Phillip Quinn and some of the others were gathered around the keg. Pete noted with an amused snort thatPhillip was flirting with the Barrow girl, Celia. He couldn’t blame the boy—she was built like a Playboy pinup and not afraid to show it off. It wasn’t something a man stopped noticing even if he was old enough to be her father.

‘‘Want me to pull you one, Mr. Monroe?’’

‘‘ ’Preciate it.’’ Pete nodded toward the celebrants in the backyard. ‘‘Got you a crowd here, today, Phil. Fine spread, too. I remember how your folks’d throw a picnic most every summer. It’s nice you’re keeping up the tradition.’’

‘‘Anna thought of it,’’ Phillip told him, handing Pete a foaming beer in a tall plastic cup.

‘‘Women do, more’n men, I suppose. If I don’t get the chance, you tell her I appreciate the invite. I gotta get back to the waterfront in an hour or so, set up for the display.’’

‘‘You always put on a good one. Best fireworks on the Shore.’’

‘‘Tradition,’’ Pete said again. It was a word that mattered.

CAROL MONROE HADN’T been the only one to notice the way Ethan and Grace had walked off together. Speculation and sly grins started to spread over the potato salad and steamed crabs.

Mother Crawford wagged her fork at her good friend Lucy Wilson. ‘‘You ask me, Grace is going to have to put her foot down if she wants Ethan Quinn to come up to snuff before that baby’s old enough for college. Never seen a man moved so slow.’’

‘‘He’s thoughtful,’’ Lucy said loyally.

‘‘Not saying different. Just saying slow. Seen them moony-eyed over each other since before that boy got his own workboat. Has to be nearly ten years passed. Stella and I—bless her soul—had a conversation over it a time or two.’’

Lucy sighed over her fruit salad, and not just because she was watching her calories. ‘‘Stella knew her boys inside and out.’’

‘‘That she did. I said to her one day, ‘Stella, your Ethan’s got cow’s eyes for the young Monroe girl.’ ’’ And she laughed, said how he had himself a hard case of puppy love, but that sometimes it was the best way to start the real thing. Never could figure why Ethan didn’t step forward a bit before Grace got herself tangled up with that Jack Casey. Never did like him much.’’

‘‘He wasn’t a bad sort, just weak. Look there, Mother,’’ Lucy said, lowering her voice like a conspirator. Shenodded toward Ethan and Grace, as they walked back around the side of the house, hands linked, the baby sleeping on his shoulder.

‘‘Nothing weak about that one.’’ Mother wiggled her brows and leered at her friend. ‘‘And slow can be a fine thing in bed, can’t it, Lucy?’’

Lucy hooted. ‘‘It can, Mother. That it can.’’