He looked up, and she saw surprise and pleasure in his eyes as they skirted over her in a visual inspection that made her tingly in some interesting places.

“Is it yours?” she asked of the boat as she came closer to get a better look.

Shaking his head, he said, “Belongs to a guy in Falmouth.”

“How’d it end up here?” She wanted to run a hand over the smooth, glossy surface but was afraid to touch it.

“Something I do on the side. Kind of a hobby.”

“What do you do exactly?”

“Restore them.” He gestured to the workbench behind him. “Before pictures are over there.”

Above the bench a carved sign read “Harris Boat Works.” Sydney wandered over to view photos of what could only be called a wreck. Next to them was another photo of the boat in its prime. She whirled around. “That’s the same boat? As the one in the pictures?”

“Uh-huh,” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh my God, Luke! It’s amazing! How long did it take?”

“Coupla months. I fit it in when I have time. Tough during the summer when I’m working so much at McCarthy’s.”

“This is really incredible. I’m so impressed.”

His lips formed a small smile. “Thanks.”

“How did you get into this? When?”

“Let’s see, Miss Twenty Questions, must’ve been about fifteen years ago. Big Mac found an old junker in a boatyard on the mainland and brought it back to the island. Mrs. McCarthy was giving him grief about keeping it in the driveway at the White House, so I told him he could bring it over here. I started tinkering with it—”

“Meaning you completely restored it when he wasn’t looking.”

“Something like that,” he said with a laugh. “He was blown away, and in typical Big Mac fashion, he told everyone. He keeps it at the marina where he can show it off. Next thing I knew, people were calling me about restoring their old boats. One thing led to another.” He shrugged. “Word of mouth.”

“How many do you do a year?”

“Three or four.”

“They must pay you a boatload—no pun intended.”

He snickered at the joke. “I do all right.”

“How do they get them here?”

“Some, like this beauty, come over on the ferry. Others come under their own steam, and we haul them out over here.”

“I bet you’ve got people waiting in line for you.”

“The list is tacked up over the bench.”

Sydney glanced up and found at least thirty names and phone numbers on the piece of notebook paper. “You’re gifted, Luke. Truly gifted.”

Shrugging, he said, “Don’t know about that. Just something I do for fun.”

Sydney studied him as he applied the varnish in smooth, even strokes. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? When we were talking about your life the other night. You never mentioned this.”