In the end, she’d disappointed him anyway.

Grace swung Aubrey up on her hip and nuzzled her.

‘‘Busy today,’’ she commented.

‘‘Seems to get more crowded every summer.’’ But Ethan shrugged it off. They needed the summer crowds to survive the winters. ‘‘I heard Bingham’s going to expand the restaurant, fancy it up, too, to bring more people in year-round.’’

‘‘Well, he’s got that chef from up north now, and got himself reviewed in the Washington Post magazine.’’ She jiggled Aubrey on her hip. ‘‘The Egret Rest is the only linen-tablecloth restaurant around here. Spiffing it up should be good for the town. We always went there for dinner on special occasions.’’

She set Aubrey down, trying not to remember that she hadn’t seen the inside of the restaurant in over three years. She held Aubrey’s hand and let her daughter tug her relentlessly toward Crawford’s.

This was another standard of St. Chris. Crawford’s was for ice cream and cold drinks and take-out submarine sand-wiches. Since it was noon, the shop was doing a brisk business. Grace ordered herself not to spoil things by mentioning that they should be eating sandwiches instead of ice cream.

‘‘Hey, there, Grace, Ethan. Hello, pretty Aubrey.’’ Liz Crawford beamed at them even as she skillfully built a cold-cut sub. She’d gone to school with Ethan and had dated him for a short, careless time that they both remembered with fondness.

Now she was the sturdy, freckle-faced mother of two, married to Junior Crawford, as he was known to distinguish him from his father, Senior.

Junior, skinny as a scarecrow, whistled between his teeth as he rang up sales, and sent them a quick salute.

‘‘Busy day,’’ Ethan said, dodging an elbow from a customer at the counter.

‘‘Tell me.’’ Liz rolled her eyes, deftly wrapped the sub in white paper and handed it, along with three others, over the counter. ‘‘Y’all want a sub?’’

‘‘Ice cream,’’ Aubrey said definitely. ‘‘Berry.’’

‘‘Well, you go on down and tell Mother Crawford what you have in mind. Oh, Ethan, Seth was in here shortly ago with Danny and Will. I swear, those kids grow like weeds in high summer. Loaded up on subs and soda pop. Said they were working down to your boatyard.’’

He felt a faint flicker of guilt, knowing that Phillip was not only working but riding herd on three young boys. ‘‘I’ll be heading down there myself soon.’’

‘‘Ethan, if you don’t have time for this . . .’’ Grace began.

‘‘I’ve got time to eat an ice cream cone with a pretty girl.’’ So saying, he lifted Aubrey up and let her press her nose to the glass-fronted counter that held the buckets of hand-dipped choices.

Liz took the next order, and spared a wiggling-eyebrow glance toward her husband that spoke volumes. Ethan Quinn and Grace Monroe, it stated clearly. Well, well. What do you think of that?