“I’ve always wanted a dog. I kept saying ‘maybe one day.’ But I’m not really hiding anymore, am I?”

“No, you’re not.” Hair had fallen loose from her braid, and I tucked a strand behind her ear. “I bet there’s an animal rescue or something on one of these islands.”

The golden flecks in Shay’s eyes seemed to sparkle in the late-morning light. “There’s one on Shelter.”

My lips twitched. “You’ve already done your research, huh?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s go this weekend. But no purse dogs.” We needed something that could actually be an early warning system.

Shay laughed. “Even you have limits?”

“Damn straight.” And a yapping fluff ball was one of them.

She kissed me long and slow. “Love you. Even if you don’t want me to get a purse dog.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She gave me a little shove. “Now go paint me something beautiful. I’ll meet you at the house at noon for lunch.”

I pushed to my feet, trying to ignore the twinge in my chest as I walked away. “Yell if you hear or see anything. Even if you think it’s just a critter.”

“Even if I think it’s a baby bunny,” she promised.

I didn’t let myself look back as I made my way to the studio. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t leave. But Shay was right. We had to get back to normal eventually. And the longer I was on high alert, the harder it would be to let those instincts go.

So, I forced myself to the blank canvas in the center of my studio. It didn’t take long for me to lose myself in the creation of something new. In Shay in her garden, singing to her plants. I was so consumed with the new piece that I jumped when my cell phone rang.

I snapped off my gloves and crossed to the table where my phone rested. I hit accept, and Carson’s face filled the screen. “You’re in the studio. Does that mean you’re painting again?”

“I’ve got pieces piling up.”

“You ready to show me?”

“Not quite yet.” After everything that had happened these past few months, I wasn’t ready to show anyone besides Shay a damn thing.

“That artist’s temperament is back,” Carson chided.

I scowled at Carson through the screen. “I don’t have an artist’s temperament.” I’d seen some artists pull some ridiculous stunts over the years—pitching fits, going to extremes for privacy, the list went on and on. I was pretty damn normal on that scale.

“All right, all right. You’re very well-adjusted. Feel better?”

“I do, thank you. Now, what’s up?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to meet Shay for lunch in fifteen minutes.”

Carson waggled his eyebrows. “Shay, huh? How’s my little caretaker doing, anyway?”