The thing was the devil incarnate. The last time he’d been here, Piper had threatened to throw it out, but he had fond memories of the thing from the early, early days when his grandparents had still been alive. Grandma had made him cinnamon-sugar toast every night until she died when he was fifteen, and he’d refused to let Piper ditch it. Instead, he’d promised a million times to fix it.

Which, of course, he’d never done. And sure enough, the minute he turned his attention to the pan, the damn thing sparked, smoked, and then . . . burst into flames.

The fire alarm went off, screaming at him in a decibel so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. He stared at it for a single beat, and Piper rushed past him with the fire extinguisher and . . . killed the toaster dead.

“Seriously? You knew it was broken!” she said, or more accurately yelled to be heard over the still-wailing smoke alarm.

In a big, faded T-shirt and boxers, she climbed up onto the counter and began waving a towel in front of the alarm.

Feeling stupid, he climbed onto the counter as well, taking the towel. He was taller and had a better reach. “Get down, I’ve got this.”

Jumping down, Piper opened the window and back door, then surveyed the disaster while he continued to wave air at the fire alarm until it stopped going off. This took a good ten minutes.

“Dammit, Gavin,” she said in the blessed silence.

“I’m sorry. I really was going to fix it.”

“Gee, I’ve never heard that before.”

Okay, he deserved that. But he really hated how she could make him feel like a stupid kid again. “So you were just standing in the hallway waiting for me to fuck up?”

“Of course not! But when I smelled breakfast, I knew what would happen.”

He let out a breath and nodded. “Because I always screw up.”

Before she could react, there was a knock on the opened back door. Gavin turned and time stood still.

CJ.

He was in full cop gear, including utility belt with handcuffs and gun—the whole nine yards. “A fisherman called in,” he said, speaking directly to Piper without even glancing at Gavin. “Said he thought one of the empty cabins’ burglar alarms had gone off. I was in the area and followed the screaming alarm. Everything okay?”

Piper said something, but Gavin couldn’t have repeated it because he didn’t hear a word of it. He couldn’t talk either. Or breathe.

CJ, the only person outside of his family whom he’d ever loved, and also the only other person besides Piper on his list of people to make amends to.

Which he wasn’t exactly doing a bang-up job of.