Almost Crimson by Dasha Kelly

the stack of 900 s, history. From the looks of the titles, CeCe guessed one of the upper classes must have assignments about U.S. presidents.
    â€œWe had our first daughter right out of college,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Being a mother is a lot of work, and I needed help figuring everything out. My own mother passed away when I was a young girl, so I relied on my aunties and a few ladies from church. It was really hard, but we finally got the hang of things.”
    CeCe was quiet, handing over the next book.
    â€œDid you miss your mother?” CeCe asked.
    â€œAll the time,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I was only thirteen when she died.”
    â€œI miss my mother a lot, too,” CeCe said.
    â€œI know, sweetheart,” Mrs. Anderson said. “I know.”

EIGHT
    MAGIC
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    CECE LOOKED THROUGH THE BACK window where Doris had stood. The yard was enclosed only because all three neighbors had a fence or a thicket around their properties. The stellar feature for this small yard was an arching tree in the corner with two thick trunks. CeCe had attended one of Doris’ Fourth of July parties and remembered wanting to pull the library book from her bag and sprawl out beneath that tree.
    CeCe started to walk through the house when the voices in the kitchen shifted from jovial banter to hushed, official tones. There were three small bedrooms, two baths, a dining room, and a living room. CeCe stood in the living room estimating how many books might fit into the wall’s cubby shelves when she heard a voice behind her. She spun around, shrieking.
    â€œI’m sorry, CeCe,” the man said, stepping back and spreading his arms to draw CeCe’s eyes to the round belly buttoned inside his salmon-colored shirt. “It’s not often I’m able to sneak up on anyone.”
    CeCe held on to her chest, willing her heart to stop racing. She grinned at the short, portly man with a retreating hairline. She was arrested by his emerald green eyes, the way they smiled at her.
    â€œI’m Brian Clark,” he said. CeCe shook his outstretched hand as Doris soft-soled into the room.
    â€œWell, we know who’s not getting invited to any haunted houses,” Doris said.
    Everyone laughed. CeCe wondered if she’d actually heard this stranger call her by name.
    There was a brief, clumsy silence, like would-be lovers uncertain of who should kiss who first.
    â€œDoris has herself one helluva house, huh?” Brian said.
    â€œYeah,” CeCe replied. “I’ve only been here once, but it was so full of people I really didn’t get a chance to see all of her touches. I mostly remember the yard.”
    â€œThe tree,” Doris said. “That’s right. I remember.”
    â€œI still feel like I know the house,” CeCe said, looking around them. “Doris talked about it all the time. She loved this place.”
    Doris and Brian smiled at CeCe, then at one another.
    â€œThat’s a high compliment, don’t you think, Doris?”
    Doris nodded, her eyes shining.
    CeCe’s antennae went up. This guy was no renter, but he wasn’t a friend, either. She’d never heard Doris mention anyone named Brian Clark. CeCe looked at the dumpling of a man and hoped Doris wasn’t trying her hand at playing Cupid again. Matchmaking was one area where her friend was not gifted, though she gave great advice once the connections were made. CeCe felt Doris’ eyes on her and resolved to humor her dear friend for as much of the afternoon as she could bear. At least he had a sense of humor, CeCe thought. Their lunch date wouldn’t be too painful.
    â€œTell me, CeCe,” Brian said, slipping his hands into his pockets and talking at his shoes. CeCe braced herself for the awkward exchange. “Can you picture yourself in this house?”
    CeCe’s brows raised.
    â€œPicture myself?” CeCe said, tilting her head to one side. “What do you