Wait. There’d been a reason she’d come with the sisters today. She glanced down the block, caught sight of Cecil’s strolling form.

“Mr. Atwater?” She jogged after him. Please don’t let Lilian look out the window. Don’t let her see . . . 

“Ah, don’t tell me you’re defying the formidable Lilian Muir?”

She shook her head as she reached him, huffing to catch her breath. “You said you know almost everyone in town. Do you know anyone named JP?”

He tapped his pencil against his chin. “There was a JP Ewbanks. Used to own the tackle shop, but he passed away last year, just shy of his ninety-third birthday. Why do you ask?”

“Um, I probably shouldn’t . . .”

He looked over her shoulder, likely checking to make sure Lilian wasn’t lurking. “Off the record?”

“Just . . . someone I’m looking for.”

He raised a finger to his glasses at the bridge of his nose, openly studying her, surely piecing together the reason behind her question easily enough. But in a surprise show of discretion, he simply nodded and reached into his pocket. “Won’t give you my card, lest I earn Lilian’s wrath, but here.” He held out his notebook and pen. “Write down your number. I’ll do some mulling and I’ll give you a call if I think of anyone. Could JP possibly be initials?”

“Maybe. I really don’t know.” She scribbled her number on the small card. “But thank you. I appreciate it.”

“And if you change your mind on that exclusive—”

“I’d prefer to stay out of Lilian’s warpath, too.” But from the look in Lilian’s eyes moments ago, she very much feared it was too late for that.

So much for bonding.

Chapter 10

Tonight wasn’t about a hundred unfinished to-dos. It wasn’t about the unchecked soil samples or the mowing he’d meant to do yesterday and still hadn’t gotten to today. It wasn’t about more work on the treehouse or wondering for the dozenth time if maybe he should’ve heeded Lilian’s concern about those footprints in the mud this morning.

Tonight was about Indi. And finally meeting that incognito fiancé of hers with the fancy name.

Neil breathed in the salty air, boots sinking into rocky sand, the picnic basket he carried bumping against his thigh. Maybe if he were honest, he didn’t even mind leaving the responsibilities of the farm behind—just for this one night. It was the perfect evening for a seaside picnic.

That is, if he could ignore the frustration rolling off Lilian in waves.

“It’s bad enough Patti Brighton-Smythe gets everyone hyped up about Thanksgiving at the farm, but then I find our houseguest hobnobbing with Cecil Atwater.”

His sister had been generously sharing her irritation since the moment they’d left the house, probably in an attempt to flush it out before Indi arrived with Bennington.