He was seized with a kind of sadness that she regarded a year in Moonflower Bay as “effing up her life,” but why shouldn’t she? She no doubt already had a full life in Toronto. “No letter?”

“Nope. So I have no idea why she did this to me.”

“This town isn’t so bad,” he said weakly.

She ignored him in favor of rummaging in one of her grocery bags. “Anyway, it will go fast.” She produced a calendar. It was the iconic milk-themed one that Canada’s dairy farming association produced every year—they gave them out at grocery stores. She flipped it open to August. There were a bunch of black X’s through two weeks’ worth of dates. “I’m crossing off the days since Lucille died.” She pointed to the picture and recipe at the top of that month’s page. “And look! I can also learn how to make three-cheese scalloped potatoes!” Her voice was high and infused with artificial enthusiasm. He was pretty sure she was talking to herself and not him.

“I had nothing but respect for Lucille,” he said quietly, “but if you sell the place, she’ll never know.”

“But I’ll know.”

“Right. Of course.”

Her shoulders slumped, but just for a moment before she rolled them back and straightened her spine. “Sawyer?”

“Yes?” Was she maybe not so angry at him anymore? She’d done him a good turn, and that had been followed by a full minute or so of conversation that had not involved yelling.

“Why are you still here? Rescue complete. Now get out.”

Ah. No such luck.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Eve sucked in a breath as she stepped onto the beach at Paradise Cove and eyeballed the Ramsey cottage, which sat at the far end of the inlet. She wasn’t sure if she was breathless from the trek in or because of what was about to happen.

You had to know Paradise Cove was there to find it—it could be reached only on foot, and you had to scramble over and around a rocky outcropping to reach it—and the townspeople kept its existence to themselves. The beach here was technically private property, but back in the day, at least, Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey had been fine with townspeople intrepid enough to make the trek in using it.

She was counting on that still being the case. She eyed the dark cottage. As far as she remembered, the Ramseys kept a house in town and used the cottage as a retreat of sorts, and as an art studio for Jake’s mom. She had no idea if anyone occupied it these days, since Jake’s mom’s death. Regardless, she was glad no one was around today. She did not need an audience.

She dropped her bag on the sand, slipped off her sandals, and turned to face her beautiful, watery nemesis.