I turned off the main road and into the Bluffs neighborhood. I’d always loved this part of the island and knew it was the perfect place for me to make a home that would be mine. The gray and white craftsman had a killer view and easy access to mountain biking trails and climbing cliffs. But it didn’t hold a candle to the history and the memories The Gables contained. It had nothing to do with how large and extravagant the grounds and home were, and everything to do with the heart it contained.

I pulled into my half-circle drive and frowned. There was a BMW sedan sitting in front of my house. The plates said Washington, but I didn’t know anyone from the islands who drove a car like this one. My skin prickled as I shut off my engine and glanced around my property.

My gaze froze on a figure sitting on my front steps. Blond hair gleamed in the late-afternoon sun, perfectly straightened and arranged to accent the expertly tailored blouse and slacks. Pearls decorated delicate ears. And a simple necklace adorned the woman’s throat.

I couldn’t seem to move. This wasn’t happening. The last thing I wanted was for this poison disguised in beautiful packaging to infest the place that had become my home. She’d ruined Boston for me. I wouldn’t let her do the same to Anchor.

I pushed open my door and climbed out of my truck. Alicia took in my vehicle, scowling in disgust before quickly hiding the emotion. “Crosby, you’re finally home.”

I blinked a few times as if that might clear the absurdity of the moment. Alicia acted as if I were late for some dinner we’d planned, not that she’d shown up on my doorstep uninvited.

“What are you doing here?”

Her red lips pursed in a pout. “I wanted to see you. I thought you’d appreciate me going to all of this trouble. I had to hire a private investigator just to find your address.”

“And I told you I had no interest in seeing you or hearing from you. Was blocking your number not a clear enough message?”

Alicia pushed to her feet, brushing off her black pants. “Please, Crosby. I need you to listen. To give us a shot to work things out.”

“Working things out would mean you not fucking my best friend when my ring was on your finger. Working things out would mean you not then being with that man for years.”