Crosby’s gentle tone had me bristling. “You don’t need to baby me. I’m not going to break. Just tell me how long I have before I need to be out of the guest house.”

He blinked at me. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? For you to tell me I need to move out of The Gables? I assume the Abbots are going to sell it.” My lungs seized. Oh God, I really hoped they weren’t planning on returning to Anchor. I didn’t think I could handle their snide looks and comments on a regular basis.

Crosby lifted a hand as if he were going to place it on my knee and then set it back on the folder. “You don’t have to move out.”

“I don’t?”

“No. That’s what I brought you in to talk about.”

“I have to pay rent or something?” I was sure the Abbots would charge me something astronomical that I had no prayer of being able to afford.

“No.”

I made an aggravated noise in the back of my throat. “Spit it out already, Crosby.”

“Harriet left you The Gables.”

My entire body went lax, including my jaw, which fell completely open. “W-w-what?”

Crosby sighed, gripping the folder a little tighter. “Harriet left you The Gables in her will, along with a trust that has enough in it to cover taxes and upkeep for at least three generations to come.”

My mind spun in countless directions, thoughts leapfrogging over each other as they somersaulted through my brain. “She didn’t say anything.”

“Harriet knew you’d fight her on it if she told you.”

Tears stung the backs of my eyes as my breaths came quicker. I stared down at my fingers. Why were they tingling?

“Breathe, Brown Eyes. Just breathe.”

The hand on my shoulder made me jump, and my gaze shot to Crosby. “Why?”

“She loved you as if you were her own.”

A single tear escaped my left eye, and I hurried to brush it away. Harriet was mine, too. My partner in crime. My person. But she was gone. I couldn’t imagine roaming those familiar hallways without her cackling laughter or the faint scent of her rose perfume.

“She left you a letter.” Crosby pulled a creamy white envelope out of his file and handed it to me.

My chest squeezed at the familiar paper. Letter writing is a lost art, sweet girl. I held the envelope up to my nose, inhaling deeply. The faint hint of rose still clung to the paper. How many times had I opened a letter just like this one while I was away at college? They had always been full of island gossip and funny stories. But this one…what would this one hold?