I think about it for a second, my gaze floating to the ceiling. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“What?” she exclaims, a smile on her face. “You can’t be serious. You can’t hold that kind of information from me.”

“I think I can. You have to earn it, Harp.”

“Earn it? Don’t you think putting up with your grumpy ass is earning it?”

“Nice try.” I lean back in my chair, giving her a once-over. God, she’s beautiful, especially when she’s all lit up inside; her eyes burn brighter, her smile reaches farther across her face. Absolutely gorgeous. “I will tell you this: the person I visit every Friday, that’s the mystery girl. We came up with a little deal.”

“Hold up.” Harper waves her hands. “I feel like you just dropped a bomb on me. So not only do you own Snow Vale Manor, you know who the mystery mistress is, you found out Iggy gifted the house to her when he passed, and you visit with her every Friday?” I nod. “Does that mean you know the story of why she was never with Iggy but wrote him all those letters?”

“Of course.” I grin.

“Oh my God! Rogan.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Even though we weren’t talking and you probably didn’t know where I was, you should have immediately tried to contact me. That is vital information, something that you could have easily told me in the midst of our silence.”

“No way. I wasn’t about to use that as a way to connect with you.”

“It would have caught my attention.”

“Not the kind of attention I would have wanted.”

She huffs. “So what kind of deal did you strike up with mystery mistress?”

Smiling, I pick up another cracker. “When I found out I was meeting up with this anonymous woman, I prepared myself, wanting to show her exactly what that house meant to me and why I wanted to buy it.” I look down at my hands. “I, uh . . . brought her pictures of us that we took when it was abandoned. I also brought the letters that were hidden under the floorboards, ready to tell her I wanted to restore the house to what it was supposed to be.”

“And then you found out for sure she was the mistress.”

“Well, I found out a lot more than that. I met her in the back of the Seaside Pantry, where they hold all those tea parties.”

“Oh, I love it there. My dad took me a few times. He was such a good sport, having tea and scones with me and my dolls, wearing a lady’s hat. Such a good man.”

I can picture it in my head: Mr. Sanders sitting there, sipping the smallest cups of tea, wearing a frilly hat and the biggest smile on his face. He would do anything for Harper, even if it meant sharing a cup of tea with a doll in a public place.

“He is a good man, one of my favorites.”

“Okay, so you were at the Seaside Pantry. Were you nervous?”

“I was sweating so fucking bad; I wanted to make a good impression. Plus, everyone knows everyone in this town and their business. I was afraid my past would be taken into consideration. Thankfully, it wasn’t. And the minute I saw who it was, my jaw hit the floor. But I knew I was in good hands. I laid it all out for her, my reasons for wanting the house, my plans for renovations, and the investment I’d be making in order to bring Snow Vale Manor back to life.”

“And what did she say?” Harper asks, now on the edge of her seat.

“She said I could have the house. Just like that.”

“Hold on.” Harper sits up straight, blinking a few times. “She just gave you the house?”

“Yeah. The only thing she asked was that I would visit her a few times, to keep her updated on the progress and to listen to any possible feedback she might have. I thought visiting her every Friday was the least I could do, and that’s what I’ve done. I’ve kept my word, and I’ve kept the house the way it was intended.”

“That’s . . . wow, that’s incredible, Rogan. I can’t believe she just gave you the house . . . but what are your plans for the house exactly? Did she approve them?”

I nod. “She did. She loves the idea of opening up the house for events, a place where the town can enjoy the manor like it was meant to be, full of laughter and good memories . . . just like the memories we made in it.”

She glances down at her hands. “And you told her everything, you know, about you and me?”

“Well, she already knew about our history given that she’s a local, but I told her about how it was our secret place away from the rest of the world. It touched her, because it was what Iggy wanted the house to be—their escape, except they never got to have it.”

“Why? What happened?”

I shake my head. “I think she should tell you that.”

Harper’s eyes widen. “I get to meet her?”

I nod. “I would love for you to meet her, even though I know you already know her.”

“Gah!” Harper clenches her fists. “This is going to kill me. I can’t believe you’re not going to tell me who it is. That’s so mean.”

“Nah, just means you’ll come back for a second date.”

“Or maybe I’m so mad at you for not telling me that I refuse.”

“You know that’s not how I work, Harper. I’m better at this game than you. I don’t have this overwhelming need to tell you who it is, but you . . . I don’t think you can go another minute without finding out.”

Her eyes cut into me. “You’re the devil, you know that? The straight-up devil.” Sighing, she leans back in her chair. “So the manor falls under MFG Realty . . .”

I shake my head at her attempt to lead me into divulging more information. “You know damn well it does.”

“And this MFG Realty . . . does it have anything to do with me?”

I run my hand through my hair. “You tell me.”

She leans forward and draws a light circle on the table with her index finger, coyly glancing up at me. “I think it does.”

“Well, you know what they say: Can’t have the girl? Then buy all the properties she ever loved.”

“Is that really what you did?”

I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed. “I can’t deny it . . . yeah, I fucking bought all the places you gushed over. It was how I could stay connected to you without hurting you.”

“That’s . . .” She lets out a long sigh. “I don’t have words for it. And the manor was the final acquisition you made to complete the list.”

I shake my head. “Nope, I still have one more, but I don’t think I could ever get it.”

“And what would that be?”

“The lighthouse.”

“You . . . you would buy the lighthouse?”

“Without a doubt. It’s where you grew up, where you spent most of your childhood. It holds more of your memories than any other place in Port Snow, and I would hate for it to ever fall into the wrong hands. Trust me, I keep my eyes on it and have spoken to your dad many times about the property.”

“Rogan . . .” She tilts her head to the side, studying me before she looks away, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Very good.”

Rogan: Guess who had a date with Harper today?

Reid: Carson? I know he wanted to ask her out.

Brig: Carson and Harper? I could see it.

Griffin: Tracker was talking about asking her out the other day at the station.

Reid: Tracker asks out anything with two legs and breasts, hell, I’m pretty sure he asked out a chicken the other day.

Brig: Rumor. I asked him about the chicken date and he said it was a drunk joke.

Griffin: Yeah, he cleared that up quick, even took an ad out in the newspaper. Bestiality isn’t his thing.

Reid: So was it Carson?

Brig: I bet there is a picture on Instagram somewhere if it was.

Rogan: It was me jackasses. Fucking hell.

Brig: **SCREAMS AND FLAILS**

Reid: Was it a real date or was this a dream?

Brig: Fuck, there goes my excitement. Was it a dream?

Rogan: No! It was a date, we shared a meal, she agreed to a second. We’re fucking dating you nimrods.

Brig: **SCREAMS AND FLAILS AGAIN**

Reid: But was she conscious when you asked her?

Brig: ^^^ Valid question.

Griffin: Kind of curious to hear the answer.

Rogan: I don’t even know why I text you idiots.

“Hey, you,” I say, walking up behind Harper and wrapping my arm around her waist.

She turns in my grasp and smiles up at me. “Hey.”

“Did you order?” I nod toward the coffee bar.

“Not yet. I was waiting for you.”

I take her hand in mine and walk up toward the counter. Surprisingly, Snow Roast is pretty slow this morning, probably thanks to the freshly fallen snow from last night. Locals must be shoveling their driveways and sidewalks. Thankfully, I hire a service to do that for me.

When we reach the counter, Ruth’s eyes immediately go to our clasped hands as a slow, Grinch-like grin spreads across her face.

“Well, hello, you two,” she says, a jolt of glee in her voice. “How are you this chilly morning?”

“Good,” I answer. “And you?”