OOD. YOU’RE HERE. And oh, you brought your dog.” Lavinia knelt down to pet Beauty, who ducked her head and hid behind Parker’s legs.

“She’s shy,” Parker explained. “She’ll warm up to you eventually.” She set down the coffee she’d brought for her cousin and took a sip of her own.

Vin twisted around, cracking her vertebrae. “Heard you got Dewey’s nephew working over there with you. That your family friend?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Less said the better on that subject.

“You two doing the nasty?”

Parker choked on her coffee. “Um, no. He…he works for my father. He’s just helping.”

“All right, if you say so. Seems like a waste, though, not doing that cute boy. Anyway. You know anything about flower arranging?”

“Well, I took a class once. At camp.”

Lavinia surveyed her through squinted eyes. “Did you? Well, the first rule is, you’re going to get dirty. That shirt of yours…silk?”

“Oh.” Parker glanced down. “Yes.”

“Well, it’ll get ruined. You need to dress more like me.”

Please, God, never that. Lavinia was dressed in aqua-blue stirrup pants and a green-and-red flannel shirt. “Come on, then,” her cousin said. “Let me give you the tour. This here’s the cooler. We get a delivery maybe once a week, less in the winter, when business slows down.”

With Beauty practically attached to her leg, Parker looked into the case, where there was a small variety of flowers: carnations, roses, lilies, baby’s breath. “Over here,” Vin continued, “we’ve got the containers, vases, angels, a few boxes of chocolate. I wouldn’t eat those if I were you—can’t tell how old they are—but if someone wants them, buyer beware, right?” Lavinia coughed and lit up another cigarette.

“Think the smoke is bad for the flowers?” Parker asked, waving her hand.

“Probably. At any rate, cards are over here. Rolls of tissue paper, cellophane, all the tools you might need, and be careful with those scissors, ’cause those’ll cut you faster than a cat can lick its ass.”

The kitty cat licked its cute little bum. Oh, those worms were so itchy! “If only someone would adopt me, I could get these pesky intestinal parasites taken care of!” Another winner.

“You listening to me?” Lavinia pointed to a heavy oak door with a large pane of frosted glass. “This here’s the greenhouse. Don’t go in there, got it? It’s temperature controlled. That’s why there’s the lock on the door.”

“What do you grow back there?” Parker asked. She could see a blur of green, a few splotches of pink. Beauty was sufficiently interested to sniff at the door.

“Rare orchids, shit like that. Wicked particular about hot and cold. Okay? I’m the only one what takes care of those.”

“Got it.” Parker turned back to the older woman. “Lavinia, I really appreciate you letting me work here.”

“Oh, hell. That’s what family’s for.” She smiled, her face crackling into an array of wrinkles that Parker found quite attractive. Althea, who was roughly the same age as Vin, didn’t sport any wrinkles, having had her face paralyzed by Botox far too many times to count.

“So you and my mom played together as kids?” Parker asked.

“Ayuh. Back when we were really little. Couple, three times is all. Then we moved to town, over by the fisheries plant.”

Lavinia was quiet for a moment, and Parker wondered what her silence meant. Once, Lavinia had lived in a mansion; now, she chain-smoked and wore stirrup pants.

“Vin, why do you think Julia left the house to me? Instead of you or my mom? You were her nieces. I’m just a grand-niece.”

“Ah, Julia was always mad at someone or another,” Vin answered, lighting another cigarette. “She was furious when my brother sold the Pines, even though he gave her that little cottage. Pissed that he got himself into financial trouble and whatnot. As for your mother, Julia didn’t approve of divorce, so I guess that’s why she picked you. Not many of us to choose from.”

“And you never got married? No kids?”

“Nope. Always wanted a kid. Never a husband, though. I’m too fickle. You, too, from the look of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“What are you? Forty?”

Parker winced. “No. Thirty-five.”

