The bouncy melody danced around her mind as she closed her eyes and pretended she was anywhere but on the ferry from Hyannis to Nantucket. She made her living pretending, and she’d traveled the globe for the last ten years—why was this so hard?

She leaned her head back, thinking only of the song—of Harry’s smooth, sultry voice—but instead of going blank, her mind wrapped itself around a memory. Her mother, dancing on “their” beach, singing “It Had to Be You” at the top of her lungs while Emily dug her feet in the cool sand and giggled at her silliness.

Emily opened her eyes and found a little boy with dark hair and big brown eyes staring at her.

“You’re loud,” he said.

“Andrew, that’s not polite.” The boy’s mother wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. “I’m so sorry. We’re working on manners.”

Emily smiled at him. “Sorry. Sometimes I get lost in my own world.”

“Me too,” Andrew said. “I have an imaginary friend named Kenton.”

Emily widened her eyes. “I had an imaginary friend when I was little!” She tried to sound more excited than she felt. She was an actress. It wasn’t that hard.

And yet, for some reason, it left her feeling hollow.

“Mom says people will think I’m out of my mind if I keep talking to myself.”

Andrew’s mother gave him a squeeze. “Andrew, let’s leave the nice lady alone.”

Lady? Emily knew the other side of thirty was a downhill slope, but when people started calling you “lady,” you might as well sign up for AARP.

“I’m Andrew,” the boy said. Then he looked at his mother and blinked. “See? That’s manners.” Then back to Emily. “Now you tell me your name.”

“I’m Emily.”

“Mom says I’m not supposed to call grown-ups by their first name.”

“Oh.” Emily glanced at the boy’s mother, whose expression was a cross between amused and apologetic. “I guess you can call me Miss Ackerman.”

“Miss Ackerman,” Andrew said. “Nice to meet you.”

Emily decided she liked this boy. She hoped he didn’t lose his charm as he got older, and she hoped even more that he remained genuine. So many men she’d known were the exact opposite. Not a single one worth holding on to.

Especially not Max, who, she was convinced, had never told her one honest thing the entire time they were together. Not that it mattered really. Emily’s rules were set up to protect her from getting too attached. She’d never stick around long enough to find out if a man’s motives were impure—three months and she was off. Max had taken their breakup harder than she’d expected. He’d actually cried.

Ugh. The memory of it made her feel like such a jerk.