BLAIR: Of course you will. Listen, I gotta go. Mom wants me to pick up Culver’s.

LOGAN: One more thing I miss from Wisconsin.

BLAIR: (grins) Deep-fried cheese curds, butterburgers, buffalo chicken tenders, topped off with melt-in-your-mouth chocolate custard. Hmmm.

LOGAN: Great. Now I’m craving Culver’s. So mean.

BLAIR: Yes. Yes I am. Text me the minute you’re done talking with Mr. Buttley, ’kay?

LOGAN: Bartley.

BLAIR: (smiling) Love you.

LOGAN: Love you, too, cuz.

Chapter 7: Cade

“Cade, I need you to double-check the bathrooms. Make sure they’re spotless,” Mom says as I finish dusting the parlor. She leans over the reception desk, eyeing the room I just cleaned as if she could spot a speck of dust from this far away.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, knowing ten hours ago—the last time I’d gone through each guest room—everything was perfect.

“Mikayla, don’t nag the boy,” Nana says, coming through our apartment door. She sends me a sympathetic smile, then turns to Mom. “Give him a few minutes to have a snack. From the second he got home, he’s been working. There’s plenty of time, and if necessary I can scrub a toilet.” The lilt of her Polish accent thickens with irritation. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“Ma, of course not. But no one in this family can make your pies, so let us worry about everything else.”

“Ach. That’s my point. You worry too much.”

Nana’s so right, but I keep my mouth shut.

The brewing argument is my cue to escape. As I reach our apartment door, Nana steps in my way, takes my hands, and turns them over in hers. “Nice strong hands, perfect for kneading dough. Maybe it’s time for me to pass on all my baking secrets to you, hmm?” She narrows her eyes at Mom. “Before I become too old to do anything around here.”

I gently squeeze her hands. “You’re not old, Nana. Besides, we need you. Our best reviews always mention your cooking.”

“Humph.” She lowers her voice, but it’s still loud enough for Mom to hear. “I put aside some rogaliki in our secret place so your dad won’t eat them all. Now give me a kiss and go enjoy your treat.”

“Thanks, Nana.”

I make my way into our small kitchen, take the pasta box out of the cupboard, and head into my room. Kicking my door shut, I set the box on my nightstand, which Grandpa and I made from repurposed wooden crates.