“Nothing wrong with being fickle when it comes to men. Keep those options open, I always say. Anyway, most of our orders are pretty basic. Got your bible right there.” She picked up a huge and faded book and swiped it against her butt, a shower of gray flakes falling to the floor. Between the dust and the smoke, Parker could practically feel her lungs shriveling. “Oftentimes, we don’t have the right stuff in stock, but we do our best. Folks understand. Well, hello there, Maggie.”

Beauty crouched behind Parker’s legs as Maggie came in. “Hi, Lavinia! Hi, Parker!” she said. “How are you? Oh, you have a dog! Hi, puppy! Can I pet her?”

Ah, love. The woman’s happiness was palpable, and heck, it was awfully romantic, the way her guy had popped the question in front of everyone.

“She’s pretty shy,” Parker said, but Maggie knelt down, and to Parker’s amazement, Beauty’s tail wiggled a little bit.

“Shy is fine,” Maggie said. “Nothing wrong with shy.” Beauty sniffed Maggie’s hand, then offered a lick.

“She likes you,” Parker said.

“I’m a dog person. You should bring her over sometime. She can play with Peaches. That’s my dog. Malone gave her to me.” At the name of her honey, Maggie blushed. “And speaking of Malone, I’m here to talk about the wedding. It’s a quicky job. Not in that sense of the word—I’m not pregnant, at least not to my knowledge. It’s just, you know, Malone, he’d rather get it done, plus his daughter’s only here for a month… Crikey, listen to me.” She smiled sheepishly. “Anyway, we’re getting married a week from Saturday. Sorry it’s such short notice.”

“Well, it’s not like people are lined up around the block. And for you, Maggie, no problem, sweetheart.” Lavinia’s face melted again into wrinkles as she flashed some browning teeth. “What kind of bouquet were you thinking?”

“Oh, heck, I don’t care. Whatever you think is pretty. My dad said he’ll pay for the wedding, but I don’t want to drain him dry, either. Hydrangeas are in season, right? Those are nice. Whatever’s easy.”

“What’s your budget?” Vin asked.

“Three hundred dollars sound okay?” Parker tried not to wince. Three hundred was nothing.

“Oh, ayuh,” said Vin. “We can do real nice for three hundred.”

Wow. Parker could honestly say that she’d never met a bride like Maggie. Lucy had been pretty easygoing, but they’d had a girls’ night with Corinne, Lucy’s sister, and pored over Martha Stewart Weddings magazines, drank wine, and it had been a blast. As far as Esme, please. There’d been more tantrums during that engagement than at a day-care center during a full moon. Bloodlust and fury over things like flowers and seating arrangements and limos. Even her own mother, who had weddings down to a science, got religious with details; Althea’s last bouquet had cost three thousand dollars—just the bouquet, which was made of rare lavender roses and vivid pink orchids flown in from South America, all wrapped in satin ribbons embroidered with Althea and Maury and studded with Swarovski crystals.

Maggie smiled at Parker. “You helping Vin out this summer, I heard?”

“That’s right,” Parker said.

“Cool. I bet you have great taste. I love your clothes. You always look so nice.”

“Thanks,” Parker said, feeling a blush.

“Hey,” Maggie blurted, “you should come to Dewey’s tonight! We’re having a girls’ night out. I think it’s sort of my bridal shower, too. Just bring something for the food pantry. No gifts. Want to? Vinnie’s coming. You can meet everyone.”

Parker opened her mouth to pass—she barely knew Maggie—then realized her standard excuses were not going to work. No kid to go home to. No manuscript to work on.

And if she didn’t go out, she’d be home with Thing One of the eyes and the hands and the smile. “Thanks. I’d love to.”

* * *

WHEN PARKER PULLED INTO the short driveway of her place, Thing One was up on the roof.

Shirtless. Again.

At the sight of him, every egg in her ovaries leaped to attention and started banging their tiny fists against the wall. Let us out, Parker! Now!

He wore carpenter-style shorts and a tool belt and work boots and nothing else but sweat, and Parker suddenly realized her mouth was dry.

Thing One. Was. Beautiful.

