She nodded and shifted the insect to Kaden’s fingers. He lifted it close to his face. Watching him thawed something inside her. This moment—Kaden’s wonder—seemed achingly familiar, but when she tried to grasp the feeling, it felt smothered, covered in cobwebs.

“Shall we?” Kaden asked.

“I almost forgot!” She ran back to the truck and grabbed the teacup. Then she started for the stairs.

Kaden followed. “You’re really interested in my tea leaves.”

“I’m interested in answers,” Irene said as she pulled open the door.

“Hello there.” Irene nearly jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. Maura Haywood stood in the entry hall, dusting a shelf that hadn’t been touched by a rag in at least two months. She wore her hair—more white than red—in a thick braid that mirrored Irene’s. Except for her crow’s feet and deep laugh lines, she and Irene could’ve been sisters.

“You were expecting us?” Irene asked.

Maura tucked the rag into one of her belt loops. “Magic,” she said with a shrug.

Irene raised an eyebrow.

“Clem texted,” Maura said. She gave Kaden a cursory glance. “She knows how I feel about having a Bonner under my roof.”

“He showed up at the tea shop,” Irene said.

Maura crossed her arms, lips pressed thin. “So, what is he doing here now?”

Kaden leaned forward until he was in Maura’s line of sight. “He was asked to come here. Well, he wasn’t really asked. He was told to get in that truck, and since your daughter gave him a free cup of tea and he really doesn’t want to see his own mother just yet, he agreed to it.”

Maura’s eyes widened. “I like him more than the last Bonner you brought home, but I still think you can do better.”

Heat crept up Irene’s neck.

“I thought you’d learned your lesson,” Maura continued. “To think, I’d almost forgotten Nate had an older brother. You attract Bonner boys like honey attracts flies.”

“Enough, Mother.” Irene thrust the mug at her. “That’s not why he’s here.”

Maura unfolded her reading glasses and settled them on the tip of her nose. She clasped the cup and glanced down at its contents, where the still-damp leaves clung to the porcelain. “Oh,” she said, eyes widening. “Tricky. His, I presume?”

“Mine,” Kaden agreed.

Maura rolled her eyes. “Come in, then.” She turned on her heel and started down the hallway, spinning the cup around and around in her hands all the while. “Very, very tricky.”

Irene followed her into the kitchen. Plants were drying on circular racks that dangled from the ten-foot ceilings, and the white walls had images of vines painted on them, creeping up along the cabinets and toward the old chandelier.

As Maura took a seat, Irene set the kettle on to boil. Might as well have her mother read her leaves, too.