“Remember, you have to stay in the middle of the dock.”

She gazed up at him adoringly. “Okay. I will. Mama says never, never go by the water by myself.”

“That’s right.” He stepped onto the dock with her and waited for Phillip to come alongside. It was the woman who, awkwardly, tossed him the bow line. Sybill something, he thought. For a moment, as she balanced herself, as their eyes met, he felt that sly tickle on the nape of his neck again.

Then the dogs were bounding onto the dock and Aubrey was laughing again.

“Hey, Angel Baby.” Phillip helped Sybill step onto the dock, then winked down at Aubrey.

“Up,” she demanded.

“You bet.” He swung her onto his hip and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. “When are you going to grow up and marry me?”

“Tomorrow!”

“That’s what you always say. This is Sybill. Sybill, meet Aubrey, my best girl.”

“She’s pretty,” Aubrey stated and flashed her dimples.

“Thank you. So are you.” As the dogs bumped her legs, Sybill jolted and took a step back. Phillip shot out a hand to grab her arm before she backed her way off the dock and into the water.

“Steady there. Seth, call off the dogs. Sybill’s a little uneasy around them.”

“They won’t hurt you,” Seth said with a shake of his head that warned Sybill she’d just dropped several notches in his estimation. But he snagged both dogs by the collar, holding them back until she could ease by.

“Everybody inside?” Phillip asked Seth.

“Yeah, just hanging until dinner. Grace brought over a monster chocolate cake. Cam sweet-talked Anna into making lasagna.”

“God bless him. My sister-in-law’s lasagna is a work of art,” he told Sybill.

“Speaking of art, I wanted to tell you again, Seth, how much I liked the sketches you’ve done for the boatyard. They’re very good.”

He shrugged his shoulders, then bent down to scoop up two sticks to toss and distract the dogs. “I just draw sometimes.”

“Me, too.” She knew it was foolish, but Sybill felt her cheeks go warm at the way Seth studied her, measured and judged. “It’s something I like to do in my spare time,” she went on. “I find it relaxing and satisfying.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Maybe you’ll show me more of your work sometime.”

“If you want.” He pushed open the door to the kitchen and headed straight to the refrigerator. A telling sign, Sybill mused. He was at home here.

She took a quick scan of the room, filing impressions. There was a pot simmering on what seemed to be an ancient stove. The scent was impossibly aromatic. Several small clay pots lined the windowsill over the sink. Fresh herbs thrived in them.

The counters were clean, if a bit worn. A pile of papers was stacked on the end beneath a wall phone and anchored with a set of keys. A shallow bowl was centered on the table and filled with glossy red and green apples. A mug of coffee, half full, stood in front of a chair under which someone had kicked off shoes.