It was obvious to Ryan it hadn’t been a headache that had kept Emily in the cottage, but Skylar’s protectiveness made it clear the subject was not up for further discussion.

Emily sat still, but Ryan could feel the tension emanating from her. Her hand rested close to his on the table, and he wanted to slide his fingers over hers and demand that she tell him what was wrong so he could fix it. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to know why she’d stayed in the cottage all those years before and not joined her friends on their expedition through the tide pools. He wanted to know why she’d spent three years of her life with a guy who clearly didn’t appreciate her and why she’d filled every hour of her day with a job when there were so many more appealing ways of living. And he wanted to rip all the concealing black from her body and explore every inch of her until there wasn’t a single part of her he didn’t know.

He shifted, distracted by the brutal power of arousal.

And then he saw Lizzy, her hands clasped around a glass, her tumbling hair tucked under the pink baseball cap, and remembered the reason he couldn’t follow up on his impulses.

Instead of taking Emily’s hand, he picked up his beer, relieved when Kirsti came over to take their order.

Kirsti chatted to Emily, admired Lizzy’s hat and tried to draw Alec into conversation with Skylar, an endeavor that earned her a black look.

Skylar ignored it and glanced at the menu. “So what do you recommend?”

Kirsti looked thoughtful. “Depends. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

Ryan saw the faint gleam of cynical disbelief light Alec’s eyes. He’d never met Alec’s ex-wife, but the few reports he’d read in the press had given him the impression of a woman for whom the phrase high maintenance had probably been invented.

Kirsti leaned forward and pointed. “The clams are good, but my favorite are the homemade crab cakes with dipping sauce. We serve that with French fries and coleslaw but you can switch the fries for a salad if you prefer.”

“No way!” Skylar looked horrified. “Fries, please. Lizzy? What do you like?”

“Try the chicken fingers,” Kirsti advised. “They are the best.”

While they waited for the food to arrive, Skylar did most of the talking, her vibrant energy flowing over the group, filling awkward silences, while Lizzy sat watching, her eyes fixed to the gleaming silver bangles that jangled on Skylar’s slender arms.

Ryan noticed Lizzy was wearing one, too. It was too big, so she held it with her other hand, as if it were something precious she was determined not to lose.