Tiny House on the Hill by Celia Bonaduce

Author:Celia Bonaduce
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-05-22T20:53:38+00:00

Chapter 15

Summer’s head was about to explode. There was so much to think about at the farm: the caboose, Keefe, Queenie, the password. And now Bale was coming to Washington! She took a few deep breaths and put everything out of her mind. She was going to move into her tiny home, free of distractions. She went out to Big Red, hauled in the first box to the minuscule living area, and opened it. She looked down at her seventy-two articles of hangable clothing. Heading for Kentucky and Bale’s Tiny Dreams, she’d lived in jeans, yoga pants, Tieks, and assorted T-shirts. Living on Flat Top Hill and working at the bakery might involve a change of footwear. Buttery leather ballet flats would have to give way to Doc Martins, but other than that, she didn’t see a need for a pair of dressy dove-grey linen pants or a 1940’s vintage floral blouse with a sweetheart neckline. They seemed like costumes from another life.

Unless Keefe takes me on a date, I won’t be needing this, she thought, as she dragged the box into the walk-in closet. She hung up a simple black dress with a lace hem. She shook her head. A little black dress would look ridiculous at the one small Cat’s Paw café.

But if Bale were to take her to dinner in Seattle…

Her thoughts were interrupted as Queenie’s voice attacked the space.

“Hello?” Queenie called, noisily stomping around the front of the caboose. “Summer?”

“Yes, Queenie,” Summer said, sidestepping the box and the circular staircase. “I’m in here.”

She met Queenie in the miniscule hallway between the kitchen counter and the closet. Queenie was looking around the caboose, dipping her head into the closet behind Summer, and darting her eyes toward the bathroom at the far end of the caboose. Summer swelled with pride. You couldn’t help but be impressed with the workmanship and the brilliant use of space.

Even Queenie could see that.

“My dear,” Queenie said. “You’re not seriously going to live in this thing?”

Or not.

“Where are you going to do your laundry?” Queenie asked, spreading her hands to indicate that she saw no washer or dryer in the place.

“As a matter of fact, there’s a combination washer-dryer in the bathroom,” Summer said, trying to hit the perfect tone between nonchalance and unbridled triumph.

“And there’s no oven,” Queenie said, practically daring her to produce one.

“I don’t need an oven,” Summer said.

“What are you talking about?” Queenie asked. “How can you bake without an oven?”

Summer instinctively knew that “I wasn’t planning on baking” was a statement sure to enrage her grandmother, but that was the truth. She should just tell her that.

“I can use the oven at your house,” Summer said carefully.

Shortie isn’t the only half-weenie in this family.

Summer expected this statement to meet with huge approval, but Queenie only looked sad.

Summer knew better than to pry into her grandmother’s business. Even now, with Queenie’s cryptic demands that she come save the business, it was clear that events would unfold on Queenie’s timetable, not hers.

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