Page 31 of The Romance Adventure

“At least I don’t live in my truck,” I say, taking a low blow.

“At least I’m not a miserable grouch.”

“At least I change my clothes.”

“Oh, do you? I recall that same outfit from the gas station this morning.”

“It’s the same day.”

We bicker back and forth.

“It’s official, I’m the nice twin.” Ryan brushes his hands together like it’s decided.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Magnus asks.

“This is ridiculous.”

“This is amusing,” CJ retorts.

“Well, I quit,” Strawberry Shortcake says.

“You can’t quit,” I say.

“Oh, that’s right. Mr. Big Businessman Bully. You’re used to always getting your way. Not today, buddy buster.” Strawberry Shortcake’s chest heaves as she fumes.

“Miss, please reconsider and forgive my brother for his behavior,” Magnus says through clenched teeth.

“He can apologize himself.” Standing by the door, her eyes dart at Beans & Books across the street and back again as if she’s conflicted, or really needs some coffee. “Actually, I change my mind. I unquit.”

“You could’ve at least waited to see him grovel,” Ryan says with a dark laugh.

“Good. Now, let’s do this!” CJ says.

I huff, feeling invisible bonds wrapping around my wrists. “I’ve reviewed the fine print. It says the personal representative in charge of the estate and trust must oversee our fulfillment of Chip’s wishes.” I stare at Strawberry Shortcake. If laser beam eyes were real, mine would be firing. If she wants to unquit, she’ll have to fix this.

“I don’t have that ability.”

“You’re being obtuse.”

“I’m following your grandfather’s wishes. My job was to read the will. End of story.”

With a snort, I say, “It says here the executor oversees my rehabilitation of the driftwood. I’m not a contractor. I didn’t buy the property. I don’t own a hard hat.”

“You mean it’ll mess up your hair,” Ryan teases.

I ball up a piece of paper and chuck it at him. “I don’t want anything to do with the resort. From a distance, it looks like one windy day will blow the roof off the place. You manage the trust, do something about it,” I say to Strawberry Shortcake.

“Is this what a Royal McGregor temper tantrum looks like?” Ryan asks with a chuckle.

Strawberry Shortcake glowers at me. “I’m not even supposed to be here. My—” But she doesn’t finish.

Ryan complains about how his phone doesn’t have service. He fiddles with an old TV in the corner. “Is there a sports channel?”

“Go ahead, make yourself at home,” Strawberry Shortcake mutters.

A staticky news channel broadcasts a string of crime sprees, speculating that there’s a vandal loose in the south. The final shot is of a car, crashed into a Charleston, South Carolina bus stop and covered in paint. The news anchor speculates about a connection between the events.

Ryan flicks it off at the same time Strawberry Shortcake steps in front of the television. “Listen. I didn’t realize what I was getting into. But I’ll do it.” Her voice squeaks. “I’ll oversee the trust and help you restore the resort to its former glory.”