“I’m back,” she croaked, and he turned, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Hey.” He started toward the ladder.

“Don’t come down! I brought sandwiches from the diner.”

“Great.” He disobeyed her order, jumping the last few rungs. And now he was getting closer, and she could smell that nice, clean sweatiness of him.

“Did you put on sunscreen?” she heard herself ask.

He smiled. Her knees tingled dangerously. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”

Parker swallowed. “Oh, you’re welcome. You know. The least I can do is feed you.”

His arms were most…unlawyerly, curving with muscle, glistening. No shirt. Had she mentioned that? And he was standing approximately four inches in front of her. Should she choose to lean in and taste him just for the hell of it, it wouldn’t be hard at all.

“What?” she asked, realizing abruptly that he was talking. “Sorry. Um, Beauty, stop, honey.”

That’s right. Use the dog as an excuse. Good play. Not that the dog was doing anything other than cowering behind her legs.

“I said I’ll be up on the roof most of the day. There’s a part of the floor in the kitchen that’s rotted out, thanks to a leak, so I figured the roof was a priority.”

“Good call.” As if she knew anything. “Okay. I’ll get going, then. Cleaning. And I might get started doing the, um, prep stuff. For painting. Cleaning and taping. I need to sponge down the walls in your room.” Did that sound dirty? It sounded dirty to her. Sponge down. Sponge bath. Your room. Your bed. “Um, is Apollo locked up?”

“Yep.” He was smiling at her, that knowing, faint smile. The I’ve seen you naked smile.

Without another word, she went into the house.

Parker managed to avoid Thing One for much of the rest of the day. He went to the hardware store; she talked to Nicky twice, once after lunch, once after he’d seen a deer and wanted to tell her about it. Mostly, though, she cleaned.

Parker found that she liked hard physical labor. The last time she’d worked this hard, she’d been pushing out a baby; her housework at home didn’t usually entail more than making Nicky’s bunk bed—which was awkward, let’s give credit where it was due. But this stuff, this schlepping and bending and wiping and sweeping…forget Zumba or Pilates. Body by Hoarding.

She didn’t get to James’s room. It felt a little…personal. But the living room and kitchen walls had been washed with bleach and water, and she’d taped all around the windows, cupboards and doors. Tomorrow she’d start painting. Rolly and Ben were coming over to help.

That would be good, having some people there. People other than Thing One.

He’s awfully cute, the female Holy Rollers said.

“Shush, you guys.” But maybe James needed a drink. Parker filled a glass and went outside, where James was coming down from the roof. “How’s it going up there?” she asked, handing him the glass and gazing out at the harbor—not at his shirtless glory, no, of course not.

“Good.” He took a long pull of water, then dumped the rest over his head and ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. God. She was going to need a pulsating showerhead, and soon.

“Um, I’m gonna take a shower,” she said. That sounds like an offer, the HRs advised. “I’m going out tonight. With the girls.”

“Maggie and Chantal?” he asked.

She kept forgetting he had roots here. “Yeah. Well, Maggie. I don’t know about Chantal.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks. You all set for, um, everything? Dinner?”

“All set.”

Pretty soon, Parker told herself, she should confront the elephant in the room. James, we slept together once, she’d say. Not gonna happen again. We’re both copacetic with that, yes? So even if you look like a chocolate lava cake and I haven’t had dessert in three years, it’s not gonna happen. I’m almost positive.

An hour later, Parker was clean and sweet-smelling and surveying the dark interior of a shabby little bar decorated with wooden lobster traps and the occasional lobster claw. There were about ten tables, a few booths and a counter.

“Parker! Over here!” There was Maggie, at a table in the back. Or it was the other one, her twin. They waved in unison. A busty redheaded woman was nursing a baby, and four or five men watched unabashedly. Beth, the woman from the animal shelter, was also there.

