Page 31 of First Street
The sticky note slipped from her fingers and drifted down the stairs, reminding her of the weirdness in her room. She went down the last few steps and bent to pick it up.
Ocean had no idea who could’ve come in and straightened up her room. Her bed was made. Everything looked…intentional. But she hadn’t seen anyone upstairs. And down here? No sound of a vacuum. No footsteps. Definitely no one cleaning.
She ran her eyes over the same mess that had been here last night. It was definitely beyond weird.
In the kitchen, her mother and Arthur sat at the table, looking upset. He was speaking quietly and stopped talking as soon as she entered.
“Good morning,” Ocean said.
“Hi, hon,” her mom replied.
Arthur stood up and pulled her into a warm hug. “Good morning, sweetness.”
When he released her, Ocean saw that Skye was sitting back in her chair and staring out the window. She was lost in whatever was going on.
Ocean grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and poured cereal from the box on the counter.
“Hey, did you clean my room last night?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Skye’s head snapped around. “No. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Well, someone did. And this morning, while I was in the bathroom, my bed got made.”
Skye shook her head, eyes dropping to her coffee like it suddenly held all the answers.
Arthur was frozen by his chair, lips pressed tight. Like he was holding something back.
Then—eye contact between them. Just for a second. One of those weird silent exchanges. Like they were deciding what version of the truth to give her. Or if they could just avoid the question altogether.
Her mom had always been a terrible liar. And this wasn’t even good cover. Skye wasn’t the neat-freak type. She wasn’t messy, but she didn’t fold sheets or color-code anything either.
Whoever had gone through her stuff last night? Totally Type A. Organized. Intense.
Definitely not her mom.
And besides, Skye had been in the kitchen, talking with Arthur and that other guy. So who made the bed?
Ocean didn’t bother pressing it. She just walked over and set the sticky note on the table.
“Who’s Jo?”
Chapter Twelve
Skye
* * *
When Ocean dropped that bomb this morning, Arthur didn’t miss a beat.
“That’s my handwriting,” he said, snatching the sticky note off the kitchen table and slipping it into his pocket like it was no big deal. “Jo is a woman I’m thinking of hiring part time.”
Ocean gave him a look—surprised, maybe a little skeptical—but didn’t push.
Arthur’s always been good under pressure, and in that moment, I could’ve kissed him. He saved me from the follow-up questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Then he went one step further. Said George needed Ocean at the bookstore for something urgent in the Young Adult section. Made it sound like she was the only one who could fix it. Like her input was mission-critical.
And maybe she was.
