I open the door and peek inside, shocked to see that it’s not stuffed with old junk, but is instead a cute little living area with a futon. I flip on the light switch and smile at the shabby-chic interior. The table and two chairs, futon, coffee table, and rugs are no doubt from yard sales, but that doesn’t take away from their charm. The curtains are lacy and, if I had to guess, sewn by my aunt’s own hand.

It’s a she-shed.

A stack of outdated magazines and a few shelves of dusty books and an easel prove this is definitely Aunt Jackie’s haven from the world. Part of me feels guilty about intruding, but if there’s not room in the house for me, I don’t think she’ll mind, especially since the layer of dust on everything says she hasn’t used it in a while.

Growing up, I spent as much time with Jackie and Cricket as I could rather than with my own family. They lived in a house down by the river, only a quarter mile from my folks’ place on the family farm that went up for auction . . . before Commodore Riscoff burned it down. After the sheriff threw us out, we were all scrambling for someplace to live, and Jackie landed here with the girls. My dad rented us a little place on the wrong side of the tracks that was barely big enough for three people.

“It’s perfect,” I say to Cricket as she sets one of my bags down just inside.

“It’s actually nicer than I remember. I should’ve moved out here. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I totally forgot Mom put plumbing in herself, so there’s even a bathroom.”

Instantly, I feel bad. “Do you want it? I can find something else.”

“No. I’m moving in with Hunter after the wedding, and I don’t mind couch surfing in the meantime.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but . . . why haven’t you already moved in with him?”

Cricket shrugs before plopping down on the futon, and I sit next to her. “His mom made it clear that she’d be completely scandalized if I move in any sooner.”

The tone of her voice alerts me to trouble.

“You and Mrs. Havalin don’t get along?”

“Honestly?”

“Well, yeah.”

“She didn’t want Hunter ending up with a Gable.”

I wince because I’m sure my reputation around town didn’t help with that. “She actually told you that?”

Cricket tilts her head from side to side. “Not in so many words, but she’s made it clear that any other family wouldn’t leave her footing the whole bill for the wedding.”

“I shouldn’t say this, but I already don’t like your mother-in-law to be.”

“It can always be worse, right?”

I wonder if she’s thinking of Mrs. Riscoff, because Lincoln’s mother would be the mother-in-law from hell. Why am I even thinking about him, let alone his mother? I force the image of Mrs. Riscoff’s face, pinched in disapproval, from my memory.