Parker went over. “Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

“I’m so glad you could come!” Maggie said. Parker assumed it was Maggie, because she had on a Hello Kitty tiara. “Have you met my sister? This is Christy, and she refuses to get a big C branded onto her forehead so people can tell us apart. Really, Christy, you’re so difficult sometimes. This is Beth, who says you’ve already met her, and Chantal, our sister-in-law, and Luke, our nephew. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Oh, he is,” Parker said, though admiring the child would mean staring at Chantal’s boob, which apparently was the thing to do.

“Glad you’re nursing, Chantal,” one of the men said. “Best for baby.”

“Oh, ayuh,” the others murmured from their trance.

“How’s Beauty doing?” Beth asked Parker.

“Oh, she’s good. Very shy, but she’s getting there.” Parker smiled. “Couldn’t let the poor thing be put down.”

Christy gave Beth a look. “I thought you never put animals down.”

“Sorry, Parker. I lied,” Beth said with a grin.

“Ah, well. She’s a great dog,” Parker said.

“Okay, girls,” Christy said, “let’s get our new pal here a drink. Dewey!” Parker jumped at the bellow. “Bring our friend a mojito!”

“Coming up!” Dewey was apparently the large man behind the bar. Didn’t look much like James, not that she could tell, anyway.

Christy leaned forward. “While we wait, ladies, let me tell you something. I saw the hottest guy in the world today, outside of my own husband, of course—”

“And Malone,” added Maggie.

“And your brother,” added Chantal.

“Disgusting,” chorused the twins, and all three of them laughed.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Christy went on, “the hottest guy. Now, Parker, you don’t understand. This town is rather difficult. I had to import my husband from away. But locally, if you like surly alpha males, we had one, and sorry, Maggie got him.”

“It’s true,” Maggie confirmed, sucking up the last of her mojito. “He’s my surly alpha male.”

“And if you like irritating, lazy, annoying but cute guys,” Christy went on, “there was exactly one, and he’s our brother, and for some ungodly reason, Chantal married him. Otherwise, there’s Crazy Dave, named that for a reason, Pete Duchamps, our local alcoholic, and Mickey Tatum, our sixty-year-old fire chief. So a cute guy in town…this is big news.”

“This is incredibly exciting,” Beth said. “I can tell he’s my soul mate already.”

“Yes.” Christy nodded sagely. “Who is he, and how can we get him to marry Beth?”

Parker had a feeling she knew who the hot guy was. How many gorgeous new strangers could be bopping around a town of 1,400 people? “Dark hair? Red pickup truck?” she asked.

“Yes! You know him? Is he yours?”

“He’s mine. My nephew,” said the bartender, who’d arrived with a round of drinks. He looked down at her. “Hello. You must be Parker.”

She stood up. “Hi. Are you Dewey?” He nodded. “It’s really nice to meet you, and thanks for your help with the house. You’ve been great.”

“My pleasure, dear,” he said. “The least I could do for Jamie’s friend.”

“Oh, my gosh! That was Jamie Cahill?” Christy said. “He turned out so nice!”

“He’s a good kid,” Dewey said. “Not married. Drink up, girls, and have fun. Nice meeting you at last,” he added to Parker, then lumbered back to the bar.

“I’ve already seen Jamie Cahill, hugged him and copped a feel,” Chantal said. “Sorry, Christy, old news.” She popped the baby off her breast and covered up. “Show’s over, boys,” she said to her audience. “Who wants to burp him?”

“You take him, Maggie. I have my own little burp machine at home.” Christy smiled at Parker. “I have a two-year-old and a two-month-old, and I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough tonight. Shoved both of them at my husband, got in the car and floored it.”

Maggie practically lunged for the baby and kissed his fat little cheek before assuming the position and patting the baby on the back.

“So how do you know Jamie?” Christy asked.

Parker took a sip of her drink. “He worked for my dad, and he’s helping me flip a house. Over near Douglas Point.”

“The hovel just before the Pines,” Chantal supplied.

Parker gave a painful laugh. “That’s the one.”

“Is he seeing anyone?” Beth asked.

Parker paused. “Um, not that I know of.” Though I almost kissed him the other night and have dirty thoughts of him hourly.

