Emily sat quietly; her eyes were trained on the restaurant, and every time someone new walked through the door she fixed them with her gaze, apparently assessing the threat level. He knew it was no coincidence that she’d given Lizzy the chair facing the water so that her back was to the other diners.

Whatever her feelings about her situation, it was obvious that she took the responsibility seriously.

He suspected she took everything seriously.

He glanced at her profile, taking in the fine bones of her face and the smooth caramel silk of her hair. At first glance it was impossible to believe she was related in any way to Lana Fox. Lana had been fully aware of her assets and prepared to put each and every one on public display in order to guarantee herself a place in the limelight. By contrast, Emily’s was a quiet beauty, understated, her discreet manner the very antithesis of her half sister’s apparent thirst for attention. From what he’d read, Lana had been addicted to a life of high drama. It seemed to him that Emily had done everything she could to remove drama from her life.

How must it feel for someone who avoided drama like that to assume responsibility for a child she’d never even met?

At least he’d had a close relationship with his siblings. Whatever his feelings on the situation, they’d stuck together as a family.

What Emily had described sounded less like a family and more like a disconnected group of individuals living at the same address.

Kirsti brought lunch, plates heaped high with crab cakes, bowls heaped high with crisp, golden fries.

Fitting five of them around a table intended for four was a squash, and Ryan’s knee brushed against Emily’s as they shifted to accommodate people and food.

He reached for the salt at the same time as she did, and their fingers tangled.

“Sorry.” He murmured the word and disengaged his fingers from hers, but not before several volts of sexual electricity had traveled from her fingers to his.

The salt ended up on the floor.

Across the table, he met Sky’s curious gaze.

“So, Ryan—” she sliced into the crab cake on her plate “—what do you do when you’re not running this place?”

“I spend time on the water. Isn’t that the point of living in Maine?”

Alec finally looked at Skylar. “Where do you live?”

“Manhattan.”

Alec’s face was blank of expression. “Of course you do.”

“Wow.” Skylar sat back in her chair and looked at him with a mixture of fascination and indignation. “Do you stereotype everyone you meet?”