sister to take care of on her own, and my other sister and I don’t get up here much.”
She watched as Leo’s eyes shifted and landed on something over her shoulder. She turned, hoping to see Hope, but dread sinking in when she saw Ellie, standing a few feet away in the hallway, the look on her face telling Gemma that she had heard everything and that she wasn’t happy about it at all.
“Ellie,” Gemma said. She must not have heard her come home when she was upstairs working, and now she had some explaining to do. But before she could say anything more, Ellie shook her head and pounded up the stairs, leaving Gemma and Leo in an awkward silence at the base.
Leo whistled out a breath. “Hope I didn’t get you into trouble,” he said.
“Not anymore than I’m already in,” she said, only she wasn’t so sure that this was true. Because as he held up a hand and crossed the lawn to the house next door, she realized that she couldn’t wait to see him again, and that no good could come from thinking that way. About him. Or anyone.
Chapter Fourteen
Ellie
The studio was her special place, even more than Sunset Cottage. Certainly more than her bedroom back at her parents’ house, because that one had been decorated by her mother in colors that didn’t inspire her: muted mauves when she would have preferred something bright and blue. She hadn’t even been allowed to put a nail in the wall; hadn’t been allowed to hang one of her own paintings. Granted, some of her early work was amateur, but she had improved over time, gotten a scholarship to the Art Institute when her father refused support of any kind, wanting her to get a degree in education or marketing instead, where she could “apply” her interests in a way that better suited him. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t the same! “Hobbies are hobbies,” he’d said in one of their worst fights. “And hobbies don’t pay the bills!”
Now, she wondered if he was right. Between rent on the studio, bills at the house, and the everyday expense of life, her inheritance was dwindling, rapidly, and while the paintings she sold were proving to be a steady stream of income, it wouldn’t cover the upkeep needed to keep the cottage running indefinitely. And without her sisters’ support as co-owners, she was in a very bad situation.
Would they refuse to pitch in when the roof needed to be replaced? Because it did need to be replaced. She was no dummy. And it should probably be replaced before the heavy snow hit—not only because it would be next to impossible to get a replacement installed once the ferry stopped running, but because she knew that a leaking roof and subsequent water damage would only add to the cost. And what about when the water heater failed? It was imminent, she knew, but she hadn’t told them that yet—not when they were grumbling over the washing machine being less than reliable. And now, she didn’t feel she could. It would be one more reason for Gemma to want to sell. And why wouldn’t Hope agree when it came down to it? Hope was practical. And the house…was not.
She knew it, of course, deep down. It was huge, for starters. Far too big for one person. And it was old. And any kind of construction or repairs on the island was costly; it was why Gran, like so many year-round islanders, took care of what they had, preserving it, making it last.
And it was also more than Ellie could handle on her own.
Still, she was angry at Gemma. Angry at Hope, for not really sharing much opinion either way. But mostly, she knew in her heart of hearts, she was angry at her father.
And right now, Gemma was sounding more and more like him. Wanting to sell Sunset! He always claimed the house was run-down, in need of modernization. He failed to see that what he saw fit to critique was exactly what made the homes here so cherished and loved. She rather liked the peeling wallpaper; it gave it character! Each squeaky floorboard told a story. But try telling that to her family.
She angrily stroked her brush across the canvas. She was painting a thunderstorm, coming in over the water. Dark clouds and angry waves. Grays and blacks and navy. It wasn’t like her usual whimsical, light, and colorful paintings that she