“We can shape them like candy canes.” When he still doesn’t respond, looking oddly deer-in-the-headlights, I prompt, “Hall?”

“Uh. Hang on a second. Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I do as requested, frowning when I sense movement overhead, stirring my hair ever so slightly. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing. I think I heard someone calling my name. Gotta go, bye.” Then he runs out the door, down the hall. I hear footsteps thump on the stairs.

The spot where Hall had been swirls with crushed peppermint dust and an uncharacteristic ocean tang.

Okay, then.

The rest of the house has received a drastic makeover. The red, green, and gold ornaments are now aqua, coral, and tan. We’ve got oars on doors, fishing nets, an octopus coat hook, sand dollar drink coasters, life’s a beach wall decals. A saltwater aquarium that takes up half the sitting room and which I am unsurprised to find comes with every fish featured in Finding Nemo.

“He told me he’s thinking about becoming an interior designer. Asked if he could practice on the house,” Grandma is mentioning to Mom from behind a tiki bar with a margaritaville banner. “He must have rented a truck for all this shit.” She sips her mimosa. “You know, I kind of like it, though.”

I finally track down Hall as he’s emerging from Grandpa’s study, a stack of thick texts balanced in the crook of his arm.

“What are you up to?”

He doesn’t slow, moving swiftly toward the living room. “I’ve got so much to read. There’s a list called One Hundred Books to Read before You Die, and I’ve only read two of them. How am I supposed to learn about the Dow Jones at this rate?”

“Why do you need to learn about the Dow Jones?”

“I’ve been thinking.” His brows slant down as he revolves, adding a book to his pile. “Do you want to go to Orlando? I’ve got unfinished business in Orlando.”

“Are you all right? You’re acting a little off today.”

His jaw locks, and I watch a thought crystallize in his brain. But before he can open his mouth to explain it, there’s a knock at the door.

“Ah, that’s for me,” sings Marilou, sweeping down the stairs. We all turn, puzzled, as she opens the door and a strange man enters. He’s tall, handsome, dark-haired, a dead ringer for Henry Golding.

Felix stands. “Who’s this?”

“This is Jake.” Marilou smiles prettily. “You’re going to duel him. If you win, you get to keep me as your wife.”

*

The staggering silence lasts five seconds.

“Excuse me, what?” I blurt.

“What? Who’s Jake?” Felix’s head swings from his wife to the man, whose name he cannot grasp. “What?”

“Jake.” Marilou peers at him with an impatient, meaningful look. “Jake Lim! You know?”

“Your scuba instructor from forever ago?”

“Hey.” Jake Lim waves.

Marilou’s irritation clears, her brilliant smile back in place. “That’s right.”

“Who’s this?” Grandpa asks, strolling into the room. He’s carrying one of his wooden mallard ducks under his arm, which I see has been glued to a small surfboard. Hall leaves no mallard unturned.