But she clearly didn’t, not really, a thought that made her feel just a little lost. She stopped at the back wall, distracted by a long row of interesting photographs from the turn of the last century. Her mother loved such pictures, and had been collecting for years. Summer felt drawn to them too, though she’d never given it much thought as she’d rarely stayed in one place long enough to unpack her clothes, much less pictures. This particular series had been taken at the seashore, depicting the interesting bathing suits and the quaint lifestyle of the time, but it was more than that that made them a set. It was the people, and the warmth and affection and love pouring out of the frames. They were connected, deeply, and it seemed so simple. Sweet.

She stared at the frames as a yearning went through her. She wanted a simple but deep connection, she wanted that with all her heart. She’d had it once, she just had no idea how to get it back, and that she felt so lost right here at “home” disconcerted and confused her.

She heard the footsteps then, just behind her. Work boots, but with a light, sure gait. Looking up, she met a pair of unbearably familiar whiskey-colored eyes and her heart skipped a beat.

If Joe’s heart skipped as well, he hid it. His hair fell in waves over his forehead, brushing the collar of his slightly wrinkled white dress shirt, the sleeves of which were shoved up to his elbows and had some official patch on the pec. It wasn’t tucked into his soft, faded Levi’s, which sported a frayed hole over one knee. Looking just a little edgy, a little dangerous, he had one hand in his pocket, the other holding a clipboard, which he tapped against his thigh as his eyes checked off the details of his surroundings. Always alert.

There was something about his mouth that suggested the slightest of smiles when his gaze landed on hers, but then again it could have been a grimace at having to see her again.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey yourself.”

Startled at the old familiar greeting, and at the ease with which they’d slipped into it, they stared at each other. And for a single beat, Summer didn’t feel lost at all. “What are you doing here?”

He shoved his free hand through his wavy hair, making some of it stick up. Instead of making him look rumpled, it somehow seemed…endearing. “I have some interviews,” he said.

“For the investigation?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at the unmistakable bulge of the gun at his hip beneath the drape of his shirt. Wondered at all it implied, at all he’d seen and done since they’d been kids. “With my mom?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

She sighed. “You’re being obtuse.”