Alyssa picked up her bag and rummaged around. Ally was notoriously well organized—it was what made their business partnership so perfect. That was the reason Louisa had called Ally before she turned in her resignation at the hotel and pitched the idea of The Good Life to her college friend. As soon as Eric listed off everything Louisa wasn’t thinking about, she knew she couldn’t do it alone—but she wasn’t about to ask him to help.

Alyssa was a much better choice. While Louisa loved all things creative, Ally thrived on order. She was a numbers girl, an everything-in-its-place girl.

Knowing this didn’t stop Louisa from uttering a silent prayer, a last-ditch effort, that her friend’s purse had eaten whatever it was she was about to pull out—which would, no doubt, tell Maggie more than Louisa was ready to share about her accident and the man who saved her.

She and God must not have been on the same page, though, because seconds later Ally took a sheet of paper from her bag.

“‘Brant Point Coast Guard officer saves local woman during this morning’s brutal storm,’” Alyssa read aloud.

Louisa tried to snatch the paper away, but Maggie beat her to it. For someone so old, the woman had crazy-fast reflexes.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alyssa asked matter-of-factly. Ally wasn’t a romantic, but Louisa could’ve sworn her friend’s question had been punctuated with a swoony sort of sigh, the kind reserved for older women who’d lost all their self-respect.

Louisa recognized the sigh because it was the same one that silently accompanied every thought she had regarding being rescued by Cody Boggs and his ridiculously strong arms.

“He still looks the same as he does in those pictures you keep hidden in the desk drawer.” Alyssa looked at Maggie. “She thinks no one knows they’re there.”

Maggie only frowned.

“You know me, Lou—I’m a pragmatist—but even I can admit this is romantic. The same guy you made that pact with all those years ago. Arguably your first love. The one that got away. Now back only a couple of months before the golden birthday, and not only is he here, he’s a hero.” Ally made these statements like a newscaster, listing off facts.

These were not facts. There was nothing romantic about throwing up salt water onto the lap of the aforementioned man.

Louisa stood, picked up her tea, and walked into the kitchen, aware that Maggie was reading whatever blog post Ally had printed out. Also aware that overzealous bloggers typically included critical details like names of heroic Coasties who rescued drowning women from the ocean.

Sigh.

“Louisa Elizabeth Chambers?”

Louisa grimaced. “Mary Margaret Fisher?”