”
Killian turns over the price tag and looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Twenty dollars,” he says.
“Whew.” Much more manageable on a summer job budget.
Penelope sets the rocking chair on the ground, and I crouch down to look at it. It’s absolutely adorable—painted a light pink and identical to the rocking chairs that a lot of people in Butterfield keep out on their front porches for kicking back and relaxing in the evening. I can already imagine Kaylee rocking away on my dad’s deck, grinning from behind her heart-shaped sunglasses, a sippy cup in one hand.
“Gosh darn it,” I say, straightening up and giving Killian a light shove. “You really are too smart for your own good.”
He smirks and mimes brushing off his shoulders. “Sign