Frieda mock gasped and splayed her hand above her heart. “Cassie. How could you?”

“I know, right? The shame of not pursuing a higher and more educated calling.” She meandered to the couch, plopped down between two piles of clothes and plunked her feet on the now mostly empty coffee table. “I tried. I really did, but I’ve been so much happier living here.”

“And yet, you moved out of a perfectly comfortable suite that would have provided more financial cushion when you didn’t have to simply to prove yourself.”

Ugh.

Straight to the heart.

Leave it to Aunt Frieda to make a point and do it with the touch of a fairy godmother. “Are you telling me you’ll help me pack all of this back up and figure out a way to get me out of my rental contract?”

“No. You’ll stay the six months you signed for and give me time to paint your old space in some of these gloriously wild colors. Then we’ll find a couple of hot men to help you move everything back. That is, unless you find some galleries for your pictures, make a million bucks on ’em and shuck that reporting gig. Then you can buy a fancy place of your own and I can move in with you.”

“Ha! That’s a nice dream. Not realistic, but a nice dream.”

Frieda somehow managed to ace a motherly scowl even though she’d never had children of her own. “That’s your father talking again. Your pictures are fabulous. Just because someone else tells you you can’t do something, doesn’t mean it’s true.” She huffed out a sharp, exasperated breath and nodded to the stack of framed pictures leaned up against the wall and the boxes with all of Cassie’s carefully stored camera equipment. “Speaking of—where are you going to set up your stuff?”

A good question, and one she still didn’t have a decent answer for. By moving out of her aunt’s ranch-style home on the eastern edge of New Orleans, she’d willingly surrendered a whole lot of extra storage space. “Maybe I’ll save up and find an antique armoire. Something I can put in here and store my laptop in, too.”

“You know, I saw a cabinet over at Miss Margery’s shop a few months ago. A vintage-looking armoire that had been reworked to have a hideaway desk. I’ll swing by there the next time I get a chance and see if it’s still there. That would make a nice housewarming gift.”

“You already chipped in on half of this furniture and all of my dishes. I don’t think I need any more housewarming.”

“Little girl, I paid off my mortgage five years ago, and I’ve got no kiddos to spoil but you and your brother. If I want to buy you a cabinet and call it a housewarming gift, you’ll let me.” Her gaze slid to the stack of portfolios in front of all of Cassie’s other photography gear. She slid the top one off the pile, positioned it on her knees and started perusing. “Besides, you need to get your savings built back up. You never know when you’re going to need money for an aww-shit moment.”