It wasn’t as if she was dying of a down allergy. “I am fine. Should we get dinner started, or stand here talking about my swollen eyes and puffy face?”

The thin ice of pure crystalline silence covered the kitchen. Amy’s children and husband stared at her with gaping mouths. Amy, the mom of love and laughter, did not freeze rooms with sarcasm and unpleasant words.

Nick stepped into the kitchen and broke the awkward standoff, melted the disbelief with his smooth voice. “Nope, Ame, it’s too early for dinner. Cocktail hour here. Let’s go for a boat ride. I’ll show y’all some of the lake.” He bent over to grab a cooler off the hardwood floor; he winked at her as he stood.

Amy was grateful for Nick just then—only grateful. Yet she also wanted to hug him, run her hand down his back and find the mole she knew rested at the base of his spine.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Amy stood on the Lowrys’ dock and, from a safe distance, watched the sun catch Nick’s curls poking from beneath his baseball cap as he walked into a boathouse at the side of the cove. She’d believed the boathouse was someone else’s cabin. She looked away when Molly called from the upper deck.

“Mom, Mr. Lowry said it’s okay to double up on the Jet Skis and follow you in the boat. I’ll ride with Alex. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No . . . go ahead. Wear a life jacket, honey.”

“Duh, Mom.”

Molly ran off to follow Alex; they ran down a dirt path toward the shingled boathouse. The shafted light of an evening sun parted to allow them through the trees. Amy sighed as she watched them; Phil came to her side.

“She’ll be fine.”

“I know, I know. Jet Skis just freak me out a little.”

“She won’t be driving. We’ll be with them the whole time.”

Amy glanced out at the lake, its surface unbroken by the wake of the boat still pulling out from the boathouse. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Amy, you’ll probably want to grab a sweater or fleece.”

“You’re right.”

“I’ll go get your pullover. You want the gray fleece?”

“That and a glass of wine.”

“At your service, ma’am.” Phil bowed, then walked back to the house.

The grind of the boat engine came closer and Amy turned to see the white and black Cobalt lurch from the boathouse and fill the satin lake with waves and white froth. Nick drove the boat, spinning in a 360-degree turn, showing off, lifting his baseball hat off his head. He pulled the boat into the notch and shouted up to her, “Come on. Jump in.”

He threw a rope to her; she caught it and wrapped it around a cleat.

“Jump in,” he hollered again, over the roar of the engine.