“If I weren’t happily married, et cetera, et cetera,” Chantal said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Sorry I’m late.” Lavinia plunked herself into the chair next to Parker. “I was watching Jim Cantore on The Weather Channel. When Storms Kill or some-such. I would do him in a New York minute. So. Who’re we talking about?”

“Dewey’s hot nephew,” Chantal said. “Jamie Cahill.”

“Little young for me,” Lavinia said.

“So what’s he like, Parker?” Maggie asked.

Yes, said Spike. Do tell. “Well, he’s…he’s very handy.”

This set the women off in gales of laughter. “Speak of the devil,” Chantal said, adjusting a breast. “Jamie! Over here!”

Parker’s ears began tingling as James walked over. Christy gave him a hug; apparently he’d seen Maggie at the diner, knew Lavinia from his summers here and shook hands with Beth, which caused her to blush a fire-engine red.

“Jamie, this is my son,” Chantal said, reclaiming her little bundle. “Admire away.”

James looked at the baby, who gazed back, then spit up. “Very, um…well fed,” he said, smiling at Chantal. Then his gaze shifted to Parker, and Lady Land stirred. Bugger.

“Pull up a chair and charm us, James,” Chantal commanded. “It’s sort of Maggie’s shower.”

“I’ll make your drinks instead,” James said. “I told Dewey I’d help out tonight. But have fun, girls.” He turned and went back to the bar.

“Tell me you don’t want a bite of that,” Chantal said, watching him walk away.

“Preach it, sister,” Beth murmured.

“So, Parker, I have to ask you,” Christy said. “Are you the Parker Welles who writes those books about the angels?”

Parker took another healthy sip of her mojito. “Afraid so.”

“Someone gave me a few Holy Rollers books when Violet was born.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to pretend you like them,” Parker said easily. “They’re pretty nauseating.”

Hey! We have feelings! The HRs pouted.

No, you don’t. You’re imaginary, Parker countered.

“Was that the one where the kitten gets crushed by the tractor?” Maggie asked.

“That was my favorite one,” Lavinia said. “Cried like a baby.” Thank you! the angels chorused. At Parker’s questioning look, Vin added, “Hey. You’re my cousin. I did a Google search on you.”

Parker finished her drink. “Anyway. The series is over, thank God.”

“So what are you working on now?” Beth said.

“Um, I’m not really sure yet,” Parker said. “I have a few ideas.” That’s great news! the Holy Rollers cheered. Yay, you!

If only.

“That dear boy is looking at you, Parker,” Chantal said. “You guys doing each other?”

“Ignore her,” Maggie said. “Chantal has sex on the brain.”

“It’s true. Your brother is a happy man,” Chantal answered, raising a perfect eyebrow.

“No more sex talk about our brother!” Christy ordered.

Parker laughed. “No, it’s not like that. He’s my father’s lawyer.”

“So?” Chantal asked. “He’s living with you. Have you seen him naked yet?”

“No! And even if I was interested—” which you totally are “—he’s got the triple crown of no against him,” Parker said. “Younger, unemployed, um…”

“Impotent?” Christy asked.

“Prison record?” Beth offered.

“Married to the church?” Maggie said.

“Oh, he’s not impotent,” Chantal murmured, raising an eyebrow. “At least—” she paused for effect “—he wasn’t.”

“Oh, Chantal. Are you kidding?” Maggie asked.

“Hey, somebody had to do it. He was seventeen, and so cute.” Chantal grinned, and Parker felt an odd twang of…something. Another sip of mojito fixed that.

“Okay, time for a subject change,” Maggie announced. “Let’s leave poor James alone and talk about something else. I wear the crown of Kitty, so I’m the boss.”

“And such a lightweight,” Christy added.

“True. So, Parker, are you married? You have a little boy, right?”

“Nope, never married,” she said. “My son is five. Nicholas Giacomo Mirabelli.” She fished out her phone so Nicky’s sweet face could be admired.

