“You’ve done a good job on your schoolwork,” Kupuna said to Alani, then picked up his fork and began eating. Alani poured them juice, then followed suit, her gusto at digging in so fast a contradiction to her small stature.

It smelled good. The plates overflowed, the traditional breakfast of eggs, rice, and a slice of fried Spam making a colorful presentation. Quinn almost wished she had accepted the offer of food. Then she remembered why she was there, and her appetite retreated.

Maria fixed herself a plate and a cup of coffee and sat down across from Alani.

“Your brother will be in when his nose tells him there’s food on the table,” she said, winking. She turned to Quinn. “Don’t pay attention if he moves through here like a thundercloud. He’s not happy about losing the guesthouse, but he’s packing up all the same. Should be out by noon.”

“Oh no,” Quinn said, already shaking her head. “We need to talk about that.”

Her goal was to get them out of there. She wasn’t moving into the guesthouse. Things had to be in order before Ethan came.

The grandfather put his fork down and wiped his mouth, staring a hole through Quinn. “Just what plans do you have for this house?” he asked.

Quinn felt the flush creeping up her neck. She didn’t meet his eyes because she felt like a thief.

“First would be the kitchen,” she finally said, looking the room over. “It needs new countertops, and the cabinets need painting.”

“I’ve wanted new countertops for years,” Maria said, talking around the huge bite of eggs she chewed. She sounded like she was trying to lighten the conversation as she peered up at her father.

“Then what?” he asked, ignoring Maria’s comment.

His expression was so solemn. Quinn fidgeted. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t exactly sure, but she felt he knew that she already had a list compiled. Something told her he’d call her out if she even tried to slip a little white lie out there. As though he were some sort of shaman with special powers to see into her head, which of course she knew he wasn’t.

“I’m sure the hardwood floors in here used to be beautiful. I’d like to restore them to their original glory,” she said quietly, praying her answer wouldn’t offend him or Maria. This was their house, after all, and they probably thought it was fine just as it was.

He nodded. “That sounds like a good start.”

Quinn almost fell out of her chair. He was agreeing with her? Could it be that he would be the hero—the one who got Maria and the kids out and let Quinn have the home she’d just plunked down a lot of money for?