She didn’t see Seth.

For a moment she simply watched and wondered if she should slip back out again. If her nephew wasn’t there, it would be more sensible to postpone the visit until she was sure he was.

He might be away for the day with friends. Did he have any friends? Or he could be home. Did he consider it his home?

Before she could decide, the saw switched off, leaving only John Fogerty crooning about a brown-eyed, handsome man. Phillip stepped back, pushed up his safety goggles, turned. And saw her.

His smile of welcome came so quickly, so sincerely, that she had to clamp down on a hard tug of guilt. “I’m interrupting.” She raised her voice to compete with the music.

“Thank God.” Dusting his hands on his jeans, Phillip started toward her. “I’ve been stuck with looking at these guys all day. You’re a big improvement.”

“I decided to play tourist.” She jiggled the shopping bag she carried. “And I thought I’d take you up on the offer of a tour.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“So . . .” Deliberately, she shifted her gaze to the hull. It was safer, she decided, than looking into those tawny eyes for any length of time. “That’s a boat?”

“It’s a hull. Or will be.” He took her hand, drew her forward. “It’s going to be a sport’s fisher.”

“Which is?”

“One of those fancy boats men like to go out on to act manly, fish for marlin, and drink beer.”

“Hey, Sybill.” Cam shot her a grin. “Want a job?”

She looked at the tools, the sharp edges, the heavy lumber. “I don’t think so.” It was easy to smile back, to look over at Ethan. “It looks like the three of you know what you’re doing.”

“We know what we’re doing.” Cam wiggled his thumb between himself and Ethan. “We keep Phillip around for entertainment.”

“I’m not appreciated around here.”

She laughed and began to circle the hull. She could understand the basic shape but not the process. “I assume this is upside down.”

“Good eye.” Phillip only grinned when she cocked an eyebrow. “After she’s planked, we’ll turn her and start on the decking.”

“Are your parents boatbuilders?”

“No, my mother was a doctor, my father a college professor. But we grew up around boats.”

She heard it in his voice, the affection, the not-quite-settled grief. And hated herself. She’d intended to ask him more about his parents in some detail, but couldn’t. “I’ve never been on a boat.”

“Ever?”

“I imagine there are several million people in the world who haven’t.”

“Want to?”

“Maybe. I’ve enjoyed watching the boats from my hotel window.” As she studied it, the hull became a puzzle she needed to solve. “How do you know where to begin to build this? I assume you work from a design, blueprints or schematics or whatever you call it.”

“Ethan’s been doing the bulk of the design work. Cam fiddles with it. Seth draws it up.”