“Is there a story of forbidden love here? Or did you get knocked up, like me?” Chantal asked, peering at the photo. “He’s beautiful.”

“Nothing wrong with getting knocked up,” said a male voice. “Chantal never would’ve married me if I hadn’t knocked her up, right, babe?”

“Jonah, shush,” Maggie and Christy said in unison, then laughed.

“You shush, girls,” he retorted. “You’re both love children, too. I’m the only child Mom and Dad really wanted.” He turned to Parker. “Hi. Jonah, long-suffering brother of the idiot twins here. I’ve seen you out on your dock.”

“Go away, Jonah,” Maggie commanded. The pink-beaded tiara she was wearing was slightly askew. “Go to the boys’ section. This is for women only. Shoo.”

“You two are ugly when you drink.” He bent down and kissed Chantal. “See you at home, gorgeous.”

“Bye, honey.” Chantal beamed up at him and patted his ass as he walked away.

“Disgusting,” Christy said.

“So gross,” Maggie added. “So anyway, you were telling us, Parker, before my brother so rudely interrupted?”

“Well,” Parker said, “let’s say I have this thing for emotionally unavailable men.”

The table burst into laughter. “Please. You have no idea who you’re talking to,” Maggie said. At Parker’s questioning look, she added, “I was in love with a priest.”

“Okay. That’s hard to top,” Parker acknowledged.

“And I shtupped my best friend’s baby brother. Have I mentioned Jonah is thirteen years younger than I am?” Chantal said, smiling. “Cougar, baby. The only way to go.”

“And I slept with a certain married Massachusetts senator whose last name starts with K,” Lavinia said. “Wasn’t really worth the effort, I’d have to say.”

“So how was your guy emotionally unavailable?” Maggie asked.

“It sounds worse than it is, but he was in love with someone else,” Parker said. “And I didn’t figure it out until after Miss Egg and Mr. Sperm met, so I have a five-year-old, and we have joint custody, and it’s all very friendly and civilized.”

Huh. Her second mojito was gone. The last time you had two drinks and Sweet Baby James was around, you did the drag-and-shag, Spike, now in his early twenties, pointed out. Speaking of cougars. Just sayin’.

“So have you dated at all?” Beth asked. “It’s hard to find a decent guy these days.”

“Nope, haven’t really dated. Maybe a first date every few months, but nothing real,” Parker said.

“You haven’t had sex since your five-year-old was born?” Chantal asked, her mouth hanging open in horror.

This was, of course, the moment that James brought another round of drinks over.

“That’s awful,” Lavinia said, shaking her head. “Thank you, James, darlin’.”

Parker didn’t answer. James put a glass in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, not daring to look at him.

“Anything else, girls?” he asked, his voice warm and smiley.

“Would you take off your shirt?” Christy asked. “We didn’t get Maggie a stripper.”

He laughed, and the sound scraped something deep down in Lady Land. Something that liked being scraped. James had almost kissed her the other night. Right? It had seemed to her that a kiss had been possible, there on the dock, before the thunder, when she’d bolted like a scared little baby horse.

Okay. No more mojitos. Who referred to themselves as scared little baby horses? Mojito-enhanced people, that’s who.

James looked down at Parker, who decided that now would be an excellent time to drain that mojito. The straw stuck her in the eye, but she squinted and managed a swallow or two.

“I’ll walk you home when you’re ready,” he said.

“No need, Thing One,” she said sweetly. “I’m fine. I can canter on home all by myself.”

He laughed, and there it was again, that scraping. Meow. “I’ll do it anyway.”

All righty, then. If he insisted. He could walk her home. He was paid by Harry to walk her home, she reminded herself. No matter how cute he was, no matter how smiley were those eyes, he was in Harry’s pocket, and Harry was in jail and not a nice person, and James was here to babysit her and assuage Harry’s conscience. Sex would not be part of the equation.

