With a sheepish shrug, he says, “What you said at Rebellion about getting credit for your ideas and being valued as you are. That’s on us, too. I’m sorry.”

“You should be, but it’s on me, too—I should’ve insisted. But thanks, Ashe. That means a lot.”

“Least we could do.” He shrugs, smiling in a way I once loved. Only now it feels fake. My eyes narrow as his apology ping-pongs in my head, and my defenses rise—I know the Sullivans, and they’re never generous without a reason.

“You want something,” I decide finally. “What is it?”

He rolls his eyes, clearly irritated, but he swallows it. “Come back to Sunny’s,” he says, looking nervous again. “I promise, you won’t be devalued again.”

My mouth drops, but then I remember the bugs and close it again. It’s like I have a brain freeze, though I haven’t eaten anything cold. “Come back to Sunny’s?”

“Granddad wants you to manage the Seagrove store. Full benefits. Full control. Profit sharing. He said he’d move Mom’s office elsewhere. He’s offering six figures, Marnie. You’d make as much as me, more if you haggle.”

“That’s bold, considering what your family’s put me through. What makes you think I’d want that?”

“Just consider it. He wants you to join him for dinner at the club to discuss it. A future with Sunny’s would be easier and more lucrative than resurrecting places like this.”

My brow cocks at his tone change. I glance around at the gorgeous swamp, the alligator nursery, and my three protectors watching from the smoking porch. Wade now has a shovel to heighten his intimidation factor. I chuckle at them and take in the old store with warm admiration.

“Places like this have character,” I say, smiling. “Tell Bill thanks, but no thanks, and good luck to you both. I predict a dreary summer ahead for Sunny’s.”

“Yeah, told ‘em it’d be a long shot,” he says with a small shrug. “Thanks for hearing me out, though.”

“Oh, my pleasure.” I stick my hand out for him to shake, but he yanks me to him instead.

“It’s really good to see you,” he says near my ear. A show for the boys or just typical Sullivan entitlement—I don’t know. But I push him away, having none of it.

Behind him, The Beast tears around the corner and whips into the parking lot.

“Oh, hells bells. They called Grady,” I say.

Grady exits The Beast, slamming the door, eyes locked on us. He’s in his scrubs, and I suspect some poor puppy or kitten has been left with Aunt Elena mid-examination at Wade’s urgent call. He beelines toward us, eyes narrowed and fists tight.

“Tell me something,” Ashe says, seemingly unworried about my angry boyfriend. “Does he make you happy? Truly happy?”