“Sounds perfect.” Camille set down her bag, grateful to have reached the end of a trying week. Socca was comfort food—a simple flatbread made of chickpea flour baked on a grill with caramelized onions and finished with flaky salt.

“I bet you’re the only guy in town who owns a socca pan,” Julie said in French, taking down the flat copper pan that hung near the outdoor grill.

He set it over the flame. “And you are the only young lady in town who knows what socca is. I learned to make it by watching the street vendors in Nice when I was about your age. I need a few snips of rosemary.”

Julie went to the flourishing bed of herbs to find it.

“What can I do?” Camille asked.

“Take the salad greens inside and give them a wash. And bring the wine when you come. There’s a bottle of Apollinaris for Julie.”

She picked up the basket and headed inside. The kitchen smelled amazing—something simmering in wine. Her father had bought the historic colonial house the year he’d married her mother. Bearing a historical plaque, it was a classic of architecture peculiar to the shore, once known as a “big house, little house, colonnade, and kitchen.” The original dwelling had begun life centuries before as a simple home—the little house. As the family and fortune grew, the colonnade and kitchen were added, and finally the big house, a two-story structure with three lovely bedrooms upstairs. There was a porch set on an east–west axis to catch breezes from the shore.

Together, Henry and Cherisse had restored the place, staying faithful to the traditional style. But after Camille came along, the family didn’t grow, and most of the rooms in the house sat empty. In the wake of the divorce, Camille had spent most of her childhood with her mom, stepdad, and two half sisters, setting aside Fridays for Papa.

Her mother had declared that she had enough of drafty rooms, creaky floors, and the like, and she and Bart moved to a modern townhome near the beach. It had been an unusual childhood for Camille, shuttling between Mom and Papa, but she’d always felt loved and supported. When her half sisters came along, she never felt like the odd one out. It was her normal. And it was a good normal, right up until she had lost Jace. After that, finding normal was impossible.

So she did what was possible. She took care of Julie, spent time with friends and family, worked at the shop, and rescued other people’s pictures. It wasn’t the life she’d once envisioned for herself, but it was the only one that made sense to her.

She placed the greens in the sink and turned on the water. The plumbing shuddered and groaned. A house this age was a constant repair project. More than once, she’d asked him why he needed such a big place.

“It’s too much house for me,” he readily agreed, “but I do love old things.”