He wanted the kind of love his siblings had found. He wanted kids. Yet he had no desire to see if his luck would change the second time around. These days, he wasn’t even sure he knew how love happened, and how it felt.

“It’s been three years. You’re ready. And Angie—”

“She was a half hour late, and she had an annoying laugh.”

“That’s code for she didn’t have big boobs and an obsession with extreme sports.”

“Come on. I’m not that shallow.” Christ, he hoped not. His sister loved him, but when she tried to boss him around, he always pushed back.

“Then what about Carla? Now, she has boobs, and she’s a world-class mountain biker.”

“Daddy issues. And you’re the one who told me a woman with a bad history with her father is a problem waiting to happen. Besides, I live overseas now, remember? Not interested in a long-distance gig.”

“That’s temporary. You’ll be back in the States soon enough.”

He decided now was not the time to tell her his visiting professorship in Aix-en-Provence had been extended. “Can one of your kids pick up my stuff at the cleaners? It’s the one on Annapolis Road.”

“I’ll have Rory pick it up on her way home from work. She goes right by there.”

“Thanks. Tell her there’s a good bottle of wine in it for her.”

“You’re going to turn your niece into a wine snob like you. Remind me again when you have to go back,” Margaret Ann said.

“A week from Saturday. Summer term starts on Monday.”

“Teaching in Provence in summer, you lucky dog.”

“Living the dream.” He said this with a touch of irony. He had once believed he could find the kind of happiness his mom and other members of his family had found. But finding that would mean opening himself up to a new relationship, and he wasn’t so sure he was up for that. Casual sex and no commitment made life simpler. More empty, yes. But simpler.

“What topics?” asked his sister.

“Advanced studies in historical inquiry, and it’s awesome, not boring.”

“And working on your next book?”

“Always.” He was researching a work on World War II resistance fighters. And he was always looking for long-lost soldiers, searching out crash sites and battlefields for remains to restore to families yearning for closure.

She sighed. “Such a tough life.”

“You should come for a visit and see how tough it is.”

“Right. Dragging along my three reluctant teenagers and workaholic husband. I’m sure your archivist girlfriend—what’s her name?”

“Vivi,” Finn said. “And she’s not my girlfriend. Hey, coming up on a tollbooth,” he said, suddenly tired of the conversation. “Gotta go. I’ll call you about the pictures, if there’s anything to report.” He ended the call and drove past the nonexistent tollbooth.

The bridge led him into a whole new world. Refocusing his mind on finding the AWOL film expert, he made his way across to the low, teardrop-shaped peninsula. He’d never actually explored the region, which was odd, since he’d spent so much of his life in and around Annapolis. He’d attended the U.S. Naval Academy, and after five years of service, attained his Ph.D. and became a professor there. Yet this area had always been a mystery to him.