“Speaking of houses,” Celeste said slowly. “I hope you’re not too put out by this, but Elodie is moving into the room down the hall from you. Today.”

Gemma blinked. “She’s moving in?”

“Lidia rented out the room she’s in and town is full, so . . .”

It was a little close for comfort, but there was one silver lining to Elodie staying in P’town a bit longer: She wouldn’t be in New York when Gemma met with Sloan Pierce.

Tito carried Elodie’s suitcase up the two flights to the top floor of Celeste’s house. There was very little to actually move, and still he insisted on helping her. The past few days, they both found every excuse imaginable to spend time together, and yet their physical relationship hadn’t gone any further than the kiss on the beach.

Last night at Lidia’s, she lay awake in her bed, Pearl snoring by her side, fighting the urge to tiptoe down the stairs to visit Tito. She didn’t know what was holding her back. Fear of rejection? Fear of being physical with someone after all these years?

“Watch that top step, it juts out a little,” he said. She was a few paces behind him, coaxing Pearl to keep moving. Ultimately, she had to stop and scoop her up in her arms and carry her the rest of the way.

The small growl vibrating through her little body told Elodie that Pearl was displeased with the move. Frankly, Elodie wasn’t too happy about it, either. As small as her room had been at Lidia’s, it was downright palatial compared to the cramped closet of a space her sister had available for her. Yes, she was grateful for the place to stay. She should probably be grateful that Celeste had even thought to welcome her into her home. But on some level, way down with all her deep-rooted bitterness, she felt it was the least her sister could do after letting her down when she needed her all those years ago.

“I’m glad to see you and your sister patching things up,” Tito said.

“Yes,” Elodie said. “Peace is certainly preferable to acrimony.” She was thinking she should invite Celeste to dinner to thank her for her hospitality. It was the gracious thing to do.

“This is a cozy room,” Tito said, lifting her suitcase onto the bed.

“I know beggars can’t be choosers, but perhaps it’s a bit too cozy,” Elodie said. She sat down on the edge of the bed—a generous word for the narrow and wobbly piece of furniture. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept on something this small.”

Tito looked out the window at the view of the yard. When he turned around he said, “Well, if you have a hard time sleeping here, you can always stay with me.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”