“There’s a fine balance, I’m sure. One I haven’t found. I could be a better planner, but I always find that just when you least expect it, something comes along, something you didn’t plan on at all.”

“That,” I said, “can be a good or bad thing.”

He settled back into the park bench. “It’s so good to see family. I’m really glad you’re here, Ellie.” He took my hand and squeezed it.

Hutch and I arrived home after dark, and he pulled up to the end of the driveway and parked the convertible next to the guesthouse. With the car top down, I rested my head back and gazed up to the sky, clouds like islands in a sea. “Thanks for coming with me,” I whispered.

“You talking to the sky or me?” Hutch asked.

I looked to his smile. “You.”

“My pleasure.”

“Do you know the legend of this house?” I asked.

He turned in his seat. “Drew told me a little bit, but let me hear your version.”

I twisted in my seat so I faced the Summer House. “Supposedly, there are all these stories of people who come to stay with Birdie, only to discover the truth about someone or something. It might be a betrayal or a love or even a talent they have they didn’t know they had. The whispers are that staying here will change your life.”

“For example?”

“You’ll have to ask Birdie. She never told me any of the stories, just the rumor.”

He was silent for a long while, staring at the house and then at me. “I want to hear some of the stories.”

“Well … there’s this writer coming to interview Birdie. Coastal Living is doing a piece on houses with legends and myths surrounding them. So maybe we can hear some good stories.”

“You think it’s changing you?”

“I don’t know what’s changing me, but yes, something is. I think it started long before I came here.”

“Does your mother think it changed her?”

“I can only know what she wrote. Which is really sad. God, I wish she’d talked to me about it, but all she wrote about the Summer House was that she believed that staying here would make him love her; would bring him to her.”

He opened the car door and then walked to my side. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“Not really, or maybe it did, but she messed it up or he messed it up or … the timing was off. I have no idea.” I climbed out of the car and stood at his side, my body opening, slowly needing him. “I have to go … ,” I said.

“I know.” He touched the side of my face and then drew me into his shoulder, held me there. “I know you have to go.”