A flush of color was crawling up Nick’s neck and washing across his face. It instantly took her back to the first time she’d met him, when he’d been an inexperienced eighteen-year-old boy at a beach party.

“Have you got a bucket to drain the water into?” he asked tersely.

“Yep and I’ve spread out drop sheets.”

“Good.” He walked down the short hall and Jess followed. While he stared up at the brown stain that was widening in concentric circles and looking a lot like tree rings, she set up the two-step ladder.

He balanced on the top step and pressed his hand lightly on the plaster. “I’ll start with two holes. Be ready with the bucket.”

“Aye, captain,” she said, trying to get him to crack a smile.

The high-pitched whirl of the drill filled the room and then rank brown water poured into the bucket. Jess wrinkled her nose and shuddered at the lucky save of her new mattress.

“Thanks, Nick. I mean it. I appreciate you coming over.”

He grunted. “Did you really call the SES?”

She shrugged. “I knew you’d be quicker.”

“Damn it, Jess.” But he no longer looked or sounded as ticked off as when he’d first arrived. He stepped neatly off the ladder. “If Costa’s not going to sink any money into this place, you should move.”

Jess was spreading out towels and adjusting buckets to catch the remaining drips. “Easy for you to say, Mr. Homeowner. I don’t suppose you take any notice of the articles in the Gazette about how high rents are driving locals out and anything half-decent is up on Airbnb.”

“So? Move to Bairnsdale.”

He said it as if it was the perfect solution. As if it wouldn’t change everything. “The next time I move, it will be into my own place.”

“You’re serious about buying in the bay?”

It annoyed her that it hadn’t occurred to him. “Of course I am. Is it true Harry Sullivan’s thinking of selling?”

Nick stiffened. “I dunno. But even if he was, that place isn’t for you.”

Old anger, forged in her childhood by small-minded bay residents, flared. “Are you saying my place is on this side of the creek?”

His gaze fell away. “I better get home.”

She immediately regretted her confrontational tone—after all, he’d come out in shocking weather to help her. “Sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean …”

But his eyes were glued to his phone and he didn’t appear to have heard her. “Bugger!”

“What?”

“The causeway’s flooded.”

“I guess you’re stuck here for a bit.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got the truck. I might be able to cross.”