My work phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw an email notification flashing across the screen. Opening the message, I scanned the first few lines and froze.

Shay,

I hate doing this over email, but I know how spotty cell service is out there. We recently got an offer on Harbor that’s too good to refuse. It breaks our hearts, but the kids want to be on the mainland this summer, and it just doesn’t make sense to keep it if we’ll be spending all our time in Seattle. The good news is the buyer is interested in keeping you on if you can agree on terms for responsibilities and salary. He’s arriving next week. I’m including the number for his assistant below so you can arrange a phone call to discuss things further.

We’ll miss you terribly. Please do keep in touch.

Lots of love,

Rebecca

My hand trembled as I set my phone on the counter. Selling. A new owner. One week. The Dowds had talked about selling before, but they’d never actually gone through with putting the island on the market. I’d thought for sure that if they did move, I’d have time to prepare. To consider all of my options. To plan.

My ribs seemed to tighten, making it just a bit harder to breathe. A million thoughts flew through my head, what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. I reached into my pocket, searching for the small, smooth stone that always grounded me, reminded me that I was safe.

Everything would be fine. The new owner still needed a caretaker. It was rare for someone to live on one of these small private islands full time.

I took a deep, steadying breath. I wouldn’t lose my haven. The one place I’d felt safe since that night eleven years ago. I’d just have to prove how indispensable I could be.

2

Brody

Carson let out a puff of smoke as he leaned back on the chaise lounge, the stream filtering up from my terrace and melting into the New York skyline. “Stop making that face.”

I took a pull from my beer. “What face?”

“The one that says you’re judging me for polluting the air around you.”

I grinned. “You said it, not me.”

“You used to have a pack-a-day habit.”

I grimaced at the reminder. “I was twenty-two and stupid.”

Carson stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his combat boot and then laid the butt on the table between us. “Maybe you are made for clean air and country living.”

I played with a frayed thread on my jeans, twisting it around my finger until the digit lost blood supply. “Let’s hope I am.”

“You couldn’t do what a normal person would and take a vacation. No, you had to go off and buy a fucking island.”