“Good for her.” Meg set down a glass of water in front of Harrison and a small bowl in front of Bubbles, both of them on coasters—Meg was a consummate professional too. “It’s about damn time someone took that place in hand. That gorgeous old farmhouse, just sitting there going to ruin…”

“It is not going to ruin,” his father said. “It took me years to get it exactly the way I like it. You’d better tell her not to touch anything without my permission.”

“You can tell her yourself. I’m not that brave.” He balanced the water dish on his lap so Bubbles could reach it, which the puppy did gratefully. She was exhausted, poor thing. It had been a long day of sitting and smelling and trying not to be distracted by Sophie.

Well, that last one had been mostly him.

“What’d she do?” his dad demanded.

“Candles.”

“Candles?” Those two syllables were all it took to voice his outrage and alarm.

“They’re everywhere,” Harrison said. “She put unscented ones in jars in the living room and those long, skinny ones that people use at holidays in the kitchen. And there are a few bigger ones in the fireplace instead of logs, but we aren’t supposed to light them yet. I have a schedule for you.”

“You have a candle schedule? Are you trying to ruin my life?”

Harrison dug in his pocket and extracted the notes Sophie had handed him as she’d placed the candles around the house. She’d also pointed out several hazards that he might want to take care of, including the precarious stacks of books in the living room and a hallway floorboard that had a jagged hole just big enough for a puppy leg to fall through.

She seemed to excel at highlighting flaws—and it hurt. He knew that floorboard was bad. He’d been meaning to fix it for years.

“It’s to get Bubbles used to small flames,” he said. “We’re supposed to light them and then ignore them in hopes that she’ll do the same. Normalizing the situation, she calls it. There’s even one in your room.”

“No.”

Harrison had to laugh at the expression of disgust on his father’s face—an expression that would only get worse once he realized it was lavender-scented one. “It’s known to have soporific effects,” she’d said. “Bubbles won’t be in here very much, so she won’t be distracted by it during scent training. And who knows? He might end up liking it.”

There was a much better chance it would end up chucked out the window and broken on the front lawn, but Harrison hadn’t said so. He’d have plenty of opportunities to crush Sophie’s enthusiasm for reforming the Parks household. No need to go all-in before they barely got started.

“What sort of plague have you brought down on our house?” his father demanded. “This is how it always goes. The candles are just the beginning. Before you realize it…”