“He doesn’t slobber much. Hey, Foolish!”

Instantly, both dogs scrambled to their feet and raced across the room. Seth waded through them, carrying the bag to a makeshift table fashioned from a sheet of plywood laid over two sawhorses.

“I don’t know why I have to always go up for lunch and stuff,” he complained.

“Because we’re bigger than you,” Cam told him and dived into the bag. “You get me the cold-cut sub loaded?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Where’s my change?”

Seth pulled a liter of Pepsi out of the bag, cracked the top and guzzled straight from the bottle. Then he grinned. “What change?”

“Look, you little thief, I’ve got at least two bucks coming back.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. You must’ve forgotten to add on the carrying charges again.”

Cam made a grab for him, and Seth danced agilely away, hooting with laughter.

“Brotherly love,” Phillip said easily. “That’s why I make sure I only give the kid the right change. You never see a nickel back otherwise. Want some lunch?”

“No, I . . .” She couldn’t take her eyes off Seth, knew she had to. He was talking with Ethan now, making wide, exaggerated gestures with his free hand while his dog took quick, playful leaps at his fingers. “I had something already. But you go ahead.”

“A drink, then. Did you get my water, kid?”

“Yeah, fancy water. Waste of money. Man, Crawford’s was packed.”

Crawford’s. With a sensation she couldn’t quite define, Sybill realized they might have been in the store at the same time. Might have walked right by each other. She would have passed him on the street without a clue.

Seth glanced from Phillip to Sybill, studied her with mild interest. “You buying a boat?”

“No.” He didn’t recognize her, she thought. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d been hardly more than a baby the only time they’d seen each other. There was no stunned familial awareness in his eyes, any more than there would have been in hers. But she knew. “I’m just looking around.”

“That’s cool.” He went back to the bag and pulled out his own sandwich.

“Ah . . .” Talk to him, she ordered herself. Say something. Anything. “Phillip was just showing me your drawings. They’re wonderful.”

“They’re okay.” He jerked a shoulder, but she thought she saw a faint flush of pleasure on his cheeks. “I could do better, but they’re always rushing me.”

Casually—she hoped it was casually—she crossed to him. She could see him clearly now. His eyes were blue, but a deeper, darker blue than hers or her sister’s. His hair was a darker blond than the little boy’s in the picture she carried. He’d been nearly a towhead at four, and now his hair was a richer blond and very straight.

The mouth, she thought. Wasn’t there some resemblance around the mouth and chin?

“Is that what you want to be?” She needed to keep him talking. “An artist?”

“Maybe, but that’s mostly for kicks.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich, then talked through it. “We’re boatbuilders.”