It was a skinny two-story building clad in white clapboard siding that hugged a busy street corner in downtown. In the summer, the rooftop patio with kick-ass water views and killer happy hour specials beckoned tourists. But mid-February on Mackinac meant local patrons were restricted to a smattering of tables in front of the bar and gas fireplace.

It was the only bar that stayed open throughout the winter, making it a gathering place for the lonely and the stir-crazy.

Remi congratulated herself on being exactly on time when she pushed through the front door, kicking a light powder of fresh snow off her boots.

It smelled like smoked meat, liquor, and sunscreen. A Jimmy Buffet classic about cheeseburgers in paradise bathed the room in a riot of colors she wished she could capture. She’d have to settle for ordering red meat, she supposed.

There were a few islanders hunkered around tables, another handful holding down barstools with beers and piña coladas. Kimber hadn’t arrived yet.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look who just walked her trouble-making ass through my door.” The voice from behind the bar brought a smile to her face.

Darius Milett put the Tiki in Tiki Tavern. Born in Barbados, he’d moved with his family to Michigan—of all places—when he was a kid. His parents and most of his siblings had long since migrated on to the warmer climes of Arizona and Florida, but Darius had inexplicably fallen in love with the novelty of island winters. So he’d gotten a degree in hospitality and, with the help of a most unlikely business partner, had opened the doors to the Tiki Tavern.

Zipping in just a hair under six feet, he was broad-shouldered and muscular with smooth dark skin and the kind of laugh that was contagious. His head was shaved, but he sported an impeccably trimmed beard.

“Trouble-making?” she scoffed, unzipping her coat. “I am a paragon of good behavior.”

She had a role to play, expectations to meet in this place. No one wanted to see a trembling, afraid-of-the-damn-dark Remi Ford. They wanted the grown-up version of the girl who’d once filled a seasonal fudge shop server’s bed with horse manure after he got too handsy with her friend.

“How many times you been arrested, Remi?” Duncan Firth, grizzled local legend, called from the dart board.

“That was in my wayward youth, Duncan,” she shot back with a wink. “Besides, unlike some others, I haven’t wrecked a snowmobile this season.”

The man coughed out a laugh.

Darius delivered the margarita he’d mixed to a man in a Michigan State sweatshirt and ducked under the service bar. In three steps, he had her swept up in a bear hug, the sleeves of his parrot and flamingo shirt threatening to rip under the strain of bulging biceps.

She returned the hug and pressed a noisy kiss to his cheek. “God, it’s good to see you!” And it was. No matter what had transpired between Remi and his younger sister Audrey—her former best friend and Brick Callan’s ex-wife—the smiling, built bartender had remained friendly toward her.