A while later, the party broke up. Maggie had to open the diner early, Christy’s baby didn’t yet sleep through the night, and Jonah was giving Chantal the look of love, according to her. Parker stood, too. James was nowhere to be seen, but after the sobering thoughts earlier, she really didn’t want to wait. She was thirty-five years old, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t need an escort.

The air was surprisingly chilly, thick with the salty smell of the ocean. The bar had been loud, and as Parker walked toward the harbor, the quiet of the night settled around her companionably. Mackerly was pretty quiet, too, and also surrounded by water, but it wasn’t like this. This was a place where livelihoods were still made on the sea, a town that was remote and craggy. So far, she hadn’t seen any condos or McMansions on the water; the Pines was it as far as it went for posh real estate.

Waves slapped briskly against the hulls of the lobster boats in the otherwise quiet night. In the far distance, Parker heard an eerie, laughing noise; a loon, perhaps, not that she’d ever heard one before.

She fished her phone out of her bag and hit Ethan. Then, before it could connect, she hung up. She’d talked to Nicky three times today, and while she knew Ethan and Lucy wouldn’t mind one more call, it seemed…needy.

And sleeping with James—not that she was thinking about it (cough)—would be needy, too. A lonely older woman who was in the midst of financial ruin and a career crisis should not have a fling. No matter how chocolate lava cake was her housemate.

“Parker. Wait up.” Speaking of cake.

She turned as James loped down the half block that separated them. “Thing One,” she said.

“Miss Welles. I believe I said I’d walk you home.”

“Part of your duties for Harry?”

He gave her a measured look. “No. Just a concerned citizen who doesn’t want you falling into the ocean.”

“Please. I could drink you under the table.”

“That’s probably true. But since we’re heading to the same place, why not?” He grinned, and she looked away quickly.

“Fine. Thank you, James.”

“So were you girls talking about how handsome and strong I am?” he asked.

She snorted. “Little bit,” she admitted. “I hear you and Chantal have a history.”

“She kindly relieved me of my virginity,” James answered. “And I will forever be grateful.”

“You spent summers here, Thing One?”

“I did. A few, anyway.” He hesitated, and Parker got the sense he was going to say more, but he stayed silent as they walked past the little diner, the dock, the harbor itself.

There were no streetlights on Shoreline Drive, and though it was past ten, the sky was just now deepening from indigo to black, the stars brightening overhead. The loon called again.

“So, Parker, any thought of maybe staying up here for a while?”

She shot him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You can work from anywhere, right? You have some family up here. You could have the house winterized—”

“I’d never take Nicky away from his father.” Her posture stiffened to Miss Porter’s Finest.

“Didn’t Ethan live away for most of Nicky’s life?” James asked, his tone mild.

“No! No, he traveled a lot, but he was home every weekend. And then he switched careers so he could live in town. We’re five minutes apart.”

“I see.”

There was something in his tone that grated on Parker’s nerves. “Ethan’s a wonderful father.”

“Of course he is. Isn’t my tone hushed and reverent enough? I’m sorry.”

“What’s your problem with Ethan?” she snapped. “I mean, really, Thing One. You barely know him.”

James nodded, then picked up a rock and threw it out into the sea, where it hit the water with a hollow dunk. “How long were you with him, back when you were dating?”

He probably already knew the answer. “A couple of months,” she answered, her tone icy.

“And why’d you break up?”

She walked a little faster. “Is it any of your business?”

“No, probably not. But he sounds so very perfect in every way. It’s a little confusing as to why you didn’t snatch him up.”

“Your dubious charm is wearing thin.”

“He married your best friend, right?”

“It wasn’t like that! I barely knew Lucy when he and I were dating. We only got close after I broke up with him. And I broke up with him.”

“Of course. So sorry, Majesty. Didn’t mean to criticize the Paragon.”

“The what?”

“Ethan. The Paragon of Perfection.”

Well, bugger. She was either going to smack him or—or agree with him. “Oh, look, home sweet home. Sleep tight, Thing One.” With that, she jerked open the front door of the little house, got Beauty and went out the back to go sit on the dock.

She didn’t slam the door.

But she wanted to.